#and the slow trickling dread that I finally did it

[beauty-grace-outer-space]

It's selfish time!

[kyracooneyx23]

I loved you Leah Williamson fic! I was wondering if you could do a Lucy Bronze x matildas reader where reader and lucy both player for barca and then they verse each other in the world cup semi final

Don't Be Sorry - Lucy Bronze

Lucy bronze x matildas!reader

summary - the Matildas lose to England in the semi final of the womens world cup and you take the blame.

warnings - death threats and hate comments

90+ minutes of you playing your heart out, the hope of a World Cup final promised if your team could get the result you desperately wanted slipped through your fingers as the dreaded sound of the full-time whistle rang through your mind. You collapse to the floor, face buried in your hands as you feel your tears wet the floor around you. The salty taste burned your already parched throat as you sobbed into your hand.

You were never an emotional person over football, but you had the weight of an entire country resting on your shoulders and you had let them down.

This was the moment you had spent your life working towards, ever since you were 4 years old, when you first watched a game of women's football you had made it your goal to one day be like the women you had seen on your screen. You promised yourself that one day you would represent your country in a World Cup, and now that dream had become reality you had stuffed everything up.

The haunting images of the ball flying past you and into the net still haunts you. You had the chance to stop the ball from going in but stuck your leg out too far and the ball went right past.

Not only did you feel like you had let down your fans, you had let down your teammates as well. It was your job as the team's main center-back to stop the goals and you failed. It was a stupid mistake for Tony to pick you to start, even more stupid that he'd kept you on the full game.

You felt the England player's hands patting you softly on the back, but you didn't bother getting up to congratulate them on their success not feeling up to facing other people.

'Hey, it's going to be ok y/n/n.' You hear the soft, comforting whisper of your captain, whose voice makes you sob even harder. You roll over onto your back so you can see her properly, out of everyone on this pitch you knew you owed her a proper apology.

'I'm so sorry Sam.' Your voice is hoarse and it pains you to see her tear-stained cheeks 'I let the whole team down, I know how much this meant to you. I'm sorry for ruining it, you deserved the win.' You burst into tears again as your captain pulled you into a warm embrace, rubbing your back to try and calm you down.

'This is not your fault.' She says, her voice is stern but you know she's not using the tone in a mean way, 'You played your heart out. I'm not allowing you or anyone to take the blame for the result. Every single person who has pulled on the green and gold jersey this tournament needs to be proud of everything they have done. We've made history this World Cup and that can't be forgotten because of one game. We still have the bronze medal match, we need to dust ourselves off and focus on winning that.' Your breathing slows down, knowing you were overreacting and that Sam was right. You needed to concentrate on the third-place game, there was still a chance to bring home some silverware for your country.

As you rose from the ground, extending congratulations to several of the Lionesses for their victory, you found yourself mid-conversation with Kyra and Mini. Suddenly, you felt the gentle embrace of two arms encircling your waist and a head nestling into the curve of your neck.

You turn around, enveloping your girlfriend in an embrace, the silent language of your intertwined bodies speaks more than any words could in the moment. It was a relief to be in the arms that felt more like home than anywhere else, her presence was all you needed to feel slightly better. Tears trickle down your cheeks again, a release from the flood of emotions that have become too overwhelming.

After a while the silence is broken 'I'm so sorry,' Lucy whispers into your ear 'I know how much this meant to you baby, I wish it didn't have to end this way.' You shake your head at her words, not wanting to ruin the special moment that she had also worked so hard for.

'Luc, don't be sorry. I'm not hearing it. Go and make the most of this moment. You deserve it.' You say pulling out of the hug, not wanting your disappointment to ruin her occasion, you knew better than anyone how much effort Lucy put into getting here in her career.

Lucy looks at you with sincerity in her eyes, you can see how excited she is to have made it to a World Cup final, but she still stays with you instead of celebrating with her team. You know you would've done the same thing if the roles were reversed but you still feel bad for keeping her away. 'Babe, go celebrate, I know you want to.' You tell her, your tone almost demanding.

But she doesn't leave your side and for the next 15 minutes she's constantly peppering your face with kisses and expressing words of admiration and respect, acknowledging the relentless dedication you had put into getting here. You keep trying to push her away but she refuses to leave, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and keeping you tucked as close to her as she possibly could not letting you free anytime soon.

Whilst you walk around the pitch together the fact that you two are rivals dissolves, no one would know that one of you had just lost to the other in a World Cup semi-final if it wasn't for the two different jerseys the two of you were wearing.

You gaze at her, and you know that you look like the biggest simp for her as you send her a loving look. The fan's edits after this match would be crazy.

The two of you were a popular couple that the fans adored even though you two had never properly gone public with your relationship, you just weren't the best at keeping it much of a secret.

Neither of you minded though, you found both the tiktoks quite funny.

After a little more walking around with Lucy, you know you can't let her stay with you any longer. 'You've poured your heart into every match, every training session,' you murmur, your voice barely a whisper against the loud atmosphere. 'You deserve this win more than anyone. This victory is yours, you've earned it through all your determination and hard work. Now please go and celebrate, I know that you'll be greatly missed in the changing rooms. I refuse to keep you to myself anymore, we'll have so much time just the two of us back in Barca. I love you, now enjoy your win' You tell her managing to wriggle free from her tight grip and place a light kiss on her lips, which she tries to deepen before you pull away laughing lightly at her clinginess.

'I love you sunshine.' She tells you blowing you a kiss before running over to her teammates who all bring her in for a large group hug. You smile at her almost forgetting how you'd felt only a short time ago.

Seeing Lucy happy made you happy.

'Hello, Miss Bronze.' Caitlin says standing beside you and you can hear the smirk in her voice. 'Care to join your team anytime soon or are you going to keep staring at your girl like a freak for the rest of the night?' She laughs and you shove her slightly.

'I'm coming, you can piss off now.' You tell the brunette, following her towards the team huddle not too far away from where you were. Steph and Kyra wrap their arms around you as you squeeze into the team circle.

The circle is quieter than your previous huddles, the energy gone from the disappointing loss and everyone exhausted from the game you'd just played.

Tony speaks to everyone, telling us it's not over yet and we can't stop working. The talk is coming to an end when he begins to talk about how we should all be very proud of ourselves 'You girls should all be extremely proud of what you have done,' he waves his hand across the sea of fans in green and gold, still screaming and cheering despite the loss. 'Every single one of you has won the hearts of a nation, you have inspired generations to come, and have changed the future of women's football in Australia. That is an incredible achievement.' A small round of applause echoes throughout the group and Tony finishes up the talk letting everyone head off.

All the girls do one more lap of the field, thanking the fans for their support before quickly getting changed and heading back to the hotel, everyone wanting a good nights rest after the long day.

The next day, the bright sun and Kyra's snoring wakes you up. You chuck a pillow at her, laughing at her annoyed grunts and swearing before getting out of bed, showering, and getting changed. You're quick, not wanting to be late for Lucy as the two of you had planned to go out for coffee this morning. You were excited to see how hungover she would be, you'd be surprised if she even managed to get out of bed this morning.

You weren't meant to be meeting Lucy until 10 and it was only 9:15 when you got out of the shower, so you took the extra time to scroll on your phone.

You had hardly thought about the game last night, knowing it would only affect your upcoming game if you worried about that too much. But as you open your phone, which you hadn't been on since before the game, your stomach twists and you feel like you're going to be sick.

A million notifications pop up on your screen. DM's of people telling you to kill yourself and posts that tagged you showing the two goals you couldn't stop yesterday. You tried not to read them but there were too many and you couldn't stop yourself.

Y/N L/N can go fucking throw herself off the Sydney Harbor Bridge for all I care. What a fucking joke this is, I knew women's football would suck. You're telling me that a 'professional' fullback can't stop the easiest goals. hope she fucking dies, let down a whole country.

Morning Y/N, hope you slept terribly last night. Let down a whole country with your shit performance. I'm sure many people would appreciate it if you took a break from football and found a job you're good at. I don't want to see you step foot on a pitch ever again and if you do I'll make sure you're sorry for it.

L/N just proves that female athletes are all just sluts, lost her team a world cup semi-final and all she did after the game was eye fuck Lucy Bronze, what happened to being a team player?

Hi Y/N, thanks to you my daughter cried herself to sleep last night, what happened to inspiring all the young girls, get a fucking life and get back into the kitchen. women like you don't belong on a football pitch. Never touch a football again thanks.

There were so many, all saying the same kind of things that it all just blurred together. Your thoughts from yesterday returned and all you could think about was about how all these people were right. You let down your country and you were a joke.

You were so caught up in everything that you hardly noticed the time slowly tick past 10:15 and all the notifications from Lucy asking where you were. You just sat on your bed, not quite sure what to do. You'd never felt more like a failure in your life, tears poured down your face they were practically choking you but you didn't mind.

You had let down your country and thousands of people agreed with you.

When you didn't answer Lucy's fifth call she got seriously worried. You always had your phone on you and you never ignored Lucy's calls. She called you one more time and when you didn't answer, she took matters into her own hands.

As soon as the Uber arrived outside your hotel, Lucy sprinted up to your room. Until security stopped her at the front desk, demanding that she prove that she was staying at the hotel before they let her in.

She was begging them for a good five minutes until it got to the point when she was offering money for them to let her in. Fortunately, Alanna spotted Lucy at the desk and after seeing her desperate expression she decided to go over and see what was happening.

'Is everything all right?' She asked both the receptionist and Lucy.

'She's not letting me see y/n/n' Lucy snapped shooting the desk lady a dirty glare.

'I need proof, I can't just let anyone in.' She says matter-of-factly causing Lucy to roll her eyes. Alanna ignores the lady giving Lucy all her attention.

'I thought she was going out to see you?' Alanna asked confused 'That's what Kyra told everyone.'

'She was meant to, but she didn't show up and hasn't been answering my calls, I need to know if she's ok.' Lucy's forehead creased with worry, her girlfriend was never late and always picked up the phone.

'I'm sure she'll be fine, I'll take you to go and check her room and see if she's there.' Alanna tells the brunette before turning around having a quick word with the receptionist who mumbles something under her breath before turning to Lucy and allowing her to go up, apologising for the trouble.

Her words aren't heard by the English footballer who is already speed-walking up the hallway despite having no clue where she is going. Alanna jogs lightly to catch up to her grabbing her wrist to stop her from walking. At first, Lucy tries to pull her wrist away but stops when Alanna drops it.

'Her rooms the other way.' Alanna says softly, causing Lucy to turn around and start power walking in the opposite direction. Alanna laughs lightly at her. 'Slow down, you're just going to get lost. I'll take you to her.'

You're curled up under the blankets in your bed. You'd been lying there for almost an hour. Your phone was on silent so you hadn't seen all the missed calls from Lucy, you felt guilty for not showing up but surely she wouldn't care too much. No one in their right mind would want to be seen with a mess like you, especially not the Lucy Bronze.

You lay in silence for a while longer, nobody disrupting you as the do not disturb sign was up and all the girls were out for the off day. You were almost too caught up in your thoughts to hear the knocking on the door and Alanna's voice calling out your name.

'Y/N, are you in there?' She asked again 'Y/N?' You groaned pulling the blankets up so they were almost covering your head.

'Go away Lani.' You mumble only just loud enough for her to hear. You are shocked when she agrees and you hear her footsteps getting further away.

You roll further into your bed, groaning when you hear another knock on the door. 'Baby, are you alright?' Your girlfriend asks, your stomach flips with guilt.

'I don't want to talk right now Luce.' You tell her even though you know that's not going to stop her from coming to see you.

'I need to know that my girlfriends ok.' She tells you and you hear the doorknob twist, the bright light that fills your room makes your head pound and you bury your face into the pillow.

When Lucy sees you lying in the darkness she immediately rushes to your side and places a hand on your forehead, probably checking to see if you had a temperature.

'What's wrong my love?' She asks sitting next to you on the bed and stroking your back. 'Are you sick? Do you need me to get anything for you?' The brunette asks the worry evident in her tone. You turn around to face her, only seeing her concerned face makes you burst out crying.

As tears streamed down your cheeks, you poured your heart out to your girlfriend, the weight of disappointment and guilt heavy on your shoulders, you couldn't not tell her about what was going on.

The two of you told each other everything.

In the quiet of the hotel room, you confessed her insecurities, voice choking with emotion. 'I'm a failure,' you whispered, hands trembling as you recounted the mistakes that haunted you from the semi-finals and all the awful messages you'd received after the game. With each word, Lucy listened intently, offering comforting words of reassurance. 'You're not a failure,' she whispered back, gently wiping away your tears. 'You're brave for putting yourself out there, for giving it your all. Football doesn't define you; your resilience does. You are the best player I know, you didn't win Player of the Year for nothing. All the girls were talking about how well you played last night, just because the result didn't go your way it doesn't mean you're a failure.' She places light kisses over your face 'The people hating are all just dickheads, I can't imagine them doing even half of what you've achieved. Don't let them get to you.' She tells you, midway through your conversation she had laid down beside you, wrapping you in her arms. You had your head lying on her chest, the beat of her heart helping calm you down.

You don't know how you got a girlfriend like Lucy. But you were undeniably grateful for her no matter what. She'd been there for you through the worst and best parts of your life.

'I'm sorry Lucy.' You whisper to her.

'Don't be sorry.' She tells you placing a light kiss on your forehead 'You've done nothing wrong.'

'You're meant to be enjoying making it to the final, but instead you're stuck looking after me.'

'Yeah, but being stuck with my favorite person in the world is my kind of heaven.' She tells you softly causing a small smile to break out on your face 'I love you y/n/n.'

'Love you more.' You say back to her.

'That's impossible baby.' A small smirk appears on her face 'I'll always love you the most.'

[soupuurr]

𝑛𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑠𝑎𝑦 𝑔𝑜𝑜𝑑𝑏𝑦𝑒 𝑝𝑡. 2 - matthew sturniolo

pairing. softdom!matt x sub!reader

genre. angst, smut, fluff

⟶ cw. explicit content, angst (matt and reader are kind of messy in this), abuse, slow-burn, fluff, unprotected sex, fingering, praise, creampie, aftercare. MDNI

⟶ summary. following never say goodbye, matt concluded that the relationship wouldn't work as both of you were engrossed in your own lives. however, would his feelings remain unchanged when he sees you years later? wc. 4.4k

note. here’s the long awaited ‘never say goodbye pt. 2’,i had such a brain fart while writing this, it was really hard to structure but i think it came out pretty well lolll enjoy mfs. (listen to smth sad, it’ll make the experience better ;))

both of you gazed silently at the line of cars ahead, observing the crowds of individuals gathering suitcases, bidding farewell to family members, and strolling hand in hand—a poignant reminder of what lay ahead of you.

the day you had dreaded had finally arrived, marking a time of new beginnings, yet also farewells to the people you spent your whole life with.

"you ready?" matt's eyes locked onto yours, slender hands still gripping the steering wheel tightly. he looked exhausted, prominent dark circles lay under his eyes—his pink lips chapped, and hair an absolute mess.

"no." you whispered honestly. you couldn't bear to meet his gaze any longer, afraid that if you did, you might risk everything and cancel the flight just to stay with him for the rest of your life.

matt's hand left the steering wheel and gently covered yours. his fingers curled around your clenched fist, thumb rubbing soothingly against your skin as he swallowed solemnly.

neither of you felt ready; leaving each other seemed impossible. but you held onto faith in your relationship, trusting that you would find each other again when the time was right—just as matt had assured you the night before.

you leaned in to kiss matt once more, your fingers slipping around the nape of his neck to draw him closer. he melted into your embrace—warm hands tenderly cupping your jaw. matt wanted the pressure of your kiss to be unforgettable, knowing it would be irreplaceable and he would yearn for it until the day he saw you again.

you held each other close once it was finally time to board your flight. matt's head rested comfortably above your own as a new wave of tears escaped his sore eyes and trickled down his cheeks. pressing your face against his chest, you sobbed silently, finding solace in his familiar cologne—well aware it would be a while before you could experience it again. you gently rocked together, savoring the fleeting embrace before parting ways.

"i promise to never say goodbye."

matt couldn't even see the road on his drive home, his vision blurred by painful tears streaming down his pale cheeks. a symphony of lights danced in his view—red, white, green, yellow—as he pulled his sleeve to brush the tears from his face. he couldn't believe you were gone just like that, and he cursed the universe for tearing you away from him.

he retreated to his room, tears accompanying him into sleep. matt struggled to imagine life without you after being attached at the hip for so many years. he refused to dwell on it, tired eyes coming to a close as he pretended that you were still right there beside him.

"matt, this apartment is insane! i love it—i mean—look at this view!" you gawked, flipping the face-time camera to capture the stunning city lights illuminating the area. matt's jaw dropped dramatically, his face beaming with delight at your infectious excitement.

"careful, kid, you're standing awfully close to the ledge." matt chuckled into the phone, and you rolled your eyes playfully.

"you're so extra, there's literally a window." you pressed your palm against the glass.

"AHH!" matt's sudden shout into the speaker startled you, prompting a shocked shriek from yourself. you breathed a sigh of relief as he burst into a fit of giggles behind the camera, what an asshole.

"what the fuck, matt!" you scolded, pushing yourself away from the window and plopping onto the couch.

"i'm sorry," he raised his hand in defeat before quieting down, and the room settled into a familiar, comfortable silence.

"i miss you." matt whispered on the other side, his longing blue eyes filled with love and admiration as they met yours.

"i miss you too."

you both made a habit of calling each other often, almost every single day. despite the increasing busyness of your new lives and schedules, you made it a priority to maintain these calls—even when they began to noticeably drain you.

over time, matt began to worry that he was becoming a hindrance to your well-being. you would join calls with dark eye bags, giving short responses and barely able to stay awake.

you began canceling meetings to make time for him, dismissing opportunities just for the chance to talk to him again—unknowingly ruining the future you had worked so hard to build.

as much as it pained him, matt began avoiding your calls, claiming that he was busy filming when in reality he would drop everything for you in a heartbeat.

... what's going on? why aren't you calling anymore?

you nervously glanced at your phone, reading your text message again before finally hitting send. you stomach sank once you saw the message marked as read at the bottom of your screen.

you wait expectantly for his response, heart beating against your chest with every passing second. but after waiting and waiting, you eventually gave up.

did he fall out of love? did he find someone new? the unwanted questions swirled around your brain, tears clouding your vision with uncertainty.

matt reluctantly shut his phone off after reading your text, reassuring himself repeatedly that this was for the best.

chris and nick watched helplessly as their brother slowly succumbed to depression. his inability to just text you shattered him more than anyone could realize, yet he endured it for the sake of your future.

matt barely left his room, making excuses to avoid filming just so he could lie in bed for hours. he didn't know what to do with himself; it felt like a part of him had died when you left, and he didn't know if he could ever revive it without you.

but he knew it would never work between you two. he had to let go.

"c'mon matt, we gotta film." chris poked his head through matt's doorway, drumming his fingers against the wood.

matt's gaze remained fixed on his phone screen, completely oblivious to chris's words.

chris groaned and pushed through the door. he scanned his brother's cluttered room before sighing in annoyance.

"matt, i know it's been hard but she's probably moving on bro, and you should to. we're in LA now—you need to leave her behind for our sake."

matt's clouded eyes finally met his brother's. he pushed himself off the bed and silently maneuvered past him, descending the stairs to grab his car keys.

matt's lips moved feverishly against the lips of a random instagram model he met at the club—hands sliding under her provocative dress before squeezing the flesh of her ass in his palms. her own hands slid down his chest and toyed with his belt.

red acrylic nails grazed his skin, evoking a strained hiss to slip past his mouth. matt moved his lips down to her neck, leaving heavy, open mouthed kisses on the supple skin.

he flipped her around, unbuckling his belt and slotting the hem of his shirt between his teeth. matt grabbed her hip, positioning himself at her entrance before slipping past—a low groan tumbling out of his swollen lips.

he snapped his hips against her, pushing her body further against the wall as she wailed in pleasure. matt brought his fingertips to her needy clit, rubbing tight circles on the bud before pulling out and releasing on her back.

he sighed behind her, pulling his jeans back to his hips and adjusting his prada belt.

"that felt so-"

the door abruptly slammed shut behind the blonde model, cutting off her sentence as matt had already left the room.

it quickly became a habit. matt would find himself hooking up with countless women to get his mind off of you, and nothing worked. not until he met her.

"matt, correct? my name is luna."

matt turned to meet her gaze before trailing his eyes down to her outstretched hand. he ignored her, turning away from her prying gaze to stare blankly at the wall in front of him.

"is that your dog? it's very cute." she remarked, pointing at the polaroid of him, his brothers, and his dog—trevor—tucked inside his see-through phone case.

"what do you want?" matt sneered, downing his drink and slamming the red solo cup onto the countertop. luna, annoyingly, smiled back at matt, as if his attitude didn't faze her one bit.

"just want to get to know you. i've never seen you around here and you piqued my interest." she said casually, leaning against the marble counter and sipping from her own red solo cup.

matt paused. his tongue poked at his cheek as he huffed irritably, torn over whether to give in and respond.

"i came with my brothers. we do youtube." he quipped, keeping his gaze fixed on the young, drunk influencers dancing underneath the strobe lights.

"triplets, right? people have been talking about you."

matt hummed before pivoting to meet her gaze, his icy blue eyes locking with a set of caramel-colored ones.

"you seem to know a lot about me already." matt raised an eyebrow, still visibly "perturbed" by her presence but willing to engage in her little conversation to pass the time.

"word spreads like wildfire out here." she shrugged as she pushed herself from the counter to mirror him.

"what are you doing tomorrow, matt?"

matt smirked and shook his head, finding her confidence amusing.

"nothing much." he fidgeted with his cup, rubbing the white rim with his thumb as he waited for her response.

this is what he's been needing.

"great. let's go out."

matt and luna hit it off exceptionally well. they settled for a cozy coffee shop, discussing basic interests, past love lives, and family before eventually fucking in the backseat of matt's car.

she wasn't just an ordinary hookup though; there was something intriguing about her that captivated matt. their spontaneous coffee shop dates, exhausting hikes, and riverside strolls began to put a smile back on his face once again—the kind of smile you used to bring out of him.

luna helped him take his mind off of you, It scared him initially, but he knew he had to move on. she was perfect for him. right?

before he knew it, he was engaged to her.

"i love the fall time. perfect weather to get married in." she hummed beside him, snuggling up against his arm as they strolled down the sidewalk.

matt closed his eyes peacefully, breathing in the crisp autumn air. he snaked an arm around her waist, pulling her into him as his gaze wandered over the orange trees.

it reminded him of when he proposed—leaving her awestruck beneath the autumn leaves as he dropped to one knee and presented the diamond ring.

but for some reason, it never felt quite right.

matt's smile faltered at the thought. he couldn't quite pinpoint it, but he had a nagging feeling that he was messing everything up.

it was as if the universe had given him a sign in that moment, because he saw you. standing at a nearby jewelry store merely feet away.

he felt his world collapse, as all the suppressed feelings, memories, and love he had for you surged through him like waves crashing on the shore.

his heart began to race the second your eyes met his. oh, your beautiful eyes. he realized how much he had missed them, a feeling that washed over him as he finally saw them again.

he wanted to rip himself into shreds once he noticed the tears of hurt welling in your eyes—tears that he had caused.

he moved instinctively, slipping out of luna's grasp and walking towards you as if in a trance.

"matt? matthew—" luna called out to him, but to no avail. she knew who you were—his ex-girlfriend, the one he was supposed to marry.

matt couldn't tear his eyes away from you; you were just as beautiful, if not more so than before. in an instant, he found himself standing behind you.

"hey, how have you been?"

you turned around, feeling a surge of electricity rush through your veins as you came face to face with your former lover.

"don't talk to me." you sniffled as your wrist came up to wipe your tear-stricken face—the lone drops staining the sleeve of your grey hoodie. you tried to push past matt, but he swiftly reached out and grabbed your shoulder.

"please don't walk away—i know i hurt you, and i just want to explain myself if you'll give me the chance." matt pleaded, his eyes darting between yours as he searched for a glimmer of acceptance from your shielded demeanor.

you shook your head, attempting to walk away before matt's rigid body blocked your path.

"please?" matt's brows furrowed in anguish. how dare he ask, after everything he had done to hurt you?

you stared at him skeptically. despite everything, you couldn't help but want to know what had actually happened—why he chose to leave the relationship behind.

"…there's a bookstore nearby. let's grab coffee tomorrow and talk," you didn't spare him another glance before brushing past him, your shoulder bumping his as you moved ahead.

you pushed open the glass door of the tiny, antique coffee shop—door chime sounding overhead as you glanced around for matt.

your body tensed upon spotting him, nerves tightening with each step toward the table nestled in the back of the shop.

he looked undeniably good—clad in a blue sweater and black washed jeans, with a thin chain and silver jewelry adorning his milky skin.

"hey," matt smiled as you seated yourself across from him. you responded with a quick, tight-lipped smile, your eyes locking onto his.

those blue eyes that once made you feel loved now held a fragile glass of past memories and broken promises. you hated his eyes now.

"how've you been, matt?" you placed your hands on the illuminated table, interlocking your fingers as you gazed curiously into his eyes.

"i-um, i've been good. you?" matt fidgeted with his rings, still in utter disbelief that you were sitting in front of him right now.

"good."

you tucked your hair behind your ear, a habit that matt remembered all too well. he knew you did that when you were anxious, and it broke his heart to see you feeling that way because of him, now.

"i finally watched that movie you wanted me to see—hereditary?"

"matt you have to watch it. it's my favorite horror movie!" you pleaded—tugging at his sleeve while he settled onto the couch.

"no, absolutely not," matt shook his head, pulling you close to his chest as he aimed the remote at the screen to switch it off.

"i'll make you watch it one day, you wuss." you huffed against him, legs coming to rest over his lap.

"not a wuss." he murmured before rolling his eyes. you giggled, planting a kiss on his cheek and pinching it lightly between your fingers.

"my little baby."

"i thought you'd be too scared." you smiled amusedly.

"told you i wasn't a wuss." matt smirked, teasingly gazing at you as he leaned closer.

you felt your old rhythm returning, the banter you had missed so dearly now finally within reach. you and matt ordered your drinks to go, strolling the glowing streets as you caught up on everything life had offered so far.

matt and his brothers had just hit 10 million subscribers, a milestone they celebrated back home. he filled you in on your high school friends in boston—recounting the shocking drama, marriages, and break-ups that left you absolutely astonished.

the night was over before you knew it. you walked to matt’s painfully familiar car, and he opened the door for you—just like the night before you left. you swallowed hesitantly before stepping inside.

"i had a good time." matt drummed his fingertips against the steering wheel, his gaze lingering affectionately on yours.

"me too." you smiled.

you pondered for a moment, before your curiosity got the better of you.

"why did you ruin this?" you whispered, the question hanging uncomfortably in the air as your hands settled in your lap.

matt's smile quickly vanished, replaced by a frown while he averted his eyes from your face and looked ahead.

"do you—do you know how much i fucking missed you? do you know how many times i cried over you? every fucking night matthew, and you're such an asshole because you just gave up on us, just like that!" tears of anger escaped from the corners of your eyes, nails digging furiously into the skin of your palm.

matt sighed irritably, shutting his eyes briefly before meeting your resentful glare.

"you were ruining your future—"

"i don't care matthew! i missed you so fucking much and you were never there. i thought you forgot about me." you sniffled, whispering the last sentence helplessly.

matt froze.

did he fuck up this bad? he never meant to hurt you, he did this for you.

"i never forgot about you. not a single day went by where i didn't think about you—fuck—you drove me absolutely insane, you know that? and you still do! i didn't know what the fuck to do, and i'd take everything back if i could." matt timidly brought his hand to your lap, taking your clenched fist into his own and gently unraveling it before placing it on his beating heart.

"i love you more than you could ever know." matt trembled, his tear-filled eyes fixed on you.

your gaze softened as you gingerly removed your hand from his chest.

"you have a fiancé, matt." you shook your head,

"i know. i don't want to hurt her, but there was something different—something unexplainable between you and me—"

"i have a fiancé too, matthew."

matt hesitated, tears slipping down his pink cheeks.

"it's not too late." he whimpered,

"yes it is. it's better to stay friends matt, we had our chance." you fidgeted, your gaze dropping to the dashboard as you sighed shakily.

"so this is it?" matt's hands defeatedly dropped from the steering wheel.

"i'm sorry." you whispered softly.

your shaky hands pushed open the car door as you began walking over to your front porch—quickly disappearing behind the wooden door.

a week passed before your phone dinged with a familiar name displayed on the screen.

matt??

...hey, could I take you to dinner sometime? as friends, of course. i want to have that, at least.

you stare at the bright words plastered on the screen, fingers coming to reluctantly type out a response.

don’t do it. don’t respond.

...sure.

matt slowly began to regain your trust. a casual dinner led to a movie, then an amusement park, and before you knew it, you were inseparable—fooling around and making ridiculous bets, just like you used to.

you felt so happy, and matt fell deeper in love. he would gaze at you, awestruck, while you did something as simple as holding a dragonfly in your palms. you were mesmerizing—your beautiful hair flowing in the wind, pretty pink cheeks, and perfect lips that curled so nicely when you smiled. oh, matt was so in love with you; again.

after spending time together, you would evidently come home late almost every night—and your fiancé couldn't help but suspect something was amiss.

"where were you."

you jumped upon entering your house, startled by the dark silhouette of your fiancé standing ominously by the kitchen counter.

"jeez, you scared me. I was out with a friend, you know matt?" you questioned before switching on the lights.

"you mean your ex?" you fiancé glared at you, arms coming to cross over his broad chest.

"c'mon. you know it isn't like that." you rolled your eyes playfully, striding towards him until he aggressively pushed you away.

"what the fuck?" you stumbled back, fingers pressing against the counter for support.

"you've been fucking behind my back, haven't you? you whore."

you paused at his words, he was reeking of alcohol.

you've never seen him like this before.

"don't call me that. he's just a friend, what's gotten into you?"

you gasped as he forcefully shoved the white porcelain dishes off your counter, the shattering glass piercing your ears.

"i know what you've been doing, hoppin' on his dick whenever you could. you're pathetic."

your heart raced at his malicious comments, pure rage coursing through your veins.

"shut the fuck—"

your face throbbed with sharp pain as it jerked to the side. you shuddered, bringing you palm to touch your sore cheek.

did he just slap you?

"get out." you mumbled,

your fiancé huffed, brushing past you as he slammed the door— shaking the entire house with its force.

you sat on your couch, replaying the hurtful argument over and over again in your head. was he right? were you spending too much time with matt?

thunder struck in the sky, lightning illuminating your dark living room with its glow. the droplets of rain tapped gently against the roof of your home as you leaned your head against the back of the couch.

a sudden, three knocks snapped you out of your trance.

shit—was it your fiancé again?

you hesitantly made your way to the door, cracking it open to find matt standing there, drenched. he looked cold and helpless, his chest rising and falling with every breath.

you pushed the door open all the way, gasping in disbelief.

"matt? what are you—"

"i told her."

the soft pitter-patter of the rain accompanied the silence that followed.

luna?

"told her what?"

"that i'm in love with you."

you stilled as matt shivered in front of you, tenderly pushing your door wider before stepping inside. your eyes never left his as your chest resided merely inches away from him.

his hands hovered diffidently over your waist, and his brows furrowed once he saw the red mark on your face.

"what happened?" matt's thumb ran over your bruised skin, concern flashing over his features.

you stayed quiet, shifting your gaze to the hardwood floor.

"did he hit you?" matt whispered,

his hands ran cold at your meek nod, he hit you?

"that fuckin' asshole." matt drew you close, wrapping you in a tight embrace. his lips brushed gently against the bruise on your cheek before pressing softly against your forehead.

uncontrollable tears slid down your cheeks as he held you against his chest—not because you were sad, but because you missed this. so much.

your arms wrapped around him tightly, nails gripping his sweater as you both tumbled to the floor.

"i missed you matt." you cried out,

matt shushed you, tilting your chin up before planting a tender kiss onto your lips.

your fingers threaded through his hair—inhaling his scent as you drew him nearer.

matt wiped away your tears and placed you on his lap, his cold fingertips resting beneath your shirt while he passionately moved against your puffy lips.

matt wanted to worship you, make you feel like you were the only woman in this world—because to him, you were.

"you're so, so beautiful."

you smile against his lips,

"you always tell me that, matt." you slid your hands under his sweater, your tender touch sending shivers down his spine.

"yeah? that's because it's true,"

matt peeled the cotton shirt off of your body before caressing your sides beneath his fingers.

"fuck."

matt's cock strained against your thigh as he gazed lovingly at every inch and crevice of your bare skin.

he brought his lips to your chest, slotting your nipple between his lips. you were like a drug—so addicting—he felt like he couldn't live without tasting you.

matt picked you up, never parting from your lips as he brought you to your bedroom and placed you gently on the silk sheets.

his hand made its way down your body, leaving flames in its path before sliding down to your needy pussy. matt rolled his wrist, fingertips rubbing deliciously against your clit.

"i need you matt." your legs wrapped around his back, pulling him into you. matt kissed your forehead before slipping his fingers under his belt buckle, pulling his length out of his boxers and sliding his pants past his hips.

he stroked his cock, hissing as it leaked shiny beads of pre-cum. he pressed his lips against yours once he finally buried himself inside of your cunt.

matt made love to you. kissing over your face, shoulders, collarbone, breasts, everywhere.

matt loved you more deeply than you could comprehend, and he wished you understood the struggle he faced just to make it through each day.

matt's cock brushed against your cervix while you clenched around him. you brought your hands to his hair, pulling him into your neck as his lips gently rested against the skin.

his hips faltered under your legs, low moans and groans slipping past his lips before he finished with an 'i love you'

a smile graced your lips as you came soon after, heart fluttering at his heartfelt confession.

“i love you too.”

you paced frantically, ensuring every detail was perfect for your upcoming wedding.

thankfully, the decorations were exactly as you had envisioned. you sighed contentedly before settling into a lone chair.

you were getting married tomorrow and you couldn't believe it.

the day of the wedding, you stood hand in hand. gazing lovingly into each other's eyes.

matt retrieved a piece of paper, his fingers trembling as he glanced over its contents, he cleared his throat before reading aloud.

"y/n.

from the moment our paths crossed, I knew my life was forever changed. today, I choose you to be my partner, my love, and my best friend. I promise to support you, to laugh with you, and to comfort you in times of sorrow. I vow to cherish our love and respect our differences. I promise to be faithful and honest, to listen and to learn with you. with my whole heart, I pledge to you my love and devotion, now and always, and I pledge to never say goodbye, no matter the challenges we face."

matt kept his promise.

tags. @mattssluttygf @mennick4life @sturncakez @sturniolocatrinaa @mattswhore-44 @kingdomswifft @mattshighway @sturniluvr @jamiesturniolo @slut4chrisnmatt @jassysturniolo @lvrsw1ft @m0r94n @mattsturnioloswifee @themattgirl17

[ghostchems]

sacred blasphemy - catholic priest!copia x f!oc

chapter one: blood!

in another world, copia has become a catholic priest after being drawn to it during his childhood in an orphanage. he is content with his life, finally feeling grounded and like he belongs -- until a new face in his flock captures his attention.

author’s note: this is the project i’ve been talking about for the past few weeks! eventual smut, my friends, but nothing too spicy here. this story came about because a lot of fic i’ve read and also written have the papas as the seducers, the ones who draw “innocent” people to join the satanic church with their charm and sexiness so i thought what if i did it the other way around. about 4k words. ao3 link!

The young boy stood motionless in the schoolyard, his arms wrapped tightly around his chest in a protective embrace. He remained there, a still figure amidst the bustling playground, his heart pounding with anticipation. Time seemed to slow as he waited, knowing full well what was coming but powerless to stop it.

Suddenly, the air was split by the unmistakable sound of rubber against skin. A dodgeball, thrown with cruel precision, struck the boy squarely in the face. The impact was immediate and intense, causing his nose to erupt with blood. As it trickled down his face, a strange sense of relief washed over him. The nuns, alerted by the commotion, rushed to his aid, their habits fluttering as they escorted him swiftly to the infirmary. Despite the pain and the metallic taste of blood in his mouth, the boy felt a small spark of triumph. His plan had worked – he had successfully escaped the dreaded dodgeball game, just as he had hoped.

He found solace in the quiet sanctuary of the infirmary. The gentle care he received there was a balm to his battered spirit. The nun tended to his injury with practiced hands and he felt a sense of peace wash over him. Seeking further comfort, he reached for the Bible that lay nearby. It really should have been his by now. He opened its well-worn pages. The ancient words spoke to him, offering wisdom and solace in equal measure. He immersed himself in the sacred text, allowing its timeless messages to soothe his troubled mind and provide a temporary escape from the harsh realities of his daily life.

Every trip to the infirmary ended with wondering when this would all be over. When he would be free of this place. The thought both terrified and excited him. The infirmary, with its antiseptic smell and quiet atmosphere, had become a strange sort of sanctuary. Here, at least, he was safe from the chaos of the playground and the cruel taunts of his fellow orphans. he'd always felt like an outsider, never quite fitting in anywhere. His appearance didn’t help. He was a gangly child, oddly proportioned child and his eye certainly didn’t make people want to be friends with him.

But he knew he couldn't stay here forever. Sooner or later, he would have to face the world outside these walls. He turned another page of the Bible, his eyes scanning the words without really reading them.

***

This has been a long time coming for the priest.

He surveyed the parking lot as members began to arrive for mass, a content smile on his face.

Copia's journey to this moment had been a long and winding one. The sense of displacement he felt as a child led him to seek solace in faith, eventually finding his calling in the priesthood. The path hadn't been easy - there were moments of doubt, struggle, and loneliness that echoed his childhood experiences. But now, standing before his congregation, he felt a sense of peace and belonging he'd long yearned for, a stark contrast to his rootless beginnings.

As more people filed into the church, some stopping to shake his hand, Copia reflected on how far he'd come. The hardships of his past had shaped and guided him here. He felt settled, grounded in a way he never had before. This small church, this community—it was home. Though it had taken some getting used to on their part. He was the strange priest with the ghostly white eye. The one who sometimes had dark circles around his eyes, rumored to be from any number of things. Definitely not your typical priest. His appearance had initially raised eyebrows and sparked whispers among the congregation. Some had even questioned whether he was fit to lead their church in the wake of beloved Father Acosta’s retirement. But Copia's genuine compassion and unwavering dedication to his flock had gradually won them over. Very gradually. Still, he couldn't help but notice the occasional curious glance or startled reaction from newcomers, though that wasn't very often.

He shook the thoughts off, focusing on the message he was about to deliver. Copia was excited to share his homily today, having worked on it for the last few days. The message he had prepared felt particularly poignant, addressing themes of acceptance and unity within the community, drawing inspiration from Ephesians 4:2-3: "Be completely humble and gentle; be patient, bearing with one another in love. Make every effort to keep the unity of the Spirit through the bond of peace." He hoped his words would resonate with the congregation and foster a sense of belonging for all members - a belonging that he would gladly provide after being deprived of it for so long in his own life. The irony wasn't lost on him; the outsider now creating a space of inclusion for others.

“Father Copia!”

Copia spun around at the sound of his name, a warm smile spreading across his face as he recognized the pair approaching him. Mark, a single father who had become a regular at the church, was gently guiding his daughter Maisie forward.

"Ah, good morning, Mark! And hello there, Maisie," Copia greeted them, his voice softening as he addressed the shy little girl. Maisie, usually hesitant to make eye contact, was clutching something in her small hands.

"Go on, sweetheart," Mark encouraged, giving her a gentle nudge. "Show Father Copia what you made."

With a deep breath, Maisie stepped forward and held out a piece of paper. Copia knelt down to her level, his mismatched eyes twinkling with curiosity. "What's this, little one?"

Maisie's voice was barely above a whisper. "I... I drew you, Father."

Copia carefully took the offered drawing, his heart swelling with emotion as he examined it. There in bright crayon strokes, was an unmistakable portrait of himself. Maisie had captured every detail - his black cassock, his graying brown hair, and most notably, his distinctive eyes. One was scribbled a deep green, while the other was left white.

"M-Maisie," Copia breathed, genuinely touched. "This is beautiful. Th-thank you so much." He looked up at the girl, who was now beaming with pride. "This is, ehm… this really is me."

Mark chuckled, resting a hand on his daughter's shoulder. "She's been working on it all week. Wouldn't let me see it until it was finished."

Copia stood, still holding the drawing carefully, almost unable to tear his eyes away. “This is going straight to my office. I'll treasure it always, piccolina." The little girl's shy smile grew wider, and Copia felt a warmth spread through his chest. He was so touched by Maisie's gesture that he felt a lump forming in his throat. He tried to mask it with a cough, urging them to get to their pews. "Thank you again," he managed, his voice slightly rough. "Please, take your seats. We'll be starting soon." As Mark and Maisie moved away, Copia took a moment to compose himself, touched by the unexpected kindness. He carefully folded the picture and tucked it into his pocket.

The last few congregants entered the church with Copia watching, taking a deep breath to center himself. The moment had arrived. With a final glance at the sky—a calming ritual he'd long practiced—he turned and strode towards the entrance. His mind was already racing with anticipation. He could feel the weight of his responsibility, the trust his congregation had placed in him. As he stepped into the church, the familiar scent of incense and old wood enveloped him, grounding him in the present moment. Even so, the chasuble always felt heavy on his shoulders. It was green today — to represent the 17th Sunday in Ordinary Time. He let it drape over him, heavy yet calming. Copia took his place at the altar, ready to begin the service.

His eyes swept over the congregation. The familiar faces of his flock brought comfort, but a new presence caught his attention. A nun he hadn't seen before sat in one of the back pews, her head bowed in prayer. Something about her struck him as... different, though he couldn't quite place why. His gaze lingered on her as the words to his introduction fell effortlessly from his lips until a sudden, sharp pain flared behind his left eye — his white eye. The sensation was entirely new, a stinging that made him blink rapidly. Copia faltered for a moment, taken aback. He'd never experienced anything like it before, especially not during a mass.

He recovered quickly, his hands flying into motion as he continued his sermon. His fingers danced through the air, emphasizing key points with dramatic gestures. The congregation seemed to lean in, captivated by his animated delivery. His Italian heritage shone through in every sweeping motion and expressive flick of the wrist.

"And so, my dear brothers and sisters," Copia proclaimed, his hands spread wide, "we must remember that our faith is not just words, but actions." He brought his palms together. "It is in our deeds that we truly show our love for God and our fellow man." As he spoke, Copia found his natural rhythm, his earlier discomfort fading into the background. His hands continued to paint pictures in the air, bringing his message to life with each gesture.

Throughout the service, Copia found his gaze drawn back to the mysterious nun. Her posture, the way she held herself during the hymns, it all seemed slightly off-kilter for a woman of the cloth. He shook off the feeling, chiding himself for being distracted during mass. As a priest, his focus should be solely on the service and his congregation. Yet, there was something undeniably intriguing about this newcomer. Copia silently admonished himself, refocusing his attention on the sacred rituals at hand. He took a deep breath, centering himself in the familiar rhythms of the mass.

When it came time for communion, Copia's heart rate inexplicably quickened as the line of parishioners moved forward. The new nun approached and he felt an odd tension in the air. She raised her head, and their eyes met. Copia's breath caught in his throat. Her eyes were a striking shade of blue, almost luminous in the church's dim lighting.

"The body of Christ," Copia intoned, his voice steady despite his inner turmoil.

"Amen," the nun replied, her voice a low, melodious whisper that sent an unexpected shiver down Copia's spine. To his surprise, she opened her mouth instead of raising her cupped hands as most parishioners did. He exhaled slowly, steeling himself, momentarily thrown by this deviation from the usual practice.

He placed the communion wafer on her tongue, his finger brushed it ever so slightly. A jolt of... something... passed between them, leaving Copia momentarily stunned. The nun's lips curled into the faintest of smiles as she turned away, leaving Copia almost shattered. Shaking himself mentally, he continued with the communion, but his thoughts kept drifting back to those piercing blue eyes and that enigmatic smile.

The last of the parishioners returned to their seats, Copia moved back to the altar, a place of safety for him. He carefully cleaned the sacred vessels, his movements deliberate and reverent. The familiar ritual helped to calm him, pushing away the lingering thoughts of the nun. He felt like he was in autopilot for the rest of Mass, not his favorite feeling in the world but he was at least able to get through it. He raised his hands, inviting the congregation to stand for the prayer after communion. “Let us pray," he intoned, his voice carrying through the church. He recited the prayer, asking for God's continued blessings and grace upon those who had received the Eucharist.

After the prayer, Copia shared his usual weekly announcements with the congregation. He reminded them about the upcoming parish potluck and called for volunteers for the food bank drive. The attentive parishioners responded with nods and murmurs of agreement. These community events and opportunities to give back were truly Copia's favorite aspects of his role—even more so than having an audience for his sermons. Such initiatives held a special place in his heart; after all, he'd benefited greatly from them during his own upbringing.

Finally, it was time for the Concluding Rite. Copia spread his arms wide, his voice warm as he spoke the familiar words: "The Lord be with you." The congregation responded in unison, "And with your spirit." He then gave the final blessing, making the sign of the cross over his flock. Mass drew to a close, members began filing out of their pews and Copia felt a mixture of relief and lingering unease. The service had gone well, despite the unexpected distraction. Yet as he watched the congregation file out, his eyes couldn't help but search for a glimpse of blue eyes and a nun's habit among the departing crowd.

He lingered in the pull for a moment longer then made his way into the crowd, exchanging warm greetings and engaging in light conversation. He found himself particularly drawn into a chat with Margot, a cherished elderly parishioner who never missed a Sunday service.

"Father Copia," Margot beamed, her eyes twinkling with excitement, "I can't wait for the potluck! I'm planning to bring my famous lemon tarts. Everyone always seems to enjoy them so."

Copia's face lit up at the mention of Margot's renowned dessert. "Ah, your lemon tarts are truly a blessing, Margot. I'm looking forward to them myself." He leaned in conspiratorially, "I'm thinking of making pasta for the event. I, eheh, got the new Martha Stewart cookbook and..."

Their pleasant exchange was interrupted by a gentle tap on Copia's shoulder. He turned to find Sister Laura, one of the regular nuns, standing beside the mysterious newcomer he had noticed earlier.

"Father," Sister Laura began, her voice warm but formal, "I'd like to introduce you to our newest member, Sister Veronica."

Copia's breath caught in his throat as his eyes met those striking blue ones once again. Sister Veronica offered a small, shy smile. He took her in, trying to be discreet. She was petite, with wisps of dark hair escaping from beneath her habit. Her posture seemed self-protective, arms wrapped around herself. Copia couldn't help but notice how her blue eyes sparkled with an inner light, a contrast against her pale skin. He quickly averted his gaze, reminding himself of his position and the impropriety of such thoughts.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Father Copia," Sister Veronica said, her voice carrying the same melodious quality he remembered from communion.

Copia reached out to shake her hand as he felt a familiar stirring within him - a temptation he had grappled with before. The touch of her hand sent a jolt through him, reminiscent of their earlier encounter during communion.

"Welcome to our parish, Sister Veronica," Copia managed, his voice steady the discomfort that warred inside him. "I hope you'll find a home here with us."

Sister Veronica's smile widened, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "Thank you, Father. I already feel welcomed." She glanced around the church, her gaze lingering on the ornate stained glass windows. "It's a beautiful parish you have here."

Copia nodded, his eyes following her gaze. "Indeed, we are blessed with such beauty. Perhaps… I could, eh, give you a tour sometime, show you some of the hidden treasures?" The words left his mouth before he could stop them, and he felt a flush creep up his neck. Sister Veronica's eyes widened slightly, a hint of something unreadable flickering in their depths.

Sister Laura, sensing the tension, cleared her throat softly. "Father, perhaps you could tell Sister Veronica about our upcoming potluck? I'm sure she'd love to contribute."

Copia blinked, grateful for the interruption. "Ah, yes, of course," he replied, his voice a touch higher than usual. "We'd be delighted to have you join us, Sister Veronica. It's a wonderful opportunity to meet the congregation."

Sister Veronica nodded, her blue eyes sparkling with interest. "That sounds lovely, Father. Perhaps I could bring my grandmother's secret recipe for cannoli?" She glanced at Sister Laura, who nodded approvingly. Copia felt a flutter in his chest at the mention of the Italian dessert, one of his favorites.

"That's perfect, Sister Veronica," Copia said, his tone polite but brief. "I look forward to trying it." He nodded to both nuns. "If you'll excuse me, I have some matters to attend to. Sister Laura can help you with any other questions."

With that, Copia turned and walked briskly towards his office, his mind spinning with frantic thoughts of what he was feeling. In almost a blink of an eye, he had arrived, quickly seeking the solace. He leaned against the closed door, his heart racing. A panicked laugh escaped his lips, echoing in the silence of his office. "Why?" he whispered to himself, running a hand through his hair. "Why do I feel this way?"

The image of Sister Veronica's piercing blue eyes flashed in his mind, causing a shiver to run down his spine. He shook his head vigorously, trying to dispel the thoughts. This wasn't right. He was a man of the cloth, dedicated to his faith and his congregation. These feelings... they were inappropriate, forbidden even.

Copia pushed himself away from the door and paced the small confines of his office. His hands fidgeted restlessly, a nervous habit he'd never quite shaken. "Get a hold of yourself," he muttered, his Italian accent thickening with his distress. He paused by his desk, his eyes falling on the worn Bible that always sat there. Guilt washed over him in waves. Copia sank into his chair, burying his face in his hands. He needed to pray, to seek guidance and strength. But for the first time in a long while, he felt off kilter.

Copia shook his head, trying to dismiss the worry. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a folded piece of paper - Maisie’s drawing. A deep sigh fell from his lips.

This was why he had chosen this path. This was his purpose - to guide, to protect, to be a beacon of hope for those who needed it most. The innocence and trust reflected in that simple drawing grounded him, reminding him of his vows and responsibilities.

"I will stay the path," Copia whispered to himself, his resolve strengthening despite the lingering worry about his eye. With renewed determination, he clasped his hands together and bowed his head in prayer, seeking the guidance he so desperately needed - not just for his spiritual dilemma, but now also for this unexpected physical concern.

As Copia he began, a sudden, sharp pain lanced through his eye. He winced, his hand instinctively reaching up to touch the affected area. The world around him began to blur, his vision swimming in and out of focus. Panic rose in his chest as he struggled to make sense of the plan.

He felt a warm trickle from his nose. Copia lowered his hand, his eyes widening in shock as he saw the crimson stain on his fingers. Blood. He was bleeding. In a daze, he fumbled for a tissue, his movements clumsy and uncoordinated. He pressed the cloth to his nose, his gaze fell upon the drawing in front of him. His entire body went rigid, a mix of anger and despair welling up inside. Droplets of blood had fallen onto the paper, marring the innocent crayon strokes with stark red splatters. Copia stared at the ruined drawing, his heart sinking. With trembling hands, he carefully folded the bloodstained paper and tucked it into his pocket.

More blood spilled from his nose, splattering on his desk. Panic ripped through him, his head feeling light and heart thundering in his chest. He stumbled to his feet, his vision still blurry, and rushed out of his office towards the restroom.

He collided with someone on the way because of course he did. Looking up, his heart skipped a beat as he recognized Sister Veronica's concerned face. The sight of her caused another surge of anxiety, and to his horror, he felt a fresh gush of blood from his nose.

"Father Copia!" Sister Veronica exclaimed, her blue eyes widening with alarm. "O-oh goodness! Here, let me help you."

He wanted to protest, to tell her he had it handled but the words refused to leave him. Sister Veronica gently guided him to a nearby alcove, away from prying eyes and he followed silently. She produced a clean handkerchief from her pocket and began to dab at the blood on his face with a tenderness that made Copia's heart race even faster.

"Tilt your head forward slightly," she instructed softly, her warm fingers on his chin sending an involuntary shiver through him. "It'll help stop the bleeding." Copia complied, feeling a mixture of gratitude and unease at her proximity. The scent of her - a subtle mix of incense and something floral - filled his senses, making it hard for him to focus on anything else.

"Thank you, Sister," he managed to mumble, his voice muffled by the handkerchief. "I... I don't know what came over me."

Sister Veronica's eyes met his, filled with genuine concern. "It's alright, Father. These things happen. Just take deep breaths. Are you feeling any better?"

Copia nodded slightly, acutely aware of her gentle touch as she continued to tend to him. The bleeding seemed to be slowing and he was grateful. He took a deep breath and a wave of nostalgia washed over him. The gentle care and the clean scent of the handkerchief transported him back to his childhood days in the infirmary. He remembered the kind nuns who had cared for him then, their soft hands and soothing voices a balm to his young, troubled soul. The memory brought a bittersweet ache to his chest.

"It's... it's been a rather strange day for me," Copia finally spoke up, his voice slightly shaky. He met Sister Veronica's concerned gaze, feeling a mix of vulnerability and unease. "I apologize for troubling you with this, Sister."

Sister Veronica's expression softened, a gentle smile gracing her lips. "There's no need to apologize, Father. We all have our difficult days. Is there anything else I can do to help?"

Copia felt a warmth spread through his chest at her kindness, even as he struggled with the conflicting emotions her presence stirred within him. He shook his head slightly, careful not to dislodge the handkerchief. "Your assistance has, eh, been more than enough, Sister. Thank you." Copia gave a deep sigh. "I'll make sure this is spotless when I return it to you, Sister." He tugged at the handkerchief.

Sister Veronica shook her head gently, her blue eyes warm. "Please, keep it, Father. Consider it a small token of welcome to your parish."

"Thank you again, Sister," he whispered, raising his hand to hold the handkerchief to his nose. As their fingers brushed, Copia felt a familiar jolt course through him.

Sister Veronica's expression softened further. "I'm here if you need any assistance, Father. Please don't hesitate to ask." She lingered for perhaps a moment too long, then turned to leave, her footsteps echoing softly in the hallway.

As Copia watched her retreating figure, he felt a twinge in his chest - a mixture of gratitude, confusion, and something else he dared not name. He took a deep breath, relieved to find that the blood flow had finally stopped.

Lowering the handkerchief, Copia leaned against the wall.

A strange day indeed.

[7grandmel]

Rip of the week: 12/08/2024

I Gotta Feeling, Sung by EVERYONE!

Season 6 Featured on: Transmission Archive ~ The SiIvaGunner All-Star Nuclear Winter Festival Collection

Ripped by Vincent Mashups, Jp, Grambam36

Requested by Corb, uwustepanne and an anonymous reader! (Request Form)

I worry sometimes that I talk up the atmosphere and feeling of Season 6 a bit too much on here. To me it is still undoubtedly SiIvaGunner's most underrated Season, a period of the channel where even I was beginning to tune it out yet was left enamored once I realized what it was doing - its meaning being something I've covered endlessly in posts like Totally Shaaking Out Right Now, Bramble Blast Collab, The End of HHGregg, and far too many more. The overall picture I've painted is that of a Season with a sort of dour moodiness to it the whole way through, an aura of something that's all about to change, a slow trickle towards the end - yet, like with any SiIvaGunner Season, it's never possible to make such a cut-and-dry assessment of things. That's part of why following the channel is so much fun: There can be a broad idea for what the channel is currently doing, yet so many rippers can put their own spin and interpretations on said idea as to morph it into something far more layered. Because while on the whole Season 6 represents the ideas of letting go of the past and moving on through a sorrowful lens, I Gotta Feeling, Sung by EVERYONE! spins that mood into something worth celebrating - a last hurrah, a final festival, and one big show to send us all off into the apocalypse.

With that context in mind, it really shouldn't have been surprising to me that multiple people wound up requesting this rip for coverage. Indeed, it's also one that I've had sitting in the back of my head for a very long time, as a faint memory of what it was like to follow the channel back toward the final months of Season 6. That feeling of things coming to a close was gradually creeping up on us - or at least, it had begun feeling that way to me - yet for the longest time we didn't quite get WHAT was happening, what terrible fate that we were supposed to be dreading. The Christmas Comeback Crisis? The King for a Day Tournament series? Wood Man? The SiIva AI? The SiIvaGunner channel ITSELF? There was a lot of uncertainty swirling around, yet it was a ride that we couldn't really do much about other than just go along - a feeling that was only emphasized more and more with the start of the Nuclear Winter Festival, or DoomFes.

As the festival went on, we got to see Wood Man and friends meet and pass all sorts of people in the nuclear wasteland, like a slow gathering of stars on the verge of fading - it was becoming more and more clear that the event wasn't just some inconsequential one-off like Season 5's WesternFes, but would be having...SOME sort of impact, a trip down memory lane but with a looming abyss at the road's end. And in the midst of all of those feelings, underneath the atmospheric artwork and writing being done throughout the entire event - I Gotta Feeling, Sung by EVERYONE! drops. A spark of such joy, nine days before Christmas Day, in the middle of the apocalypse. Where did this all come from?

Well, obviously, it came from the brilliant minds of rippers Vincent Mashups, Jp, Grambam36 - all three of which I've covered on the blog before with some of the channel's greatest rips, such as Gate Happy, Bowser is Coming. and SUNGORE. But more to the tune of the channel's lore and the narrative of Doomfes, the retro-YouTube aesthetic and seemingly boundless energy of childlike whimsy and joy always stems from one more of SiIvaGunner's many stars met along the way - Unregistered Hypercam 2 of the King for a Day Tournament fame. And while it's certainly an assumption to say that I Gotta Feeling, Sung by EVERYONE! was specifically made to be a tribute to Hypercam, I could personally think of no better way to represent him for this event, as the glowing spark of internet joy that helps keep the SiIvaGunner channel afloat.

And it's that spark of joy that the rippers captured so excellently within the rip in particular - I Gotta Feeling isn't quite on the level of old-internet anthem as songs like Never Gonna Give You Up or Dreamscape of How 2 Do Anything fame are, yet its still a song I vividly remember hearing tons of back in 2009-2011ish YouTube, a theme bumping with optimism and happiness for the days ahead. It might seem a bit odd to be using it for the context of a Nuclear Apocalypse event at first brush, yet nostalgia is hardly ever a purely joyous thing - for as much joy as I Gotta Feeling brings me, it is at once also a bittersweet joy, with an understated sadness over the fact that things have changed so much since those days 15-plus years ago. It's that bittersweetness, I feel, that I Gotta Feeling, Sung by EVERYONE! runs with.

The rip is built on having the song be performed by voice clips and sentence-mixings of a vast pool of online memes - yet unlike what you may initially expect, it's not kept isolated to just nostalgic early-internet memes. The song title isn't being facetious: Everything from Zelda CDi Ganon, to Gangnam Style, to Friday Night Funkin', to Smosh, to Crash Bandicoot Woah, to even a sprinkle of classic SiIvaGunner memes like We Are Number One. The rip is distinctly different from rips like Corridors of Vine or even most other Hypercam rips, which focus on nostalgia for one specific era of online culture - instead, I Gotta Feeling, Sung by EVERYONE! reaches across the entire internet for one collective, massive embrace, a hug the size of 20-something years worth of online jokes. It's a bit silly to get sentimental over, maybe - but that goes for the entire channel, doesn't it?

It's of course all helped greatly by the rip itself being executed perfectly from that concept. The sources are more than just a greatest-hits of old memes, as they all fit their chosen lines near perfectly, all pitch shifted and sentence-mixed just enough to fit the lyrics yet never to the degree of making them unidentifiable. They're all here in full force, all introduced by the video opening with the most Unregistered of Unregistered Hypercam 2 YouTube editing. It sets the stage for something oh so easy to love, yet to me I Gotta Feeling, Sung by EVERYONE! inspires a feeling so much more complex than love. It was a moment that brought us all together, not crying because it's over, but smiling because it happened.

[phos-phorus]

Simi!

And again it’s dramatic hurt and angst (kinda) but they are happy (but bruised) in the end I promise.

I wrote this at 4am and haven’t proofread it but I’m sharing it anyway bc I love y’all.

Hope you enjoy my mindless drabbles!

And quick disclaimer: this Drabble contains depictions of a crash and light wounds. The content is purely fictional and this crash did not happen irl

It happened so quickly. Kimi doesn’t even remember stopping his car. He still feels how his heart stopped when he ran towards the crash. As he was sitting in the hospital he looked down at his bandaged arms before leaning back against the wall with a deep sigh. The events that had happened only a few hours ago replaying behind closed eyes:

Approaching the upcoming turn, Kimi saw Sebastian's car twitch violently, the rear tires losing grip on the unforgiving asphalt. The Ferrari spun out of control, veering sharply and slamming into the barriers with a deafening crash.

Time seemed to slow as Kimi's heart lurched in his chest. His breath caught, his pulse thundering in his ears. The sickening sound of metal crunching and the sight of Sebastian's car crumpling like a soda can filled him with a dread he had never known. His instincts took over, and he eased off the accelerator, his mind solely focused on his best friend.

"Kimi, maintain your position! Are you hearing us? Maintain position!" A voice barked over the radio, but Kimi barely registered it. He pulled his car to the side of the track, ignoring the frantic commands blaring in his ear.

Fear and adrenaline coursing through his veins, Kimi vaulted out of his cockpit and sprinted towards the crash site. The acrid smell of burning rubber and the sight of the smoking wreckage fueled his desperation. He pushed past marshals and safety personnel, his usually calm demeanor shattered by raw panic.

"Sebastian! Seb!" Kimi shouted, his voice strained with fear. He reached the car, the twisted metal and shattered carbon fiber a horrific sight. The medics were trying to extract Sebastian, but Kimi couldn't stand by and watch. Without wasting any more time on useless thoughts, he dove in, heedless of the jagged debris that tore at his suit and skin.

Ignoring the searing pain in his arm where a piece of sharp metal had gouged him, Kimi focused on freeing Sebastian. He grabbed the edge of the cockpit, his hands slipping on the slick surface as he pulled with all his strength.

"Seb, can you hear me? Stay with me!" Kimi's voice cracked with emotion, his vision blurring as sweat and tears mingled on his face. He could see Sebastian's eyes flicker behind his visor, a small, dazed movement that gave Kimi the strength to keep going.

Suddenly, flames erupted from the rear of the car, licking hungrily at the exposed fuel lines. The sight of the fire caused his breathing to stop and despite the growing heat Kimi’s body went cold with fear. Sharp edges of broken carbon fiber and metal cutting through his gloves and skin. Kimi’s hands, now bloodied and trembling, fumbled with the buckles and straps of Sebastian’s harness.

He pulled with all his might, finally yanking Sebastian free from the smoldering wreckage. With a final, adrenaline-fueled burst of energy, he dragged Sebastian away from the car, just as the fire engulfed it completely.

As safety crews finally extinguished the flames and lifted Sebastian onto the stretcher, Kimi’s vision blurred from exhaustion and pain as he collapsed to his knees, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Blood trickled down his arm, the pain a distant echo compared to the relief flooding his system.

"Kimi, there is a second ambulance arriving shortly for you but we need to get Sebastian to the hospital right now” one of the medics said firmly, but Kimi shook his head, his bloody hand clutching Sebastian's gloved fingers.

"I'm coming with you, I’m not leaving him" Kimi insisted, his voice a determined rasp. The medics relented, allowing him to sit beside the stretcher as they hurried to the hospital simply because they couldn’t waste any time.

Inside the hospital, the chaos of the track seemed a world away. Kimi hovered near Sebastian, his injured arm throbbing but his attention solely on his teammate. He watched as the medics assessed Sebastian, telling doctors to fuck off and concentrate on Seb whenever they tried to assess Kimi’s wounds as well.

The tension in his body slowly easing as they confirmed that Sebastian was shaken and bruised but largely unhurt. Only then he allowed the doctors to treat his cuts as well.

Sebastian turned his head, his eyes finding Kimi's. "You look worse than I do," he murmured, a weak smile playing on his lips.

Kimi let out a shaky breath, a smile of his own breaking through the worry. "Just making sure you’re okay, Seb" he replied, his voice thick with relief.

In that moment, surrounded by the beeping monitors and hushed activity of the medical team, Kimi Räikkönen, the unflappable Iceman, felt the warmth of his emotions thaw his usual reserve. He had risked everything to be there for Sebastian, and as he held Sebastian’s hand, he knew he would do it again in a heartbeat.

[modern-day-bard]

Worth The Feeling

Content Warning: 18+

This story includes explicit smut, intimidation, and an age gap relationship (MC is 26, Javi is in his 40s). Minors, do not interact.

Chapter 10

I had to change my shirt twice before leaving for the airport. Every time I thought about getting onto the plane, I started to sweat so much that I must be dehydrated several times over by now. And maybe I was, maybe that's why I felt so lightheaded standing in front of my gate. That combined with the fact that I refuse to sit down. I feel like hopping from foot to foot will keep my anxiety at bay.

I start to see some familiar faces trickle in, which helps a little. Most of the hair and makeup team are here now. I gave a weak wave to Sophie who returned it, but didn't seem to take it as a friendly enough invitation to come over. I see a few other PAs, most of whom are trying to sleep on the floor before we board. Maybe I wasn't the only one who took advantage of the lack of call time this morning. Their green-ish hue screamed 'hangover'. I know that I don't look much better, though my green has nothing to do with alcohol. By the time it's ten minutes to board, my anxiety is kicked into overdrive. I haven't seen anyone from the sound crew come over to our terminal. I take out my phone and notice I have three missed calls from Lana.

Shit. I call her back immediately.

"Ava?" She sounds worried as soon as she answers.

"Hey!" I do my best to sound cheerful.

"Shit, you're freaking out. Ava, I am so sorry. I've been trying to call you. They switched sound and lighting's flight last minute. I have no idea why."

I do. I mean I must have done something horrible to have this much bad karma back to back. I feel my arms go tingly. I had been dreading the flight enough, even knowing that Lana would be next to me to hold my hand. Now what do I do?

"I did what I could but...you know. I don't exactly carry a lot of power around here." She lets out a small, curt laugh. I know she's trying to ease my tension, and my heart squeezes at her effort, but it hasn't slowed down.

"Are you okay?" Lana asks, softer now.

"Oh, yeah. Thank you for letting me know. But, you know, I can find someone who can, you know. Yeah."

"Okay you don't sound good."

"I'm sorry, um...when are you going to get to Italy?" I feel like I'm going to cry, and I should probably ask something else if I want to prevent that from happening.

"I'll be there tomorrow at the earliest. I think Lloyd will have the airline's head on a stick if the crew isn't there by tomorrow night."

"Right," I take a deep breath.

"You know how much I wish I could hold your hand. But you've done this before. You have a lot of the crew with you. You'll be okay."

"Right," I repeat.

"Is Barb there?"

"She was supposed to be, but I don't see her." I do a quick glance at the other people waiting at my gate, but I don't really register any faces.

"Well maybe she'll be nearby. And at the very least, you know she's there with you and I'm right behind you."

"Yeah. Yeah, I'll look for Barb. Thanks Lana...I'm sorry your flight is switched."

"Me too, babes. Good luck and I'll talk to you when you land. You've got this."

"Alright, bye."

As soon as I hang up the phone, boarding begins. At this point, I'm wondering how badly I need my shitty PA salary. Pretty badly, since I live alone and am currently paying for school. Could I drop out? Could I walk to the other side of America and take a ferry over to Europe? I've always wanted to go to Italy, truthfully. But getting there is a whole other story. And as they call my section for boarding, my legs get increasingly shaky with each step I take toward the plane.

I don't hear the flight attendants as they welcome me, and I feel like a zombie walking past first class. I'm almost all the way at the back of the plane, and by the time I finally see my seat, it's the first time I feel like I really want to sit down. I think I need to sit down, because the longer I stand the tighter the walls seem.

I settle in, putting my backpack under the seat in front of me before resting my head back. I close my eyes and try to picture a wide open space and soft, safe ground. Ground that will soon be about ten thousand feet below me. I feel like I'm going to be sick. I squeeze my eyes tighter and grip the arm rests. I know one of these seats would have belonged to Lana, and I'm not sure if her seat would have been sold. I hope not. I think I would rather be alone than flying next to a stranger.

I can hear an attendant begin the safety announcements, and I think it's best to tune it out. I can barely function when the plane is on the ground, so I have no hope for myself in a disaster scenario, even if I do pay attention now. Maybe I should put my headphones in or something to drown it out. But then I remember the rule about turning off cellphones during take off, and I decide just to stay frozen in the position I'm in, my hands straining against the plastic.

But then I hear shuffling next to my little row, and I send up silent prayers that whoever it is won't be joining me on either of the seats beside me. I don't have to pray for long, because my hopes are dashed when I feel someone settled next to me on my left. Great. Now I might have to give up one of the arm rests, relinquishing my stress toy. Maybe that would be a good thing, my hands already feel sore. I take a deep breath and try to focus on easing my grip, and I get a waft of something alluring and familiar. Something musky and... cedarwood.

I crack my eyes open just to peek, and sure enough, a pair of very concerned brown eyes are watching me carefully. My eyes fully fly open now.

"I thought you might need some company." Javi says softly.

"I...you're in first class. You...I didn't even know talent was on this flight." God, it was already hard to breathe before he was here. I try looking at him out of the corner of my eye instead.

"I was in first class, but I felt like making a trade today."

"A trade?"

Javi nods, "With Barb. I would have been here sooner but the airline gave us a hard time about switching."

"I bet she was ecstatic."

"She had already finished two mini bottles by the time I left first class." His smile is playful, and despite my nerves, I laugh.

"I'm not sure which seat was Lana's, but the one I actually swapped Barb for is a few rows back. I'm assuming Lana isn't coming though."

I nod, laying my head back again as I remember that we're about to take off.

"You don't want the window?" Javi asks.

I shake my head. "I would like the opposite of being reminded of how high up we're going to be."

"In that case..." Javi steps over me, sitting in the window seat, and promptly closing the blind. He then positions himself in front of the covered window. "There. Now you only have to deal with this," He gestures to his face and gives me a devilish smile. I start giggling, but that quickly makes tears spring to my eyes.

"Hey, hey..." Javi leans toward me, and gently pries my right hand off of the arm rest, placing our then entwined hands in his lap.

"I know it's ridiculous," my voice is sputtery, and I'm trying really hard not to let the tears overflow now.

"It's not." He whispers.

The plane starts to move, and I close my eyes again. I can feel us bumping along the tarmac, and I know the worst part, takeoff, is coming up. Subconsciously, I squeeze Javi's hand. He gives me three light squeezes back before running small circles across the back of my hand with his thumb. We start picking up speed, and with it my breathing hitches. I'm worried this is going to turn into a full-blown panic attack now.

"Ava," Javi says quietly.

"Mhm?" My lips remain a tight line, my eyes still screwed shut.

"Did I ever tell you I can read palms?"

"Um, what? No..." Why is he talking about this right now?

"I can. I'm really good at it." He flips my hand, resting it in his left palm. He separates our fingers, and brings his right hand on top of mine. "I was on location for a film a few years back, and one of the locals taught me and my co-star. She said that the art of palm reading had been passed down from generation to generation in her family. It's a very old art, and they believe it to be one of the most accurate ways of telling one's future."

He starts drawing indecipherable shapes on my palm with his forefinger. The movement makes me open my eyes, curious if I can figure out what shape he's drawing if I can actually see it.

"This right here," He draws a line at the top of my palm, "is your heart line. Yours is quite long, meaning that you will have many friends and possibly lovers throughout your life. It also means that you have a big heart, lots of compassion."

I just stare at him, confused. He barely looks up before he continues, unfazed.

"This," he draws a line vertically, "is your health line. You will have excellent health, but suffer from the common cold a lot more often than those around you."

I let out a brief laugh. "That's true, actually."

"I told you I'm good." He gives me a brief, sly smile. "Finally, this is your life line. It's also quite long. Meaning that you will land safely in Italy and all of this will just be a silly memory."

He continues to brush his fingers over my palm, and I narrow my eyes at him.

"You made all of that up."

"Oh, all of it," he says matter-of-factly.

"So you're a liar?"

"No. I'm a damn good distraction."

I look at him, puzzled.

"You did it, Ava. You're in the air. It's all smooth sailing from here."

I look around, not like that will necessarily help me discern where we are, but when I take in the feeling of the plane around me and the seat underneath me, I realize that we are in fact flying. We're not even climbing at a steep rate right now, it feels like we've almost leveled out.

I feel like I can look at him now without having an onslaught of heart palpitations.

"Thank you." I say sincerely.

He just gives me a knowing smile.

"How did you know?" I ask.

"You mentioned it to me when we went to dinner."

I hadn't even remembered that. I must've said it in passing.

"Oh my god, and Barb mentioned you had asked about what plane the crew was on. You're sneaky."

"All I'm hearing is that you and Barb were talking about me." His smile turns flirtatious, teasing. My heart tugs, remembering our last conversation before this one. And how nothing has changed. We still can't risk each other's careers, and it's probably not even wise of us to be holding hands on a flight with at least one hundred strangers surrounding us.

He must have noticed that my face fell, because he pulls my chin toward him, making me look him in the eyes.

"Let's not think about it," he whispers. "At least not for now."

I search his eyes for a moment, trying to figure out why he would even bother doing this for me. Why give up his fancy first class seat? Why risk watchful eyes seeing our entangled hands? Why play with my heart if we both know how this ends?

Despite all of those things, I still find myself nodding. "Okay."

"How do you think you're feeling now? Still anxious?" He asks.

"Oh yeah. I'll be anxious the whole flight, that's usually how it goes."

"It's a redeye. Can you sleep on planes?"

"Usually no, but sometimes I think my body gets so tired of being anxious that it will shut down."

"Ahh," He presses his lips together, nodding. "In that case, I'd like to distract you a little longer if that's alright with you."

I smirk at him. "What distractions did you have in mind?" I don't mean it to sound suggestive, but it's like my vocal chords protest against an appropriate tone when I'm talking to Javi.

"Tell me about your parents," he looks sincere and relaxed, leaning back in his seat a little. His hand is still holding mine.

Okay, that question will definitely keep things PG.

"Oh. Um...they're pretty great, actually." I smile to myself.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I don't get to see them as much as I'd like. Flights across the country aren't exactly cheap and with work and school I probably wouldn't have the time even if I had the money. But we call each other every so often. They're both accountants so it was a very creative household," my voice drips in sarcasm, "They don't really understand my love for the industry. But they're supportive, they ask questions."

"How'd they feel about the move to California?"

"They weren't thrilled. New York was a lot easier to stomach for them than the other side of the country. They also really loved John, so they weren't thrilled with that situation either. I think it was kind of like losing a son for them. They'd known him for a long time."

Javi's gaze hardens for a minute, but he nods, still looking to take in information.

"Do you have any siblings?" he asks after a moment.

"Nope. I'm a spoiled only child."

"I don't get the spoiled vibe from you."

"What tipped you off? The fact that you've already seen me rewear the same five outfits about twenty times?" I do a little shimmy, referencing downward to my classic PA wear of jeans and a t-shirt.

He chuckles lightly. "I was more so thinking of the way that you treat people. Barb spoke very highly of you."

I scoff, "I'm not buying it. Barb doesn't speak highly of anyone."

"Okay fine," he chuckles again, "It was more of what she didn't say. She can complain about anyone on set, but she had nothing bad to say about you. And she did say you're a hard worker and she's never heard you complain. She said the last part in sort of an irritated way though."

I laugh a little now, too. "She would probably like me more if I complained with her. And if you ask Lana, she'll tell you I complain plenty."

"You two are really close, huh?"

I nod, "Lana's my family out here. I know she felt horrible that she couldn't come with me today, but it's not even her fault."

Javi's thumb starts rubbing circles on my hand again, looking a little bit concerned. I imagine he's hoping I don't start with the tears again. But strangely, that feeling seems really far away right now.

"It's your turn," I say.

"My turn for what?"

"To tell me about your family. You always want me to do all the talking," I tease.

"Not true. And you still haven't Googled?"

"Nope. I told you, inhumane."

He smiles, maybe even a little relieved that I hadn't researched him still. Not that any of that would matter to me. There couldn't be anything online about him that would alter the man in front of me. I bet they didn't even know he could read palms.

"Well, they're also pretty great," His face brightens, smiling to himself about memories only available to him. "They're also in New York, and I also don't get to see them very often. Not in pursuit of a master's degree, of course, but this job can get sort of hectic. As you know. But we talk on the phone a lot, too."

"Siblings?"

"Two of them. Two sisters, and I have three nieces now, too."

"You're close with them." It wasn't a question, I could tell by his expression and how his voice softened mentioning them. His soft voice was starting to lull me a little, and I felt a yawn creeping up on me. I didn't want to release it in fear that Javi would think I didn't want to know about his family. Truthfully, hearing about them was relaxing. Hearing his voice talk about something he loved was soothing, and I feel like my body was finally coming out of fight or flight.

"Very much so."

"They must think you're pretty cool, first class tickets and red carpets." That yawn is really threatening me now. My lip trembles.

"Would you just yawn already please?" I look up at him, embarrassed, but his smile is full of affection.

"No, I want to hear your stories."

"I can see your eyelids drooping."

"You just don't want me to know all your secrets. You're trying to force me to Google you."

"I'm glad you haven't..." he starts to brush his fingers up and down my arm, and I worry that I'll get goosebumps. "But I would still like you to try to sleep."

At the mention of the word, I finally let my yawn come out. I rest my head back against the headrest once more, finally out of exhaustion instead of panic.

"Who said I was even tired?" I joke.

"You'd feel better if your first day in Italy wasn't consumed by jet lag. You know I'm right." I can hear the smugness in his voice, but my eyes continue to drift shut.

"Fine. You're right." I fully shut my eyes now, already feeling my head nodding to one side. Javi continues brushing his fingertips up and down my arm, and I sigh.

"You are wrong about one thing though," I say, fighting sleep.

"What's that?" I can hear his smile even in his whisper.

"This won't be a silly memory... You remembered I was afraid of flying... And you helped me."

I'm vaguely aware of my head drooping to my right, and landing on Javi's shoulder. And I swear I hear him murmur something against my temple, but sleep has already found me.

Next Chapter

Previous Chapter

Series Masterlist

[buck-up-buck]

Summary:

"Buck?" Blinking his eyes open, he looked up to see Buck's bright blue eyes looking so softly down at him. The man was crouched at the side of Eddie's bed, smile so gracious that Eddie felt his heart skip a beat. God he had missed that smile.

Or

Buck comes to say his final goodbye.

Eddie threw himself face-first onto the left side of the bed, his energy seeping out of his bones as he melted into the mattress.  The new probie had muttered the Q-word right at the start of their 24-hour and the bell was nonstop, the calls getting weirder and more tasking as the day went on.  Eddie was never one for superstitions but he could have killed the kid with his own bare hands as the shift came to a close. By the time he made it home, Chris was already asleep and Eddie was about ready to sleep for the entire 48 hours he had off.  Chris had finally started sleeping through the night again and Eddie was entirely grateful for it, even if he struggled sometimes. But with how bone-deep tired he was, he knew sleep would come a lot easier than usual tonight.  He doesn't even remember falling asleep, his shoes still untied, loosely hanging off his feet that weren't even on the bed properly, but boy was he sleeping deep.  Until he breathed in deeply and his brain short-circuited, the scent of an earthy cologne trickling up his nostrils. Then, a hand carded through his hair, so softly, he could barley feel it, but it was there.  "Eddie, baby, you have to wake up." Surely not, because Buck wasn't- he was-  "Buck?" Blinking his eyes open, he looked up to see Buck's bright blue eyes looking so softly down at him. The man was crouched at the side of Eddie's bed, smile so gracious that Eddie felt his heart skip a beat. God he had missed that smile. "Hey, baby."  "How are you here?" Eddie didn't understand, how long had he been asleep?  Buck looked as gorgeous as the last time he saw him, still wearing his white v-neck t-shirt that was just a little too tight around his biceps, his light blue denim jeans with the one rip in the left knee that Chris always insisted looked stupid and misplaced, whereas Buck just thought he looked trendy. Eddie never had the heart to disagree with him, even if he did agree with his Son.  But Buck was also so beautiful in Eddie's eyes no matter what he wore.  "You need to wake up baby."  "I am awake. I've missed you." Eddie was still lying face down on his bed, cheek mushed into his pillow, a little bit of drool sliding down his chin that Buck wiped away with his thumb, a giggle escaping his lips. "Chris will want to see you." God Chris has missed him so much, he will probably latch onto Buck's leg and never let go, not that Buck would mind.  "He's still asleep. He is going to need you, Eddie."  "He needs his Buck." A sad smile lessened the glow in Buck's blue eye.  Eddie let out a wounded sound from the back of his throat; he hated seeing Buck so sad. "I love you so much."  "I love you too. I don't want you to ever forget that, okay?" Buck ran his hand down Eddie's cheek with a sigh, a lone tear rolling down his cheek. "You are so strong, Eddie, and I am so sorry."  "Sorry?"  "I need you to wake up." Leaning down, Buck tenderly placed a kiss on Eddie's lips, the man turning his head off the pillow to kiss him back, a content sigh slipping past his lips. It was slow, passionate, and everything that Eddie had missed. "Wake up baby."  Eddie's ringtone caused him to jolt off the bed, almost rolling off the side. His lips were tingling and he fumbled around to grab his phone, mind slowly coming back online. He looked around confused, hadn't- no? But he was so sure.  "Hello?" Eddie didn't even look at the called ID when he answered, voice groggy from sleep.  "Eddie-" Athena's voice cracked down the line, an icy feeling of dread sending a chill down Eddie's spine. No- he couldn't- "You found him." It was more a statement than a question, his feet numb as they hit the floor, shoes still on.                 He is going to need you, Eddie. You are so strong, Eddie. I love you too. I am so sorry. I need you to wake up. "Athena-" "We found his body. Eddie, I am so sorry." 

read on ao3

[tilltheendwilliwrite]

Heaven and Hellfire

Pairing: Eddie Munson/Female Reader 

Warnings: blood, gore, typical Stranger Things critters, small angst 

A/N: So this is my dabble into Eddie Munson and Stranger Things because “plot bunnies.” Whether I continue will depend on how fickle my muse will be. 

***

Dread narrowed the space around your heart until every beat was painful. 

The sky boiled with angry black clouds over Hawkins, adding to your sense of urgency as you headed for the trailer park at a dead run. All day the drive to hurry, go, don't stop, had driven you forward like a mad woman, but it wasn't until you reached the town that the horrible feeling you would be too late set in. 

It rose to choke your throat on every mission, but this one was the worst. This time, you knew the personal stakes involved. This time, failure was not an option. 

As you approached the rundown trailer, you could sense the wrongness that clung to it. There was an evil inside no one in their right mind would go toward. 

You never slowed down. 

Up the porch stairs and through the door, barreling in like Hell Hounds nipped at your heels, you stumbled into the living room, searching for the way through to the Upside Down.

There! Practically pulsing in the ceiling, the dark vortex spread, black lines of residual ooze spilling over into this world. 

You slowed down only long enough to throw a handful of powder into the air, causing the creeping lines to freeze and slowly begin to retreat. It wouldn't close the portal but would stop it from spreading beyond the room. Then, you threw yourself upward with strength greater than that of a human, tumbled once and landed in The Upside Down on your feet. 

The smell gagged you. You would never get over the stench of this hideous otherworld. 

As if you could feel grains of time trickling down your spine, you threw yourself out the door, down the stairs and ran again toward the pair in the distance.

Surrounded by dead and dying bats, the boy you knew as Dustin held onto the one you'd come to save.

"I didn't run away this time, right?" Eddie murmured.

Dustin shook his head. "No. You didn't run."

You fell to your knees beside them, causing Dustin to gasp and grip Eddie tighter. 

"The fuck! Where did you come from!" the boy demanded, but you couldn't take your eyes off Eddie. 

His face was beloved, though the blood on it made yours boil. How dare the foul creatures of The Upside Down do this to him!

"If you want me to save your friend, move away now," you said, finally turning to look at Dustin. 

Whatever he saw in your eyes had him scrambling backward, allowing you to gather Eddie close and cradle him in your arms as you longed for.

You smiled down at him and cupped his cheek. "You are braver than you think."

"I know you," he whispered, a shaking hand rising toward your face. 

Warm blood smeared across your skin, but you'd had blood on you before.

"Yes, as I know you," you agreed. "Take what you need from me and live."

He smiled sadly. "Too late."

Gently, you shushed him and lightly stroked his cheek. "Never. Not for me."

You pressed your lips to his, ignoring the copper taste of blood, seeking past it for the heady taste of Eddie. The taste you knew in your soul.

His tongue met yours, and you sighed, letting your power unfold as you poured your life force into him.

Dustin gasped and raised his hand to shield his eyes when the glow around you went supernova, gleaming ever brighter as what you hid from the world unfolded from your back.

Big and broad, the soft grey wings speared high behind you as they materialized and slowly spread, coming to rest over you like a warm cape.

Eddie's ability to participate grew stronger as the worst of his wounds healed until his hand gripped the back of your neck and pulled you tightly to him.

At that point, you gentled your kiss until you could draw away and smile at him. "There you are."

He stared in awe. "Angel… am I dead?"

"If you're dead, so am I, 'cause I can see her too," Dustin murmured, also starring.

"You're not dead. It was close, though. You did a courageous but idiotic thing today," you chided softly. "And people call me Dove."

"Dove…" Eddie whispered. "I dream of you."

You smiled and pressed your forehead to his. "I dream of you, too."

"That's great and all, but can you discuss dreams and make goo-goo eyes at each other somewhere not here!" Dustin asked, frantically pointing at the sky.

You looked up and found the swarms of bats regrouping, drawn to your light. 

"Help Eddie up," you commanded as you let him slip from your grasp. 

Dustin scrambled to follow your order, but Eddie grabbed your hand. 

"You can't fight them."

Fear filled his eyes, but you only smiled gently. "Sweet of you to worry, but I'll be fine."

He wasn't strong enough to keep you in his grasp, and you pulled away, rising to face the fluttering darkness. 

The bats chattered and shrieked, filling the sky with noise and the scent of death.

They came on a wave, rushing toward you, but you weren't afraid. Bats were no match for the power you wielded. 

They dove shrieking. 

You spread your wings, shielding Eddie and Dustin as the glow around you intensified until you unleashed it with a scream.

The blast tore through the swarm, shredding and killing each one. They fell smouldering out of the sky to drop like rags on the ground.

You turned back to Eddie and Dustin. Their gaping mouths would typically make you chuckle, but you were in dangerous territory, and your light would draw worse things than bats to you. 

"We have to go now."

They didn't move. 

"What the hell are you?" Dustin finally managed to spit out. 

Eddie said nothing. He was on his feet but teetering, strength waning with each passing second. 

"I will explain everything, but if we don't go now, we're not getting out-"

Something roared too close for comfort. 

Both jolted toward you as you vanished your wings and hurried to set yourself under Eddie's other arm.

With the two of them hobbling as fast as possible, you made it back to the trailer and inside.

You turned toward Dustin and grabbed him by the jacket.

"Hey, what-"

You grinned pleasantly. "Sorry about this."

Before he could speak, you chucked him upward through the portal. 

He yelled and landed on his face, but luckily the mattress broke his fall. 

You turned to Eddie. 

"You first."

"I can get myself through; you can't," you insisted.

"I can't leave you here alone."

You sighed and grabbed him by the leather jacket. "Stubborn. Always so stubborn. This will likely hurt."

Before he could ask for clarification, you leapt upward, managed to haul both of you through the portal, and flipped to take the fall on your back.

Eddie landed on you, stealing your breath but not from pain. His warmth was everything right in your world.

Then, the clock began to chime.

"Shit!"

You scrambled to your feet, hauled Eddie up and pushed Dustin toward the door.

"No, that means-" Dustin didn't finish.

He didn't need to. 

Seconds later, the world fell to chaos as the ground split open and The Upside Down began to break through.

You dragged Eddie and pushed Dustin, forcing him to run on his injured leg, but you couldn't stop.

Not until a few minutes later when the world stopped shaking.

Of one mind, the three of you collapsed to catch your breath as fire made the sky over Hawkins glow red.

"Oh, god, Max," Dustin whimpered, suddenly starting to cry. 

"She's not dead," you assured him quietly.

"What?" He stared at you before shaking his head. "How do you know that? How do you know anything? Who the hell are you?"

You glanced at Eddie and sighed. Wary suspicion had hardened his features. 

"I know because if Max were dead, the world would still be ending, and we would still be running. How she is still alive, I don't know. I won't know until I can talk to Eleven."

"You know Elle?"

"Of her. We've never met in person."

Dustin instantly grew suspicious. "What's that mean? Who do you work for?"

"Henderson," Eddie murmured, speaking for the first time. "Pretty sure she kissed me back to life. From what you've told me about Elle, I think we can trust Dove isn't a bad guy."

The sound of your name from his lips caused your heart to flutter. 

"I didn't kiss you back to life; I shared my life force with you," you murmured, watching him watch you.

"Why?" he asked, subconsciously scrubbing at the blood on his rings. 

The small glimmer of silver in the night drew your notice, and you sat mesmerized by the movement, wondering if those hands would feel as good on you as they appeared. 

"Dove?"

You glanced up, realized you'd been staring and looked away quickly. "Because I had to."

Eddie scooted closer until your thighs touched. "Why?"

That single point of contact made you shiver. "Because I had to," you whispered, finding his dark eyes in the night. 

Orange and red lit the sky, sirens screamed, but all was silent and dazzling when you looked at him. Unable to help yourself, you reached up and pulled the dirty bandana from his hair, desperate to get your hands on his curls.

"Why?" he whispered, his fingers brushing the dried blood on your cheek. 

"Because." You drifted closer. Closing the distance between his lips and yours, you whispered, "You're mine, Eddie Munson. In this life, in every life. I will always find you."

Dustin gasped, but you didn't hear a sound as you pressed your mouth to Eddie's. 

No longer did he taste like copper. The sands of time weren't trickling down your spine. Here in this quiet clearing, as the world burned around you, you were home. Everything was right and perfect.

His rings were hard but smooth against your neck as his hand came up to rest against your jaw. It was his touch that burned, filling your soul with fire. 

Your free hand slipped inside his jacket to trace down his chest as he pressed forward, kissing you fervently. 

His teeth grazed your bottom lip, and your world expanded. In every life, he remembered that move, and in every life, it made you wet. 

"Um… yeah, still here."

You broke apart to look at Dustin, having forgotten the kid for a minute.

"I think we need to find somewhere to crash," Eddie murmured. 

"We've got a place. Hot water, food, security," you promised, getting to your feet. 

"We?" Dustin muttered.

"You'll see."

[sapphireshineauthor]

My brain has decided "horror route: go"

(minor warning for mention of blood and violence, as well as potential descent into madness.)

Alan locked the door to his room and collapsed to the ground. 

He heard the song during the festival he attended with his sister. 

That's what he was going to say, but that didn't make sense, he didn't have a sister, they didn't have a sister, there wasn't a princess in the family… yet why did the memory feel so nostalgic and familiar to him? Why did an odd mix of anger and dread fill his body when he recalled that festival? 

He heard the song during the festival he attended with his sister. 

He heard the song during the festival he attended with her sister. 

He heard the song during the festival she attended with her sister. 

She… heard the song during the festival she attended with her (jealous) sister.

Alan held his head, what were these thoughts? 

He recalled the sounds of the sanshin instrument. She remembered the red umbrella her sister used that day. He remembered the jealous rage. She remembered the odd feeling of time slowing down. 

He remembered the rain. She remembered the warm blood on her hands. 

He remembered smiling. She remembered grieving. 

She remembered the umbrella piercing her abdomen. 

He remembered the full moon. 

(She) remembered hugging her sister's body as it bled out. 

He remembered… a line. 

I am me, you are dead… 

Dead? Who was dead? 

I was dead. 

I was alive. 

She killed me. 

You killed me. 

I am the one who's dead! 

"Stop!" Alan screamed, he clutched his head. Tears ran down his face as the noise in his head finally lessened. He curled up slightly. 

What… what was going on? He didn't understand any of it anymore… these memories. He knows he didn't experience them, and yet… they feel as natural and normal as any other. Why is that? Why can he remember these things… these memories… 

I remember…

I remember…

I remember… 

~~~

((When memories you know are not yours trickle into your head... why do they feel as natural as the ones you know? If they are truly your memories yet not then... who are you really?))

[softguarnere]

Like A Girl (Like A Man)

Like A Dream (Like A Plan)

Shifty Powers x OFC

Five: How Zenie Met Bobby

Summary: Bobby nods quietly. “Don’t worry Zena, I’ll keep your secret.” He offers her a kind smile. “Not like I have anyone to tell, anyway.” A/N: Finally, the Zenie and Bobby content we've all been craving Warnings: brief mention of ongoing Indigenous genocide, Zenie's dad cameo Taglist: @dcyllom @liebgotts-lovergirl @latibvles @mads-weasley @ithinkabouttzu @lady-cheeky @lieutenant-speirs @hxad-ovxr-hxart

North Carolina, 1941

It is the time of year where nature balances on the precipice between winter and spring. Warm afternoons give way to chilly evenings. Mornings begin with frosted grass blades and sweaters but end with romps in the creek to cool off by the time school lets out. The temperature is unpredictable, yet it only lends to the sense that something is happening, that the world is waking up and about to burst into bloom before your very eyes. Possibilities hang in the air like dandelion fluff.

Frost laces the windows of the kitchen, a cloud of condensation separating the warm world in the house from the chill waiting for her outside. She will need a sweater over her uniform, or a light jacket.

From across the table, Mama reaches over and squeezes her hand. The gesture does nothing to block out the tirade from the other room, though. Neither does Zenie’s intense focus on the frosted glass, how she tries to take in every detail of it, tracing it over and over with her eyes and memorizing it for lack of anything else to do – other than scream in frustration.

“Look at him out there,” she says suddenly, making Granny jump where she sits beside her at the table.

Mama leans closer to the window, squinting. “Who?”

Teddy, the old Paint horse, mills about in the pasture, nose creating small clouds as he huffs warm air over the cold grass. Old, stubborn Teddy. He likes to be scratched behind his ears. And he doesn’t mind giving rides, not really, as long as you let him truly open up and run at top speed at least once because he likes to show off his speed.

Teddy, the horse who no one has been allowed to ride since Matthew left for the Air Corps. Not even if they need a way to get to their first day at their new job.

“He’s like some kind of metaphor for all of us,” Zenie mutters into her coffee cup. “Perfectly capable, but useless because of the way he’s treated.”

“Zenie!” From her tone, Mama is either shocked or hurt. Maybe both. But is it because of what Zenie said, or because she knows it’s true? Of course she knows it’s true – they would have to be deaf to not hear Zenie’s father ranting in the next room about how the horse isn’t going to leave the pasture.

Before she can cause any more upset, Zenie stands, pushes in her chair so angrily that it squawks against the floorboards. “I better go. If I’m walking, then I don’t want to be late on my first day.”

The cold morning air does nothing to dampen the white-hot anger that boils in her veins as she takes off towards town, gravel crunching under her shoes. Her shoes, which were so nice. The one’s that Marilyn used to wear when she was a waitress in high school. They’re too small for Zenie, but she forced her feet in anyway, determined to look as nice in the uniform as her sister did. Though at this rate, the shoes will be scuffed and dirty by the end of Zenie’s first week.

Her first day goes well enough. The owner makes it clear that he only hired her on account of being Marilyn’s little sister, so she’ll have to prove herself. As if half her life hasn’t already been an epic struggle to free herself from her older sister’s shadow anyway.

The morning is slow. She doesn’t mind. Old folks come in and chat while she pours them rich coffee so strong that the aroma alone keeps Zenie herself awake. Lunch is about the same, although dread slowly begins to pile itself in her stomach like heavy stones whenever she thinks about the after-school crowd that will trickle in a little before the school day officially ends.

Before all too familiar faces begin flowing through the door, one that Zenie did not expect comes trapsing in – wearing one of the diner’s uniforms.

Bobby Dills from next door nods to her in acknowledgement as he makes his way to the back to deposit his belongings. There is no formal introduction – at least not that either of them will ever remember, anyway. It seems like they just fall in sync, waiting tables, helping each other carry out large orders, and offering each other the occasional encouraging smile.

She knows from living next door to him that Bobby is younger than her, but that’s about all that Zenie knows about Bobby himself. That, and that he has a limp that every now and then a customer will crack a joke about. Although Bobby smiles and laughs along with them, Zenie recognizes the look in his eye whenever he finally escapes their presence, coming back to the counter to wait with Zenie for the next round of guests to whisk one of them away.

 Bobby, however, seems to know something about her.

“You walked here,” he says matter-of-factly. The diner has been locked up for the evening, and the two of them stand in the fading light outside, waiting.

Zenie nods. “I did.”

“Why?” It’s not mean or judgmental. Just a genuinely curious question.

Should she tell him? Zenie has never told anyone about the strangeness that exists inside her house in the form of her father.

“Because I don’t have a car,” she finally answers after a moment of hesitation. “And my dad wouldn’t let me ride the horse like I had planned.”

“It’s cold,” Bobby notes. “You shouldn’t have to walk every day.”

“I don’t mind,” Zenie lies. The too-small shoes pinch her feet.

“Well, I do.” Bobby removes a set of keys from his pocket and makes his way over to a red truck parked in the corner of the diner’s parking lot. He looks back at Zenie after a few steps. “Are you coming?”

With you? She stops herself from saying. There’s nothing wrong with Bobby, or any of the Dills, that she’s aware of. But Mama has always made it very clear not to go accepting rides from anyone if she can help it. Too many women get taken right off the street just for being an Indian, and Zenie isn’t eager to become one of them.

Her feet throb, and the steady heartbeat she can feel in her cramped toes drowns out every warning that Mama has ever given her. She climbs into the truck.

It will feel silly one day, to look back and think that she was afraid of Bobby Dills, even for just a second. He’s a sweet kid, if not a little shy, but he makes polite enough conversation, and in a tone that makes you want to keep talking to him. Because unlike most people, Bobby talks to you, not at you. And he seems to want to get to know her, and maybe even enjoys her answers to his questions.  

The ride doesn’t feel long enough. Before she knows it, Bobby is idling the truck at the top of the drive, the place where the little gravel roads split off, one leading to the Dills’ house, the other to the McGlamery’s.

“Right here, tomorrow morning,” Bobby says. “I’ll pick you up on my way to school.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I insist.” Bobby smiles. “I want to.”

No one has ever said something like that to her before. Zenie can only nod. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” As Zenie gets out of the truck, Bobby rolls down his window, not yet allowing the conversation to end. “I don’t understand why your dad would make you walk like that. You would think he would have an appreciation for modern transportation, in his condition.”

In his condition. She almost snorts. “Because of his limp?”

Bobby’s brow furrows. “Because he’s missing a leg,” he supplies.

Now it’s Zenie’s turn to be confused. “What?!”

“Your father. He only has one leg, doesn’t he?” When Zenie only gives him an even more befuddled look in response, he rushes to explain. “He lost his leg in the war. That’s what I’ve heard him say around the farm store, when the old men stand around and tell war stories while buying their chicken feed.”

“My father wasn’t in the war. He was never even in the military. He limps because he fell out of a truck when he was eighteen. He’s nothing but a liar and a deadbeat.” The last part escapes her without her permission. She slaps a hand over her own mouth as if to contain the flood of words, but they’ve already escaped her. Bobby looks stunned. “Sorry,” she says when she feels safe enough to lower her hand. “I didn’t mean to say all that. Please don’t tell anyone.”

Bobby nods quietly. “Don’t worry Zena, I’ll keep your secret.” He offers her a kind smile. “Not like I have anyone to tell, anyway.”

There it is again – that same loneliness that Zenie recognizes from seeing it so often in herself. To think, she’s almost always felt so alone, yet there was someone right next door who might feel the exact same way.

“You can call me Zenie,” she offers. “Most everyone does.”

He smiles. “Sure thing. And you can call me Bobby.”

Zenie’s eyebrow quirks. “I was already calling you that.”

“Yeah,” Bobby replies, still smiling. “But you’re the only one I’ve given permission to.” He slaps a hand against the truck door to punctuate his own joke. “I’ll see you tomorrow!”

Zenie steps away to let him maneuver the truck down his driveway. She waves, then starts down her own.

Granny is waiting in the kitchen when she steps inside. “Who was that?”

“Bobby Dills, from next door. He works at the diner. Gave me a ride home.”

Granny hums. “He seems like a nice boy.”

“He is.” She hasn’t known him that long, but she feels certain in saying it.

And the next morning, when Bobby’s truck is waiting for her at the top of the drive, she knows that her assumption was correct.

[heniareth]

The Battle of Ostagar

Chapter 5: Flemeth’s Hut

In which Astala discovers she's not dead, but many others are, and now they have to deal with this.

Wordcount: 3653

WARNINGS:

- discussion of death - mention of cannibalism - abuse from parent to child in action

(Read the whole chapter on AO3 or down below)

Somebody screamed.

Astala bolted upright, reaching for her weapons. Only then did she realize that it was she who was screaming.

Where was she?

The interior of the hut was unfamiliar. Astala sat up to try and get a better look at her surroundings but didn't get far before she registered pain. It was dull, a throbbing to the rhythm of her heartbeat accompanied by tightness in her shoulder and belly when she moved. It sat deep. What had-

The tower.

Right.

Tentatively, Astala finished sitting up. She could do that. That was good. Going by everything she remembered—arrows, darkspawn and the Archdemon—she should be dead. She should be very dead. How was she not dead? How had she arrived... here?

She had just enough time to take a proper look around—she saw a pot over the fire, smelled stew coming from it, felt fur below her hands and spotted drying herbs hanging from the wooden beams above her—before the door opened and a young woman entered. Dark hair pulled into a bun, patchwork leather skirt and deep purple tunic... Astala blinked.

"Morrigan?"

Morrigan turned to her with a small but genuine smile. “Ah! You are awake! Mother shall be pleased.”

She crouched down in front of the pot, lifted the lid and stirred the contents. The smell of meat intensified. Astala’s stomach growled loudly.

“What happened?” Astala asked.

“You were injured, and Mother rescued you,” Morrigan answered, throwing her a glance crowned by a small frown. “Do you not remember?”

“I…” Astala strained her memory, trying to recall what exactly had happened at the tower. “There were lots of darkspawn. And a dragon! How did your mother do that?”

“I suggest you ask her,” Morrigan answered. “She may even give you an answer.”

Astala tried swinging her legs over the side of the bed. It worked just fine, apart from the pull and the fact that the throbbing sensation in her abdomen intensified. But she’d be able to make her way back to Ostagar.

A trickle of cold dread ran through her veins. Was there an Ostagar to make her way back to?

“What happened to the king’s army?” she asked.

“Your teyrn Loghain quit the field,” Morrigan said, trying a bit of the stew and adding some herbs. “The darkspawn won your battle.”

“So…” Astala said and got all words stuck in her throat. Defeat. At the hand of darkspawn. “The king’s army?”

“Massacred. There are no more Grey Wardens, other than you, the dwarven girl, and the human boy.” She paused and glanced back at the door. “He… is not taking it well.”

Astala stayed seated. She stared into the slow, licking flames below the pot and tried to wrap her head around what Morrigan had just said.

“All of them?” she finally asked. “Duncan? Our commander?”

“Dead,” Morrigan simply said, not without sympathy.

“Everybody?” Astala asked again. Jerome, Onastas, Martin with his huge pot full of food, Palla with the intimidating grey eyes…

Leonard.

Khêd.

Ilanlas.

 “Did… you say your mother only saved us three? Could the others have survived?”

Morrigan closed the lid of the pot with a firm clack of metal against metal. Then she stood up, and only then she turned to Astala.

“I am afraid I do not know,” she said. “You do not want to know what is happening in that valley.”

“Why?” Astala asked. “What's happening?”

“Are you sure you want me to describe it?” Morrigan asked.

Astala pushed herself off the bed. She could stand, fine even. She crossed her arms; she was feeling cold. Blood loss, probably.

“Please, tell me.”

Morrigan exhaled sharply, but she leaned against the hearth and spoke: “I had a good view of the battlefield. ‘Tis a grisly scene. There are bodies everywhere, and darkspawn swarm them… feeding, I think.”

She took a careful look at Astala. Astala swallowed but nodded.

“Continue?”

“The darkspawn are also looking for survivors,” Morrigan said. She wasn't enjoying this conversation. “They drag them down beneath the ground; I cannot say why.”

Sand against her cheek, slipping uselessly through her fingers. Claws wrapped around her ankle, pulling, the screeching darkspawn dragging her into the cave that had swallowed Ilanlas’ friend.

Maker save her, and may his gods watch over Ilanlas. The cold dread in her veins spread.

“Thank you for helping us, Morrigan,” Astala managed to say, dragging herself back to the present.

“I…” Morrigan hesitated. “You are welcome. Though Mother did most of the work. I am no healer.”

“Still.” Astala gave her a weak smile. “Can you tell me where Alistair and Sulri are?”

“Outside,” Morrigan said. “Mother wished to talk to you as well once you woke up.”

“Thank you,” Astala said again and started walking. She could walk. Good.

Once she was outside of the hut, she took a deep breath and just stood there for a moment, soaking in the light of the afternoon sun.

She was alive.

She was alive.

-

She found Alistair at the edge of the lagoon that surrounded the hut, staring out over the murky water. He didn't say anything when she approached and stood next to him. Neither did she. What could words do in a moment like this?

For a while, they stared over the water together.

Finally, Alistair heaved a heavy sigh, shoulders rising and falling like a mountain shrugging.

"Sorry," he sniffled and wiped his nose. Then: "You're alive, Maker's Breath!"

Before Astala could stop him, he enveloped her in a tight hug, the kind that slowly squeezed the air out of you. Astala tensed her back against the pressure and awkwardly patted Alistair on the back.

"You also look… alive," she said when he finally let her go.

Alistair smiled, let out a little huffed laugh. The smile dissolved almost immediately.

"Duncan and… Everybody. They-"

"I know," Astala said, and patted this huge shem on the arm once more. "I know."

Alistait accepted the comfort, poor as it was. He stood there for a while longer with his head bowed. He really wasn't taking it well.

"Well," he finally said. "We are here. And Sulri is here. That has to count for something."

Astala thought of Ilanlas, and Khêd, and nodded for appearance's sake. The inky clouds that had preceded the darkspawn still swirled above them. The sun didn't quite manage to break through.

They went to Sulri, who was sitting at the back of the hut, where the roof jutted out from the wall, throwing pebbles into the lagoon. The rhythmic plitch of the stones hitting the water disturbed the dead silence around them. Astala found herself scanning the horizon for darkspawn, and was relieved when she saw none.

She crouched down next to Sulri and waved hello. Alistair sat down on Sulri's other side. Sulri didn't acknowledge either of them. Instead, she took a larger stone and lobbed it into the lake.

Sploosh.

Cradled by the circular waves from the stone's impact, the cadaver of a fish rose to the surface.

Sulri wrinkled her nose, sat the next stone in her hand down and scooted away from the water.

Astala sat down next to her.

"I'm sorry about Khêd," she said.

Sulri was still staring at the dead fish, expression between mildly disgusted and outraged, as if the poor thing was to blame for all of this. Astala tapped her knee to get her attention.

"I'm sorry about Khêd," she repeated. "Did you know him for long?"

Sulri shook her head and then waved her off. She didn't want to talk? That was okay. Astala had seen worse responses to grief.

Alistair heaved another big sigh. "What do we do now?"

Astala bit the inside of her cheek, waiting to see if any of them would come up with a brilliant solution.

"Well…" she said tentatively when nothing happened. "I would… It might be a good idea to take things slow. We almost died, after all."

"There's no time for taking it slow!" Alistair threw his hands into the air. "We've failed! The darkspawn will overrun Ferelden and all Grey Wardens are dead!"

"Are they?"

Astala scrambled to her feet. Flemeth had stepped around the house, followed by Morrigan. The elderly woman crossed her arms.

"And here I was under the impression I had saved three of the order."

"But we- I'm sorry, ah… madam," Alistair stammered. "What do we call you? You never gave us your name."

"Names are pretty, but useless," Morrigan's mother said. "The Chasind call me Flemeth. I suppose it will do."

"The Flemeth? From the legends?" Although still soft, Alistair's voice was briefly filled with awe instead of sadness before he caught himself. "Daveth was right. You're the Witch of the Wilds, aren't you?"

"And what does that mean?" Flemeth answered flatly. "I know a bit of magic, and it has served you both well, has it not?"

Astala doubted there had been only a bit of magic involved in getting them out of that tower and dragging them—her?—back from the funeral pyre.

"If I may," she ventured. "I- Thank you for saving us, really. I'm very grateful to still be alive. But… why did you save us?"

"Well," Flemeth said as if it was obvious. "We cannot have all the Grey Wardens die at once, can we? Someone has to deal with these darkspawn."

"Yes, but…" Astala hesitated.

It didn't do to anger a powerful witch. Certainly not by questioning her motive and reason behind saving them instead of… well, anybody else.

"We aren't the most experienced," she finally said.

"Does that matter?" Flemeth answered, absolutely unperturbed. "It has always been the Grey Wardens' duty to unite the land in the face of a Blight. Or has that changed while I wasn't looking?"

Astala didn't like her tone. Save her or no, she hadn't almost died only for this woman to be needling her. As if Flemeth was her supervisor on a job!

"I don't know if the Grey Wardens are the best candidates to unite the land," she said, carefully but firmly. "They didn't manage to do so at Ostagar, at least."

"No thanks to teyrn Loghain," Flemeth said, nodded and waited expectantly.

"It doesn't make any sense!" Alistair said bitterly. "Why would he do it?"

"Now that is a good question," Flemeth mused and nodded. "Men's hearts hold shadows darker than any tainted creature."

Alistair visibly sat up straighter at the witch's approval.

"Perhaps," Flemeth continued, genuinely serious from what Astala could gather, "Loghain thinks the Blight is an army he can outmaneuver. Perhaps he does not see the real threat that lies behind it."

"Is it too much to expect that a tainted Old God will be taken seriously?" Alistair muttered.

Astala cast a glance around. She still didn't see any darkspawn, but that didn't set her at ease. The monsters weren't gone. Or, rather, they were, but in the wrong direction.

She had tk warn her family.

"Maybe we could try to contact the other Grey Wardens," she ventured. "There are more elsewhere, right?"

Alistair shook his head. "The nearest Grey Wardens are in Orlais, and it would take far too long to gather them and an army. Not to mention that nobody wants Orlesians here. We would be kicked out before we could say hello, and not just by Loghain."

Sulri tapped Astala's leg and started signing. She slowed down when Astala asked her to, made her gestures as broad as possible. Still, Astala understood absolutely nothing.

"I'm sorry," she finally said. "I don't think this is going to work right now."

Sulri lowered her hands with an expression that could have frozen flames.

Astala shrugged apologetically and turned back to Flemeth. "So what do we do then?"

"Why do you ask me?" Flemeth answered and blinked owlishly. "I am just an old woman who lives in the Wilds. I know nothing of Blights and darkspawn."

Morrigan, who had been silently standing behind her mother, turned abruptly and left. Flemeth paid her no mind, not even when the door to the hut shut rather loudly.

"At the very least, we have to warn everybody," Alistair said, answering Astala's question. "Teyrn Loghain may think the darkspawn are just a minor threat, but we can't leave everybody else exposed to danger!"

Flemeth turned her attention to him, head cocked to one side. "And who will believe you? Unless you think to convince this Loghain directly of his mistake?"

"He just betrayed his own king!" Alistair jumped to his feet. "If arl Eamon knew what Loghain did at Ostagar, he would be the first to call for an execution!"

Astala frowned. "You know an arl? Personally?"

"I…" Alistair hesitated.

"I suppose," Flemeth quickly intervened, "that this arl Eamon was not at Ostagar."

"That's right!" Alistair looked from Flemeth to Astala, and brightened up for the first time in the whole conversation. "He still has all his troops. And he was Cailan's uncle! He's a good man, respected in the Landsmeet, of course!"

In the shadow cast by her hut, Flemeth's eyes gleamed.

"We could go to Redcliffe and appeal to him for help!" Alistair finished the thought.

"Now, wait a moment-" Astala started, but Flemeth was quicker.

"What happened to the treaties I kept safe? Have you managed to lose them as well?"

"They- I have them!" Alistair pulled them out from under the breastplate of his armor. "How could I forget about them?"

He pressed the treaties into her hands and looked down at her expectantly.

Astala leafed through the old, yellowed pages and looked back up at Alistair. "I don't-"

"Grey Wardens can demand the help from dwarves, elves, mages! They're obligated to help us during a Blight!" Alistair said.

Sulri snatched the treaties out of Astala's hands. Astala let her.

"Alistair…" she said. "There are three of us."

"Exactly!" Alistair said and nodded emphatically. "We need an army, and there we have it!"

Astala must've made the wrong kind of expression, because he went on.

"This is our only chance! There's nothing holding the darkspawn back from marching into Ferelden and burning it to the ground. We have to do this!" He took a deep breath and gestured at the three of them. "We are the only ones who can."

Astala stared at him and then at Flemeth. Flemeth looked back. She didn't blink. Her mouth didn't curve, but in her eyes there was a mad sort of smile.

Astala looked back at Alistair and saw only determination scrawled over a canvas of grief.

Oh Maker.

Oh, fuck.

-

Flemeth was of the opinion that they better leave if they wanted to keep avoiding the darkspawn. So they went and got their things. What things they still had left. Astala pulled on the gambeson—she'd have to clean the blood out of it, and mend it—and decided to leave the chain mail behind. It was broken, she had no way to fix it, and it would only weigh her down. She kept the breastplate. It had the Grey Warden's griffon on it, and that might be useful.

Everything else was still in that ruin now occupied by darkspawn: her pack, hurriedly assembled and then lovingly stocked up by her father; her blanket, bought with the money Ilanlas had gotten for her; the scrap metal she'd feverishly collected from darkspawn corpses in hopes of selling it and maybe getting something good out of her conscription. She still had her weapons, her coin pouch, and a contract with an order that didn't exist in Ferelden anymore. Save for the three of them, of course. What a grand fucking team. She supposed she should be grateful for the fact that she still had boots and that it was summer, not winter.

Speaking of boots, she had absolutely ruined them. Her mother might even have been proud, covered stains from darkspawn blood as the boots now were. The worst kind of irony.

Morrigan reappeared briefly to provide them with pack rolls and provisions, and then disappeared into the inside of the hut again. Astala tied her pack with her meager belongings to her belt. Alistair carried the bulk of everything. Sulri needed help with her pack and took a long time to ask for it. But, at some point, they were ready to go.

Astala turned to Flemeth. "Thank you again for helping us."

"Thank me once all of this is over," Flemeth answered curtly. "And, before you leave, I do have one more thing to offer you."

The door to the hut opened and shut. Flemeth stopped speaking and her eyes left Astala to fix on Morrigan, who was approaching them, ignoring their group in favor of her mother.

"The stew is bubbling, mother dear. Shall we have three guests for the eve or…" She glanced at their packs. "... none?"

"The Grey Wardens are leaving, girl," Flemeth said gravely.

"Oh," Morrigan said in a mocking tone, "such a-"

"And you will be joining them."

"What!?"

"You heard me, girl. The last time I looked, you had ears," Flemeth said and laughed at her own joke.

Astala couldn't say she found it funny. Not when Morrigan was growing visibly pale.

"Thank you," she said tentatively when neither Alistair nor Sulri said anything. "Really. But if Morrigan doesn't want to join us…"

"Nonsense." Flemeth cut her off. "Her magic will be useful. Even better, she knows the Wilds and how to get past the horde."

"Have I no say in this?" Morrigan protested, her voice raised in alarm.

"You have been itching to get out of the Wilds for years. Here is your chance," Flemeth simply said. "As for you, Wardens, consider this repayment for your lives."

"Excuse me?" Astala burst out. She must've misheard.

"Not to… look a gift horse in the mouth but…" Alistair said, absolving Flemeth of the need to answer Astala. "Won't this add to our problems? Out of the Wilds, she's an apostate."

"If you do not wish help from us illegal mages, young man, perhaps I should have left you on that tower," Flemeth replied.

"Point taken," Alistair said, none too happy.

"Mother…" Morrigan turned to the old woman. "This is not how I wanted this! I- I am not even ready-"

"You must be ready," Flemeth said forcefully. "Alone, these three must unite Ferelden against the darkspawn. They need you, Morrigan. Without you, they will surely fail, and all will perish under the Blight." She paused to give her words the appropriate weight. "Even I."

"I… understand…" Morrigan said with a strained sigh.

"And you, Wardens?" Flemeth turned her full attention to them. "I give you that which I value above all in this world. I do this because you must succeed."

Morrigan was staring back at the hut, where the stew was probably still bubbling, and she wouldn't eat it.

"Hey, you'll be okay with us," Astala said quietly to Morrigan.

Morrigan threw her a cold look, as if it was Astala who was dragging her into an adventure she didn't want to go on. Then she turned around.

"Allow me to get my things, if you please."

When she left, Flemeth didn't look after her; she was back to staring at Astala with those unsettling golden eyes. She didn't say anything, either. The one who broke the increasingly uncomfortable silence was Alistair, who leaned closer.

"What a shock, right? 'Three guests or none', and then, poof! She leaves with us."

Astala eyed Flemeth, and was struck by the absolute certainty that Flemeth was hearing every word Alistair said.

"She's a bit… dramatic, don't you think?" Alistair went on. "'Shall we have three guests or… none'. Why that long pause?"

Astala took a deep, steadying breath. "She was looking at our packs and putting two and two together."

Alistair hesitated, then nodded as if considering this, and backed away again.

Flemeth kept looking at Astala. Astala refused to look away.

Finally, Morrigan returned, a pack slung over her shoulder with a bedroll, blanket and fur jacket tied up on top of it. Her mouth, drawn into a thin line, relaxed in a very deliberate way as she approached.

"Farewell, Mother," she said with a casual sigh. "Do not forget the stew on the fire. I would hate to return to a burned-down hut."

"Bah!" Flemeth barked. "'Tis far more likely you will return to see this entire area, along with my hut, swallowed by the Blight."

Morrigan physically recoiled, and her expression crumbled.

"I-" she stammered. "All I meant was-"

"Yes, I know," Flemeth answered gently. "Do try to have fun, dear."

Morrigan turned away abruptly and joined their group, which had waited a few steps away. When she reached them, her expression was impenetrably neutral.

"I am at your disposal, Grey Wardens. I suggest a village north of the Wilds as our first destination. 'Tis not far, and you will find much you need there." She crossed her arms. "Or, if you prefer, I shall simply be your silent guide."

Astala tore her gaze from Flemeth, who was still staring at her, and waited for Alistair to take the lead and answer.

That didn't happen, and the silence started to become uncomfortable.

Finally, Astala cleared her throat. "I like your idea."

Morrigan looked at the other two. Sulri gave a shrug so exaggerated it swam in sarcasm, and Alistair said nothing.

"Very well then," Morrigan said, a few degrees colder. "Follow me, if you please."

She led them to a new path, neither the one by which they had come to nor the one by which they had left the hut before their- her Joining. Astala fell in behind Morrigan, Alistair and Sulri joined… and, just like that, they were off.

To gather an army.

One uncomfortable conversation about Morrigan's cooking skills later, Astala already had enough. This was the stupidest thing she had ever signed up for in a long time.

[octoberobserver]

Coming Home For Chris(tmas)

(Read on ao3)

“Christopher has a crush on a girl in school.”

Buck froze, oven mitts half-raised to the oven door.

The three of them had spent the afternoon baking cookies for Christopher’s Christmas pageant. Batch number three was cinnamon. It made the entire house smell like the holidays.

“Uh…” he murmured intelligibly over his shoulder at Eddie who had begun to pace back and forth in front of the fridge. “Really? Who?”

“Isabella, apparently. Izzy. Her mom is Kimmy Clemons, you know who—”

“Constantly flirts with you at PTA meetings?” Buck interjected with a quirked eyebrow, carefully taking the cookies out and placing them on a cooling rack.

“And bake sales, parent/teacher conferences, and every time I’m off shift,” Eddie finished with a wince, running a hand through his hair.

Buck repositioned the cooling rack so it wouldn’t tilt.

“How do you know Chris has a crush on Izzy? Did he say something?”

Eddie picked at his sleeve, gaze conveniently averted.

“Remember the school dance a while back?”

“I remember you freaking out about it.”

“I did not freak out!”

A slow smile spread across Buck’s face as their eyes finally met.

“Okay, so I freaked out a little,” Eddie conceded, grabbing two beers from the fridge, letting the door slam closed, and resting his forehead against it for a second.

Buck watched him out of the corner of his eye, dread settling in the pit of his stomach as he realized he was tip-toeing around something uncomfortable.

“Eddie, what—”

“She asked me out.”

Buck blinked, taking off the oven mitts.

“...Kimmy?”

“No, Izzy—of course, Kimmy,” Eddie gave what sounded like a half-chuckle-half-groan as he turned from the fridge and held out a beer for Buck to take.

“She came up to me the other day, talking about how our kids were so cute together at the dance,” he shrugged, coming to stand at the sink. “Christopher’s crush is requited, apparently,” he added, taking a sip of his beer as Buck leaned back against the counter, nursing his own, their shoulders brushing.

“Like mother, like daughter,” Buck mumbled under his breath before clearing his throat. “That’s uh…good, right?” he forced out even though panic was beginning to trickle into his veins, a mantra of he’s too young, he’s too young, I’m not ready for him to grow up, repeating over and over in his head.

“I mean, I doubt Chris would be psyched about me dating his crush’s mom,” Eddie shrugged again, their shoulders properly pressing against each other. “But it doesn’t matter. I turned her down.”

Buck couldn’t control his eyebrows. They shot up his forehead without his consent.

Eddie snorted. “C’mon, don’t look so surprised,” he murmured, taking another sip of beer.

Buck’s gaze caught on his Adam’s apple for a second before he shook his head and put down his beer. He wasn’t surprised, not really. Eddie had made it clear a while back that dating was the last thing on his mind, and would be for the foreseeable future. Still…

“What did you tell her?”

It could have just been a trick of the light, but if he didn’t know any better, he could’ve sworn that Eddie’s face flushed a deep crimson.

“I uh, I told her I was seeing someone.”

Buck’s eyebrows were physically unable to get any higher up on his forehead.

“And how did that go?”

Here, Eddie rubbed his chin in the exact way that told Buck he was mulling over something particularly embarrassing.

“She uh…” he mumbled to the floor. “She sorta assumed it was you...and I didn’t correct her.”

Buck was suddenly very glad he wasn’t holding a hot tray of cookies anymore, his palms gripping the counter so hard he could feel it denting his palms.

“You told Izzy’s mom that we’re dating?”

“No!” Eddie practically yelped, his shoulders hunched and eyes a little wild. “She assumed and I just didn’t say anything to…dispute it.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah.”

A beat of silence passed between them.

“Okay, so, no big deal,” Buck threw up his hands in what he hoped was a nonchalant gesture. “Easy mistake for her to make. I pick Christopher up from school sometimes, so—”

“It gets worse.”

Eddie was actively staring at the floor now, ears a rosy red.

Something flipped in Buck’s stomach.

“...how?”

Another beat.

Two.

“We’re invited to her Christmas party next weekend.”

~*~

Eddie was fucked.

And not in the good way.

Never in the good way, because he was his own worst enemy.

You’re spiraling, he heard Frank say in the recesses of his mind. Catatrophizing. We talked about this, Eddie.

But see, he wasn’t really. If anything, he should be spiraling more, catastrophizing to the nth degree—out and out panicking a lot more than he was. Because the thing was, the thing was, he had had one hell of a revelation recently.

“I think I’m…not straight.”

The words had wrenched from his lips in the quiet of Frank’s office one Thursday afternoon a few months back.

“Okay,” Frank replied, calm as ever, his face giving away exactly nothing. “You want to talk about it?”

“Not really.”

But they did. Talk about it. Eventually. Because Eddie Diaz was winning therapy, dammit.

“You said in one of our sessions a few weeks ago that you think you’re not straight,” Frank began when the topic of his love life inevitably cropped up. “Is that something you’d like to elaborate on, or—”

“It doesn’t change anything,” Eddie interrupted, “it’s not like I intend on acting on it. Ever.”

Frank’s face did something at that. He wasn’t sure what. But he could take a guess.

“Not—not that there’s anything wrong with—or that I’m—” he cleared his throat, squeezing his hands tighter together. “I-I’m fine with it. I’ve accepted it. I know it’s okay, and I am. Okay. I’m just…getting used to it,” he swallowed roughly, shaking his head, starting again.

“This is coming out all wrong,” he sighed, not missing the irony in that statement.

Frank tilted his head.

“This sounds like something you’ve been thinking about for a long time.”

Longer than I realized.

“Yeah. You could say that,” he agreed with a sigh. “But I’m not going to date anymore so, it’s irrelevant.”

Frank tilted his head.

“You’re not going to date at all? For the rest of your life?”

Eddie crossed his arms over his chest, barely holding back the wince when he realized his mistake.

“Nope. I’m fine on my own. I’m used to…being alone. Just me and Chris. I don’t need anything else. Anyone else.”

Frank eyed his crossed arms.

“You don’t need love, companionship, or—”

“I have plenty of that,” he shrugged. “I have a great support group. My friends—the 118, they’re my family. And Buck…”

The name got stuck in his throat.

And stayed there.

“Buck…” Frank coaxed.

And that was just it, wasn’t it?

Buck.

Eddie didn’t need love or companionship, and didn’t feel like he was missing out on anything because…he had it already, in a way, with Buck. He had had that particular revelation when he was bleeding out in the middle of the street in downtown LA and all he could see was his best friend reaching out to him across the asphalt.

But Buck was a no-go. A non-option in his brain. Always had been, always will be.

Sometimes, the fantasy is better than the reality.

That was what Carla had said. And while she meant it in relation to Chris and his crush, Eddie would be lying if he said it didn’t make a very particular bell ring in the back of his mind about his own…feelings. Feelings that he absolutely, positively, could never acknowledge. Ever.

He raised his eyes to meet Frank’s, taking a deep breath.

“Buck’s my best friend. I trust him with my life. With Christopher’s life. He’s always there for us. He’s…the best friend we could ever ask for,” he finished lamely, forcing himself to keep eye contact.

Something unreadable flickered in Frank’s gaze.

“Is that enough?”

Eddie took another, shakier breath.

“It has to be.”

Frank nodded, face pensive in a way that had Eddie’s stomach squirming.

“Do you think that subconsciously you might feel differently about that?”

He frowned.

Frank laid his hands in his lap, leaning forward slightly.

“You said that you let Kimmy make assumptions about you and Buck. That you were a couple. Is that something you would have done in the past? Before you started coming to terms with your sexuality?”

“People have mistaken us for a couple pretty much since we met.”

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. Frank did him the disservice of not looking in the least bit surprised.

“And how do you feel about that?”

Eddie squinted at him.

“The ‘And how does that make you feel?’ question? Really?”

Frank stared back at him. Waiting.

Shifting his weight on the couch, he forced himself to uncross his arms and keep eye contact.

“I don’t feel anything about it,” he shrugged. “It’s just something that happens. Like I said, Buck is a huge part of my life, of Christopher’s life. I get why some people would…misconstrue that.”

Frank’s face, as always, was frustratingly unreadable.

“It doesn’t bother me if they do,” he continued, compelled for some reason to further explain himself. “If they think we’re something we’re not. It’s no big deal.”

Something flickered in his therapist’s eyes at that.

“If it’s no big deal, why didn’t you correct Kimmy about it?”

Eddie’s stomach did a somersault. Clearing his throat, he broke eye contact and opted to stare out the window.

“I just…didn’t.”

He knew it wasn’t a proper reason. An appropriate answer. But it was all he had.

Frank nodded all the same.

“And now you’re going to a Christmas party under the guise of being partners?”

It wasn’t said to be antagonizing. Just a mere statement of fact. But Eddie felt his heckles rise ever so slightly anyway.

“We are partners.”

Frank arched an eyebrow, letting that hang between them.

“Yeah, fine,” Eddie continued, unwilling to sit in a silence he knew would eventually get uncomfortable. “Buck agreed to…to…”

“Be your boyfriend?”

He swallowed, the sensation of his heart jumping into his throat almost overwhelming.

“Pretend to be, yeah.”

The words spoken aloud in the quiet, private room, somehow felt even more profound and unbelievably ridiculous than they had in his kitchen a week prior. But if Frank agreed with the sentiment, he didn’t show it.

“Alright, well. I hope you both enjoy the party, Eddie,” he glanced briefly over to the clock. “We’re nearing our time. Will I pencil you in for next week?”

Eddie couldn’t help the frown spreading across his face at his cavalier tone of voice.

“Wait. Don’t you wanna ask me how I feel about that?”

That same something glimmered in Frank’s eyes again.

“I could,” he agreed. “But I have a feeling if I ask next week instead, I’ll get a longer answer.”

~*~

They had been standing in front of Buck’s closet for fifteen solid minutes.

“What exactly do you wear to a PTA Mom’s Christmas Party?”

Eddie chuckled at his bewilderment as he stared into the abyss of clothing, scratching the back of his head.

“Doesn’t matter,” he smirked. “You could wear a brown paper bag and still have all the moms drooling. Some dads too. And you know it.”

Buck threw him a grin over his shoulder before shaking his head.

“Says the man who has been asked out by like, six different divorcees in the last year. Including the host. Which, is what got us into this in the first place.”

His tone was teasing, it clearly a joke, but Eddie couldn’t help the feeling of dread creeping up his spine. He hadn’t meant to imply that Buck was his boyfriend to Kimmy, he really hadn’t. He just…short-circuited. Briefly stopped working because a beautiful woman was propositioning him in the middle of his son’s school’s parking lot and he wasn’t smooth enough to pivot out of it any other way, apparently.

He had quietly accepted a while back that he was no longer interested in dating. Since Ana, when things just didn’t feel right, he had asked himself over and over and over again, just what he was missing. But by then, he had already been shot, and had a fair idea exactly what that was. He just couldn’t admit it.

Things had been different lately though. Taking time away from the 118, having his breakdown, and going back to Frank, he wasn’t as able to fully ignore the signs anymore. The final nail in the coffin had been Hen trying to set him up with Karen’s friend, Daniela. She had been perfect on paper. Smart, funny, beautiful, good with kids…the whole package. And yet, Eddie knew in the first ten minutes of their coffee date that it just wasn’t to be. It wasn’t what he wanted. And hadn’t been for a long, long time.

“Hey Buck, you know you don’t have to do this, right?” he began with an apologetic air, cutting through his own spiraling thoughts. “I can just set Kimmy straight. Tell her it was all a misunderstanding—”

“And she’ll ask you out again,” Buck finished, turning around to face him. “You’re like the Hollywood heartthrob of Christopher’s school, Eddie. Whether you like it or not. So unless you plan on taking her up on her offer—”

He broke off at the grimace on Eddie’s face.

“Thought not,” he laughed, stepping closer and clasping his shoulder. “So, we do this. Eat some fancy appetizers, drink a little wine, and keep all the thirsty divorcees away from you. Easy.”

Eddie didn’t think it sounded easy at all. But nobody could argue with that hopeful little grin on his best friend’s face.

“Don’t say ‘thirsty,’” he replied, nose wrinkling. “But okay, yeah, we do this,” he continued, his voice not quite as sure as Buck’s. “Everyone will get the message, and Chris will get to see his crush. It’s a win-win.”

“Exactly.”

With that, Buck squeezed his shoulder and turned back to his closet.

“So. Red shirt or blue?”

~*~

Buck knew he was a little bit of a people-pleaser. Probably more than a little bit, if he was totally honest with himself. And if you asked the 118, Maddie, and Eddie especially, they would likely call him a chronic people-pleaser. His sperm donation debacle this year alone was more than enough proof of that.

But what could he say? He liked helping people. He liked being useful to his friends, family, and yeah, strangers too. It wasn’t just his job, it was his way of life. Which was why, when his best friend in the entire world (excluding Christopher), asked him for a teeny, tiny, minuscule favour, he didn’t think twice.

And sometimes, that was Evan Buckley’s biggest problem.

“Buck, why did Izzy’s mom ask me if my Dad’s boyfriend has any dietary restrictions?”

Thank God they were stopped at a red light when Chris piped up with that particular question because Buck wasn’t sure if it wouldn’t have caused him to swerve into traffic otherwise. He should have seen it coming. Eddie should have too, really. And yet, here Buck was, after picking Chris up from Carla’s, with no reinforcements because Eddie had taken on an extra shift.

“Uh…” he glanced to the rearview mirror, catching the kid’s eye from the backseat. “Dietary restrictions are—”

“People who can’t have things like dairy and gluten because it makes them sick. Like Sineád in my class. I know that, Buck,” Christopher cut across him with more sass than usual. “That’s not what I meant.”

Buck’s palms started sweating as he gripped the steering wheel so tightly, his knuckles turned a ghostly white. He let out a small sigh of relief when the Diaz house came into view.

“Let’s get you inside, bud,” he said in a tone far too light to be believable as he pulled into the driveway. “I’ll get dinner started, you can get out your science project, and we’ll—”

“Talk about how you’re my Dad’s boyfriend now?”

Shit.

He didn’t thump his head down on the steering wheel. But it was a near thing.

Guess that was what he got for being such a chronic people-pleaser.

Eddie will be home in an hour, he thought to himself with an edge of desperation. I can keep a twelve-year-old at bay ‘til then, right?

~*~

Eddie let out a breath as he stepped into the warmth of his front door, pleased to hear the tell-tale sign of his son and best friend no doubt wreaking havoc in his kitchen as usual.

“I’m home!” he called out, taking off his jacket and shoes, a smile already replacing the tired and weary frown that had formed on the lonely drive from work.

“Dad! Dad! In here!”

Curious at Chris’ urgent but unalarmed tone, he made his way around the corner and into the kitchen, only to be immediately met with a very alarmed-looking Buck.

“Eddie—”

“Izzy’s mom said that Buck’s your boyfriend. Is that true?”

He froze, his heart catapulting into his throat.

Chris took advantage of his element of surprise, rounding the table and leveling him with a quirked eyebrow.

Should have seen this coming…

“Chris, let’s give your dad a sec, okay?” Buck recovered first, clapping him on the shoulder and stirring him gently toward the salad bowl. “You’re not done yet, bud. You want some coffee, Eddie?”

His head snapped up at the sound of his name, his brain rebooting like his dumb Hildy after yet another unnecessary software update.

Why the hell does a coffee machine need software anyway?!

Shaking his head to rid himself of that particular gripe, he crossed the room and took the outstretched cup, swallowing the lump in his throat as his fingers brushed against Buck’s.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

Nobody talked for the next few moments, the soft hum of the radio playing upbeat Christmas songs the only thing breaking the silence as Eddie sipped his coffee and tried not to spiral.

“Done!” Chris exclaimed suddenly, looking up to Buck for approval. “Can we talk about it now?”

Over his head, Buck’s eyes met Eddie’s.

With one look, Eddie knew he understood his silent message.

“Let’s have dinner first, okay, Superman? Your dad’s had a long day at work and is probably really hungry.”

Chris pouted at that but was a good kid who wouldn’t want anyone to go hungry under any circumstances. So he mercifully dropped it. For thirty whole minutes. Right up until Eddie laid his fork down onto his empty plate.

“Now?” he asked, gaze flickering between them eagerly.

Eddie heaved a sigh.

Time to face the music, Diaz. You’ve only yourself to blame.

Getting up out of his seat, he crouched down to his son’s eye level, leaning in close.

“Mijo, remember what I told you about lying?”

A crease formed between Christopher’s eyebrows.

“You said it’s wrong and we should never do it.”

Shot yourself in the foot there, huh?

“I did,” he agreed, rubbing the back of his neck. I did say that, yeah. But…sometimes…to…not hurt someone’s feelings, and let them down easy—a small, white lie can be the nicest thing to do.”

Chris grew thoughtful, picking at the hem of his sleeve.

“So, you told Mrs. Clemons that Buck was your boyfriend to be nice. Because you didn’t want to tell her you don’t like her and hurt her feelings?”

“Yeah. Not—not that she isn’t nice. It’s not that I don’t like her—”

“You just don’t like like her.”

“Right. Exactly.”

“Okay,” Chris nodded, looking between them.

Eddie let out a tiny breath, gaze darting quickly to Buck in relief.

“So she thinks you like like, Buck?”

His heart lurched at that. He rubbed a hand down his face to hide his grimace.

“Yeah.”

Chris gave another nod, turning to Buck.

“And that you like like Dad back?”

Eddie forced himself to keep looking at his son as Buck cleared his throat, his voice still coming out a little hoarse.

“Uh, I guess so, yeah.”

A beat of silence engulfed the room.

“Okay,” Chris said with an air of finality. “I’ll pretend you like like each other too then.”

Eddie reached out and squeezed his shoulder, hyperaware of Buck’s gaze burning a hole into the side of his head.

“Thanks, bud. But just remember, lying isn’t—”

“I know, Dad,” Chris interjected, sounding more and more like an unimpressed teen every day. “Can I go play Minecraft now?”

Buck unsuccessfully hid a grin behind his hand as he stood up and began clearing away the plates.

“Alright, kid. Thirty minutes and then it’s pj’s, okay?”

Chris grinned, reaching out for his crutches and making his way out of the room, calling over his shoulder. “Thanks for dinner, Buck! Your food is way better than Jamie’s mom’s boyfriend’s!”

Eddie smothered a laugh with his sleeve, marveling not for the first time, just how brazen his son was getting with age.

“Should I be worried about his sass?” he asked once he was out of earshot.

“Nah,” Buck replied, “he’s a good kid, knows where to draw the line. Just like his dad.”

They cleared away the dishes, making their way back into the kitchen and over to the sink. When they finished filling the dishwasher, Eddie found the strength to speak.

“Well…that could’ve gone worse.”

Buck hummed. “Oh, yeah. Sorry for the ambush, by the way. He first asked me about it when I was driving and I didn’t know what to say, so I kinda ‘ask your Dad-ed’ him until you got home.”

Another wave of guilt washed over Eddie. He let out a groan of frustration.

“Jesus. I’m a shitty friend, and father, getting you both to lie for my stupid impulse decision,” he glanced to the ceiling in embarrassment. “I should just come clean.”

Buck stepped toward him, reaching out and clasping his shoulders, lowering his head to catch his eye.

“Hey, we talked about this. It’s a harmless white lie, Ed. And Chris is already on board. He knows lying is serious and not the right thing to do in literally every other circumstance. And I—” he broke off, an enigmatic grin breaking out on his face. “I’m fine with it too. It’s no big deal. I’m pretty sure half the PTA thinks we are like secretly married or something already. If Darcy is to be believed, anyway.”

Right. He'd almost forgotten Buck was just as much involved in the parent gossip as he and Carla tried and failed not to be.

“Darcy sees conspiracies everywhere,” Eddie rolled his eyes, a chuckle falling from his lips. “That’s why Kat made that gossip jar. She told me the other day it’s nearly full enough for them to take a second honeymoon in the summer.”

They shared a laugh at that as Buck grabbed them both beers out of the fridge and made his way out to the TV, sinking down onto the couch and kicking off his shoes.

“What episode of Fuego En La Sangre are we on now?”

Eddie swallowed the familiar trickle of embarrassment that he felt whenever their newest binge-watch habit was brought up. Guilty pleasure didn’t even begin to cover it. He’d never forget when Buck had crept up behind him one night after working a long shift, only to find him deeply engrossed in the plight of the Reyes brothers, teasing him mercilessly until he too got sucked into the addictive melodrama.

I’m practicing my Spanish, he had insisted at the time. I need to keep on top of it to help with Chris’ homework when you’re not here, Edmundo. It’s called being responsible.

It was called being hooked.

But neither of them would admit it.

It was when they were halfway through episode 97 of the telenovela that Buck turned to him, his face unreadable.

“So, what’s our story?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” his eyes darted to the TV, “how did we…become a thing? How long have we been dating?”

“Uh…” Eddie’s brain was completely blank. But luckily, Buck seemed to be on a bit of a roll with the questions.

“And what are the ground rules?”

“Ground rules?”

“Yeah, like…what’s okay and not okay to do when pretending to be a couple?” he clarified, shifting on the couch to face him. “Do we hold hands, hug, kiss—”

“We’re gonna be in a room with a bunch of seventh graders and their parents, Buck,” Eddie interjected, his face on fire as he tried not to think about doing any of those things with his platonic best friend. “I doubt we’ll need to bust out the PDA to be believable.”

Buck let out another chuckle, glancing back at the TV.

“Yeah, you’re probably right. And we should probably stick close to the truth about how we got together, right?”

Eddie’s stomach flipped.

“And…what would that be, exactly?” he asked, half afraid of the answer but determined not to show it. “You were threatened by me and beyond pissed all day until we took a grenade out of a man’s leg and you decided I was the guy for you? Something like that?”

Buck tilted his head, eyes dancing.

“Yeah. Something like that.”

Warmth pooled in Eddie’s gut. As usual, he ignored it.

“Chris is looking forward to the party,” Buck murmured, taking another sip of his beer. “He was trying hard not to gush about it on the way home.”

That warmth spread to Eddie’s chest.

“Our kid’s growing up.”

The words tumbled from his lips without a second’s thought. It hadn’t been the first time he had let it slip out, but Buck looked gobsmacked all the same. Eddie watched silently as his best friend visibly gathered himself, a small smile gracing his lips.

“Yeah. He is.”

They shared a look. Quiet and private before Buck cleared his throat, picking at the label on his beer.

“I think he’s excited to see Izzy on Saturday. If we pull this off, we might just be forgiven for the field trip incident,” he took another sip of beer. “So, think you can convincingly be in love with me for three hours? For Chris?”

Something enigmatic was shrouding Buck’s face as he awaited Eddie’s response.

“I think I can manage. For Chris,” he echoed, clinking their bottles together and trying to ignore just how easily he could be smitten with Evan Buckley.

~*~

“Chris! Buck will be here any minute. You ready to go?”

Eddie strained his ears for his son’s reply but only heard muffled grumbles instead.

“I think he’s nervous,” a familiar voice said behind him.

“Well, he’s changed his shirt three times now so—” Eddie broke off as he turned on the spot, catching sight of Buck standing in his bedroom doorway.

He looked…good.

He had gone with dark jeans and the deep burgundy button-up they had picked out days before while standing perplexed in front of his closet. What Eddie had failed to take into account at the time, however, was just how different something could look on the hanger versus on a body. Especially a body as toned and well-built as Buck’s.

He stared at the broad line of his shoulders as they stretched the tight fabric. His throat went dry.

Yep. Definitely not straight, Diaz.

Accepting his friend’s attractiveness hadn’t been much of a struggle. Anyone with functioning eyes could see that Buck was a ridiculously handsome man. Accepting that he was attacted to Buck, however, had been a little harder to swallow. Much like how he felt right now.

“You went with the hunter green,” Buck grinned at his choice of outfit before Eddie’s brain could reboot, stepping into his room and halting next to him, glancing at the mirror that they had installed on the wall during their impromptu renovation a few months back.

Eddie stared at the picture the two of them made. Standing side by side, shoulder to shoulder in their fancy, very festive, accidentally complementary clothes. They looked like a couple, that was for sure.

“Yeah, what can I say? You’ve got good taste sometimes, Buckley,” he smirked, shaking his head at their reflections before buttoning up his sleeve and making for the door.

“Oh, wait—” Buck reached out and clasped his shoulder, turning him back around to face him.

Eddie let himself be led, watching quietly as Buck reached up to his collar and started fixing it. They had stood this close before. More than once. But ever since his little revelation, Eddie found himself getting more and more breathless. He could control himself at work, his professionalism taking the wheel, but in moments like this, when they were alone, close enough to feel each other’s warmth, it was almost too much to bear.

“There. Perfect,” Buck smiled, his face a little flushed as he took patted Eddie’s chest and took a step back.

“Thanks,” Eddie just about managed to reply before he heard the tell-tale tap of his son’s crutches.

~*~

The Clemons home was less of a house and more of an estate. With five bedrooms, four bathrooms, one half-bath, stainless-steel kitchen, dining room, family room, converted attic, basement, two garages, and heated pool, Eddie estimated it must have cost something well in the seven-figure range.

“Whoa!” Christopher aptly exclaimed as they made their way up to the front door, he and Buck exchanging an awed glance.

“Best behaviour, okay?” Eddie mumbled under his breath as he saw a figure approaching through the stained glass. “You too, Chris.”

Buck let out a squawk of indignation just as Kimmy Clemons threw open the door, a large, blindly-white smile on her face.

“Diazes!” she practically sang as she ushered them in. “I’m so glad you came. Happy Holidays, come on in, let Stefan take your coats.”

A tall, pale man helped them out of their coats and scarves before disappearing silently through a door to the right.

Huh. They have their own Lurch.

“Eddie, you’re looking as handsome as ever,” Kimmy winked before tousling Chris’ hair. “You too, Christopher. You’re getting so tall! Why don’t you go join the kids in the playroom? It’s just down the hall, first door on the left. I’ll call you guys for snacks soon.”

Chris looked from Eddie to Buck and back again before taking a deep breath. “Thanks, Mrs. Clemons.”

With that, he left them in the foyer. Subtly, Buck moved closer to Eddie, the backs of their hands just about brushing and making his skin tingle.

“Oh, Evan, good to see you too,” Kimmy added airily, turning on her heel and motioning for them to follow her.

“Buck,” Eddie corrected for approximately the three-hundredth time since they first met, raising an eyebrow at Buck in apology.

“Right. Buck. Sorry,” she nodded, halting them at an expansive, rectangular table rife with an assortment of finger food. “Please, help yourselves. The staff is circling with hors d’oeuvres and champagne too.”

With one last grin, she stepped into the crowd of people without a backward glance.

“‘The staff,’” Buck echoed, marveling at the well-dressed waiters spread throughout the room.

“How the other half lives,” Eddie muttered as a member of said staff halted at his side, picking up a champagne flute with thanks, and taking a hearty sip. He wasn’t driving tonight, after all.

“Yep,” Buck agreed, reaching out for his own glass and taking a smaller sip, eyes narrowing.

“Mind your delicate pallet,” Eddie teased as he watched him wince.

“Hey, I’m more of a beer guy,” Buck elbowed him, taking another sip and wincing deeper.

A fond chuckle escaped him before he could stop it.

“You’re—”

“Quite the spread, huh,” a familiar voice interrupted him.

“Kat, hi!” Buck whirled around, pulling Kat Alvarez, mom to Christopher’s best friends Mateo and Rosa into a large hug.

“Boys, don’t you two look festive,” she smiled as she returned the hug, catching Eddie’s eye over Buck’s shoulder.

“Like they stepped out of a Christmas catalogue,” her wife, Darcy agreed as she saddled up to them, wrapping her arms around Eddie and stealing a stuffed mushroom off his plate.

“So, you and Buck?”

They exchanged compliments and pleasantries as the DJ began to play soft Christmas music. Glancing around, Eddie caught sight of many other familiar faces from the elementary school’s parking lot—parents, guardians, and nannies alike, mingling and half-heartedly dancing.

It was as he was tucking into his fourth stuffed mushroom that Darcy elbowed him, a suspicious look on her face.

The mushroom lodged in his throat. He coughed and coughed again as Darcy clapped him on the back. He saw Buck glance over to him in concern but he waved him off, watching as he and Kat continued their conversation, delving into the sweet treats on display.

“Darcy, I—”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to ambush you,” she interjected sheepishly also watching Buck and her wife with a fond expression. “Word travels fast round here and I just didn’t know you two were a thing is all. Not that I’m surprised.”

“W-What do you mean?” he rasped when he caught his breath, eyes a little watery.

He knew well enough what she meant. But it wasn’t like he could just admit that.

“Well,” she shrugged, “you look at him like he hung the moon, for starters.”

Shit.

“He’s my best friend,” he automatically replied before remembering that Buck was actually supposed to be his boyfriend too.

“And uh, yeah, I…”

Love him, was how his mouth was going to finish that sentence but his brain wouldn’t allow it.

“Can’t live without me,” Buck finished, suddenly appearing at his elbow, his hand coming up to rest on Eddie’s lower back, the warmth of his fingers seeping through the fabric of his shirt, pressing into his skin, and feeling like they belonged there.

Their eyes caught for a split second as Eddie gathered his thoughts, reminding himself that this was the plan, even if he felt bad about lying to their friends. Even temporarily.

“I was going to say ‘he’s my best friend and I know he’s lucky to have me’, actually,” he smirked cheekily, before turning back to Darcy and Kat.

The two women shared a look that Eddie didn’t quite understand.

“So,” Darcy began, something mischievous in her gaze. “When did you two finally realise you’re in love, then?”

Eddie’s entire world ground to a halt.

You expected this. You knew this was coming, Diaz, Jesus. Don’t freeze now. Say some—

The hand on his back rubbed up and down soothingly.

“What can we say?” Buck took the lead, sounding breezier than Eddie had ever felt in his life. “One day I just looked at him and thought, ‘oh. It’s you.’ I just couldn’t let myself see it before.”

Eddie’s heart lurched painfully in his chest, those words, said under these pretenses, were almost unbearable.

“Aww,” said Kat cheerily, thankfully not noticing his distress, “well, I think you’re perfect for each other.”

He felt his face flush, but before he could think of a response, Kimmy stepped up to the DJ booth, fiddling with the microphone.

“Hi everyone, thanks so much for coming,” her sing-song voice boomed through the speakers. “I hope you enjoy the food and music. I expect to see you all up dancing soon too. Happy Holidays!”

A sporadic chorus of whoops and applause followed before everyone returned to their eating and drinking. Eddie had taken a liberal gulp from his glass of champagne when Darcy leaned into him but directed her pointed stare to Buck.

“So, how come you never mentioned that you and Eddie were a couple, anyway? I would’ve stopped trying to set you up with my sister if I had known.”

Eddie felt Buck’s hand tense slightly as it pressed a little firmer into his lower back.

“It’s uh…new,” he replied pretty smoothly, his hand relaxing. “We haven’t really gone public with it yet, but when Kimmy asked Eddie out—”

“For the thirtieth time,” Kat added with a snort.

“Heh, yeah,” Buck agreed. “We uh, kinda realized we’d have to let the cat outta the bag.”

The wives shared another look that Eddie still couldn’t decipher.

“Well, I’m happy for you two,” Darcy clinked her glass against Buck’s. “‘Bout time you made your family official.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Eddie saw Buck falter slightly before shaking his head and giving a soft grin.

His stomach churned uncomfortably.

“Dad? Can I get a churro?”

Buck’s hand left his back at the sudden appearance of Christopher, blinking up at them with a hopeful look on his face, Rosa and Mateo in tow.

“Oh, yeah sure, bud. Just make sure to have a slider and fries first. I saw some carrot sticks and healthy stuff too so eat up,” Eddie replied, following his son to the impressive, kid-friendly spread and helping him fill his plate.

Once they all had their meals, the adults led them over to a large, circular table to get them seated. It was as Eddie was filling a glass of soda that he heard a screech behind him.

“Eddie Diaz! Where is Carla?! I was hoping to see her tonight!”

He turned, briefly catching Buck’s eye before painting on a smile that he hoped didn’t look as fake as it felt.

“Hey Denise, Carla couldn’t make it tonight. She’s visiting her niece in San Diego.”

Denise, the short, blonde, very excitable nanny to Chris’ friend Jamie, was visibly put out by this news. Eddie had a feeling that Carla did not feel the same. If her many stories of Denise’s antics over the last year were anything to go by.

“Aww, that’s a shame,” she replied with an exaggerated pout before thrusting her hand in Eddie’s face, a very large diamond fastened to her left ring finger. “I wanted to tell her my news—I just got engaged! Will asked me last night over eggnog by the fire, it was super romantic!”

He opened his mouth to congratulate her but her smack to his forearm cut him off.

“Not that I need to tell you two about romance. You’ll be next!”

He thanked God that she was looking at Buck at that moment because he had absolutely no idea what his face was doing.

“You’ll be up the aisle in no time, I’ll bet on that,” Denise continued, not phased by their silence. “Can’t believe I was right about you, I always had my suspicions that you were knockin’ boots,” she turned to Kat and Darcy, “back me up, ladies.”

They hummed back noncommittally, identical painted smiles on their faces, no doubt hoping, like Eddie was, that none of the kids would ask them what that meant.

He had never wanted the ground to swallow him up more in his entire life. He didn’t risk a glance at Buck, but he could see Chris grinning at him from where he was munching on a slider, taking in the conversation with interest.

“Hey Dad,” he piped up, almost giving Eddie a heart attack.

Don’t ask me what knocking boots means. Don’t ask me what—

“If you marry Buck, would I be your Best Man, or his?”

Buck let out a choked laugh as Eddie almost swallowed his tongue.

“Think we’re getting bit ahead of ourselves there, Superman,” he responded when it was clear that Eddie was no longer able to form coherent words.

Chris tilted his head at him, something glinting in his eyes.

“I mean, I guess I could be Best Man to both of you,” he said almost to himself before his attention was taken away by Mateo showing him something on his Nintendo Switch.

Eddie wasn’t too proud to admit he let out a little sigh of relief at that. Once the kids were occupied, the adults went about mingling and chatting around the room, letting their own food settle. He found himself catching up with some of the dads he had met while at Chris’ summer camp, reintroducing Buck to some that they hadn’t seen in a while.

“Ah, Buckley, your ‘better half’ if the rumours are true,” Ethan joked, elbowing Eddie in the side as he shook Buck’s hand.

“Oh they’re true alright,” Denise winked, poking Buck in the ribs. “These guys have been holdin’ out on us. Like I said, it won’t be long ‘til wedding bells. Oh my god, Daryl, did I show you my ring?!”

Eddie held back a wince but only barely. He had thought they had all moved on from wedding talk, but it seemed that his new but apparently unsurprising relationship was all people wanted to talk about. How long had it been since he and Buck had gotten together? Were they moving in together? Getting engaged? Would they have a spring or summer wedding? The list went on and on and—

♪ Christmas…the snow’s comin’ down…Christmas…I’m watchin’ it fall… ♪

“Oh! I love this song!” Kimmy clapped her hands in delight, popping up beside them and ushering them to the makeshift dancefloor. “Eddie, I hear you’re a phenomenal dancer, show us some moves!”

♪ Christmas…lots of people around… ♪

Eddie felt Buck collide into his back as he too was pushed into the crowd, a small number of couples swaying back and forth to the music.

“Come on, Diaz. Act like you like him,” Darcy goaded, looking positively gleeful as Kat slapped her shoulder in very lackluster way that didn’t discourage her at all.

He threw her a glare before cocking an eyebrow at Buck for permission.

Buck gave a silent, slightly amused okay, and they automatically stepped closer together, Eddie’s hands almost acting on autopilot, resting on his hips as Buck’s hands fell to his shoulders.

“This is definitely a slower version of this song,” he lamented, accepting their fate of dancing like awkward middle-schoolers for the next three minutes.

♪ Baby, please come home… ♪

“Shit, Buck I’m so sorry,” he groaned as they moved together. “How did I not think of the long-term problems of this? What, are we just supposed to play boyfriends until Chris graduates?!”

“No,” he squeezed his shoulder. “I think we’re supposed to play fiancés, next.”

“Buck!” Eddie scolded as his best friend broke out in a laugh.

“Eds, relax,” he grinned, his eyes dancing. “It’s not a big deal. It’s some nosy nannies, bored dads making small talk and—”

“Kat and Darcy! They’re our friends—”

“And we’ll let them in on it when we’re not surrounded by every single parent from Chris’ school,” Buck finished with his most soothing voice.

♪ ...full of happy sounds…baby, please come home… ♪

“I’m still sorry for dragging you into this,” he groused for what felt like the hundredth time, hyperaware of far too many eyes on them as they swayed.

“Hey, we’re partners,” Buck’s fingers tightened, clutching the fabric of his shirt. “I have your back. No matter what.”

♪ They’re singing deck the halls, but it’s not like Christmas at all… ♪

Eddie winced as his toes were stepped on for the third time in the last twenty seconds.

“You are a terrible dancer. Holy shit.”

♪ Pretty lights on the tree…Christmas…I’m watching them shine… ♪

“Hey! We can’t all have ballroom dancing lessons from age eleven,” Buck squawked, brow furrowed in obvious concentration. “Give me a break, okay? Maddie showed me how to slow dance once when I was like thirteen. I haven’t had a lot of practice.”

He took pity on him, reaching out with one hand and tilting his chin up.

“Well, first lesson—stop looking at your feet. My eyes are up here.”

Their gazes locked.

Eddie’s hand stayed where it was for a beat too long before falling down to take his hand in his.

♪ You should be here with me…baby, please come home… ♪

They let themselves get lost in it, Eddie trying his best to maneuver his best friend into some semblance of dancing.

“Oh! Boys! Look up!” Denise suddenly yelled from across the room.

Frowning, Eddie arched his neck up and—

Oh, shit.

“Mistletoe!” Denise crowed. “You know what that means!”

They froze.

“Yeah, Dad. You know what that means,” Christopher echoed from his spot at the kid’s table only a few feet away, glancing between them both with a daring gleam in his eye.

Eddie threw him a stern look, his fingers flexing on Buck’s hip almost subconsciously.

Aren’t kids supposed to be embarrassed by their parents’ PDA?

“Christopher…”

“You heard him, Ed,” Buck said with something unreadable on his face, tilting his head ever so slightly.

Eddie’s heart lodged in his throat, his eyes bugging out of their sockets. Buck’s breath ghosted over his cheek.

“You good? Stop me if this is too far,” he whispered, before slowly, so, so, slowly leaning in closer and closer…

Eddie said nothing. Couldn’t say anything. Not that he wanted to.

Buck’s surprisingly soft lips brushed against the very edge of his mouth in the tiniest, gentlest kiss he had ever had. It was chaste, blink and you’ll miss it, but still a kiss that had his toes curling and heart racing. Barely breathing, he ever-so-slightly brushed his own lips against Buck’s, taking a split second to savour the warmth—

And then it was gone.

♪ ...‘cause I remember when you were here…and all the fun we had last year… ♪

A series of very mature boos (Christopher’s the obvious loudest) broke him out of his reverie, a shaky breath finally escaping him as Buck leaned back, their eyes catching.

“That probably won’t shut them up but, it’s something, right?”

Hell yeah it’s something, holy shit.

♪ If there was a way…Christmas…I’d hold back this tear…but it’s Christmas day… ♪

If anyone noticed his quiet breakdown, Eddie couldn’t tell because he was too busy making sure he wasn’t the one stepping and stumbling all over Buck’s feet, the tiny, soft, warm kiss playing on his mind over and over like a broken record.

♪ Please, please, please… ♪

Buck kissed him.

♪ Please, please, please… ♪

His best friend had kissed him and was gripping his shoulders and attempting to dance with him. And it felt…amazing. Better than anything Eddie could remember feeling in a long, long time. If ever, he was ashamed to admit.

Then, the song was over.

♪ Baby, please come home…baby, please come home…baby, please come home… ♪

“And I think that’s my cue,” Buck forced a laugh, his hand slipping from Eddie’s jarringly as he made a hasty retreat.

“That totally did not count,” Denise was sure to tell them as soon as they stepped foot off the dancefloor.

“It totally counts,” Kat defended, though didn’t sound that convinced.

“My question is,” Darcy pointed at Buck, “when were you gonna tell me you have two left feet?”

The rest of the night went by in a blur for Eddie after that. He had three more drinks, danced some more, but with everyone but Buck, and ate more finger food than he had in the last three years. It was a good night overall if he was being honest. But if he was being more honest, he was far too preoccupied to really enjoy it.

“So, Mateo and Rosa are adamant that Chris absolutely has to stay over tonight,” Kat informed him at one point, past ten-thirty when the party was starting to wind down. “That good with you?”

He felt himself nod as he sought out his son in the crowd, finding him laughing at something Rosa was saying, his whole face lit up. Warmth pooled in his chest at the sight. Now that he thought about it, he hadn’t seen Christopher in Izzy’s company at all tonight. Instead, he had stuck to Rosa and Mateo like glue, the former getting the majority of his attention, smiles, and laughs.

Oh. Of course. The best friend. Like father, like son.

“Yeah, sure,” he agreed easily, chuckling at his son’s whoop of joy as Kat went to fill them in.

Eddie waved over at them just as he felt Kimmy approach him.

“I can’t say I wasn’t disappointed to hear you were taken, Eddie,” she mumbled practically into his ear, squeezing his shoulder. “But, I gotta admit, you and Buck make a great couple and seem very happy. He’s great with Chris and it’s obvious how much you love each other. Hope you guys have a great New Year’s. Thanks again for coming.”

With that, she flounced back into the dispersing crowd without a backward glance.

He blinked after her, dumbfounded, before shaking himself and going to find Lurch for his coat.

~*~

So, he had clearly lost his mind at some point tonight, that much was for sure. Because he had kissed Eddie. Eddie-Eddie. Edmundo freakin’ Diaz, his best friend (excluding Christopher) in the entire world.

What the fuck were you thinking, you stu—

“Jesus, it’s colder than Alaska in December in here,” Darcy broke through his downward spiral. “You think Ms. Kimmy cranked up the A.C. to subtly get us the hell outta here?”

A coat appeared under his nose.

He looked up to meet the bored gaze of the tall, thin man, ‘Stefan.’

“I think that’s a possibility,” he smirked at her, taking his coat with thanks and beginning to put it on.

It was when he had one arm through the sleeve that Darcy piped up again, sounding carefully nonchalant.

“So, whose idea was it to be fake boyfriends?”

He froze, the other arm of the coat hanging loosely in the air.

“Uh, what—”

“Save the denials, Buckley,” Darcy interjected, sagely taking the last gulp of her wine before beginning to button up her coat. “I knew you two hadn’t gotten your shit together even before your little stunt kiss. But seeing the dumbass look on your face after it? Dead giveaway.”

Buck winced, knowing they had been caught out. And also silently wondering what the hell his face had been saying.

“Sorry, Darce,” he mumbled quietly, trying to fix his sleeve. “It was a misunderstanding that kinda got outta hand and we just went with it. We were gonna let you and Kat in on the secret as soon as we got home and could call you.”

She narrowed her eyes at that, before stepping up and helping him with his coat, smoothing it down over his shoulders when she was done.

“I believe you, Buckley, it’s a likely story,” she winked before dropping a decibel. “You two are very convincing, really. You’re almost too good at the whole couple thing, you had everybody else fooled, I swear. But maybe think about why that is, huh? How practically nothing had to change about your behaviour to be instantly believed as boyfriends by literally everyone else…?”

“Darc—”

“Merry Christmas, Buck,” she waved him off, leaning up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “Call me on New Year’s. You still gotta introduce me to Hen and Karen, you promised!”

With that, she turned on her heel and strode across the room toward her children. He could do nothing but watch her go, knowing his mouth was hanging open like a goldfish.

Kissing Eddie was…it had been a stupid impulse decision, like many, many more he had made in his life. And sure, it was a nice kiss, a good one, one that made his entire body tingle in a way that he hadn’t known it could do but—that was just the thrill of it. It was what you did in a fake relationship, right? To help sell the illusion. And with Christopher egging them on, he just…acted. Without thinking. As usual.

Shit.

~*~

Eddie regretted not just driving to the party and staying sober, even though he had enjoyed his well-earned, four-drinks buzz. Now though, there were tons of people congregated outside waiting for Ubers and he itched to just be back home, curled up in his sweats and henley and—Jesus. He really was turning into an old man.

He watched as Chris chatted animatedly to Buck as they meandered up the driveway, his best friend beaming down at him and nodding along, clearly taking in everything he was saying. When they reached the Alvarez car, Buck leaned down to give him a tight hug, a warm smile on his face. Just as he was about to pull away, Chris tugged him back in and whispered something in his ear. Buck’s face slackened slightly before he patted his back and said loud enough that Eddie could hear, “Love you too, Superman. Have fun.”

With that, Chris waited until Buck stepped away before he turned and waved Eddie over, starting to get into the car.

“Dad?” he piped up just as Eddie was depositing his backpack on the floor at his feet.

“Hm?”

Something flickered in Chris’ eyes as he carefully chose his words.

“Just so you know, even though I was teasing you earlier, I wouldn’t mind if you did like boys. And…and maybe dated someone. ”

He knows.

His kid had always been wiser than his years.

Underneath the initial jolt of fear, something deeply fond and hopeful rose in Eddie’s chest as he swallowed down the sudden well of conflicted emotions, a stinging behind his eyes at the earnest look on Chris’ face.

“Thanks, mijo. That—means a lot. We'll talk more later, okay? I love you so much,” he mumbled into his hair as he pulled him into a tight hug, letting it say everything that he couldn’t say out loud and trying not to read too much into who that someone could be.

“I love you too, Dad. See you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow.”

Eddie reached down one last time to make sure everything was secure and noticed the remnants of something sticking out of the pocket of Chris’ jacket.

“Hey bud, why is there a broken twig in your—”

“Okay kiddos, we ready to go?”

Kat, Darcy, Rosa, and Mateo all began climbing into the car, Christopher steadily engulfed in chatter and effectively cutting Eddie off. Accepting his fate, he gave one last smile and thanks to the parents and closed the car door, walking back to stand beside Buck. They both watched the car drive away until they couldn’t see the lights in the distance anymore.

“What did Chris say to you?” Eddie asked quietly as Buck ordered an Uber from his phone.

“He asked me to stay over,” he chuckled, face awash with the glow of his cell. “Keep an eye on you tonight and be there when he comes back home tomorrow. I think he just wants my chocolate chip pancakes, but I didn’t have the heart to turn him down.”

Buck also hadn’t asked Eddie’s permission. But he knew he didn’t need to. Would never need to.

It was as their Uber pulled up to the curb a few minutes later, that the words Carla had said what felt like decades ago, began echoing in Eddie’s head.

Be sure you’re following your heart.

He climbed into the backseat, right after his best friend.

They drove home in comfortable silence.

~*~

“Your couch is calling to me,” Buck groaned as they plodded through the front door, Eddie turning on the lights and taking off his coat.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Buck, coat and all, sink down onto the couch in question, his large body crumpling like paper under his tiredness. Shaking his head with amusement, he toed off his shoes and followed, sitting down next to him, their thighs almost touching.

“What a night, huh?” Buck asked, tipping his head back against the cushions and letting his eyes fall closed.

“It wasn’t how I imagined my first kiss with a guy going, that’s for sure.”

Buck’s eyes snapped open wide, gaping at him.

“I was your fir—wait, you imagined kissing a guy?”

Oops. Four-drink-Eddie strikes again.

It was funny, in a way. In the few instances where he let himself think about it, he had always thought he’d feel fear at accidentally outing himself to his best friend. And he had thought, lying in the dark at night, that if he ever did pluck up the courage to do it on purpose, he’d feel sick with worry and anxiety, and that his hands would shake under the pressure.

But his heads were steady.

And yeah, there was a tiny amount of fear and anxiety trickling down his spine, but it was far outweighed by a sense of relief. Buck knows. My best friend knows. Even if he doesn’t know everything, that’s something. Buck isn’t going anywhere.

“Uh…okay. Guess I’m doing this,” he pivoted on the couch, their knees pressing together as their gazes met.

He took a breath.

“I-I’m…not straight. I started to figure it out a while back and haven’t told anyone but Frank. And now you, I guess.”

Buck blinked. Slowly, then more rapidly as it sank in.

“Wow. Thanks for telling me,” he murmured eventually before wincing. “Sorry. That’s probably not the best response to—”

“No, you’re fine,” he cut him off. “Honestly, it feels good to say it out loud outside of my therapist’s office. And…you’re my best friend, Buck. I trust you more than anyone in the world.”

A soft expression spread across Buck’s face.

“I trust you too, Eds. With everything. Come here, I’m so proud of you!”

He had a lapful of 6’2”, 160lbs Evan Buckley before he could take another breath. Strong, toned arms wrapped around him, enveloping him inside Buck’s open coat, his warmth encasing him.

“I’m here for you, Eddie,” Buck’s breath bounced off his neck. “And I know I already said it, but I’m so proud of you. You’ve come so far in—in the last couple of years since…”

“...the shooting,” Eddie finished. “Yeah. And listen, I—I know we still haven’t properly talked about what happened that day but…we will, okay? We have to. Soon. I promise.”

He felt rather than saw Buck nod from where his face was buried in his neck.

A quiet beat passed between them as Eddie allowed himself this. This one moment to bask in his friend’s comforting hug.

Then, Buck leaned back. But didn’t go far. A sheepish expression on his face.

“And not…not to take away from your moment or anything, I promise I don’t mean to, but I’m just now realising I’ve never actually told you that…I’ve…fooled around with some guys in my time.”

Eddie felt his eyebrows shoot up his forehead but knew he wasn’t half as surprised as Buck probably thought he should be.

“During your Buck 1.0 era?” he asked tentatively.

“Uh, yeah. And—” Buck rubbed the back of his neck, his cheeks reddening. “When I was younger too. My second kiss ever was with a guy called Scott McAvoy when I was 16.”

“Wow. Thanks for telling me,” Eddie echoed cheekily before nudging their shoulders together.

They shared a laugh.

And that was that. Buck knew. He knew half of his deepest secret.

Eddie felt him tense where their knees were still pressed together. Something cold trickled down his back.

“...Buck?”

“Huh?” his head shot up. “Sorry, uh…I just found this in my pocket.”

Eddie blinked as he revealed a sprig of mistletoe cradled in his palm. His heart did a somersault as the ghost of Buck’s lips lingered on his mouth.

“I uh,” Buck cleared his throat. “I think Darcy sneaked it into my coat pocket when she was helping me with my sleeve.”

Something clanged in the back of Eddie’s mind.

“Uh, actually. I think it might have been Chris.”

The clock on his mantel had never ticked so loudly.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

“Chris? How did he—the hug, he hugged me and—”

“Reverse pick-pocketed you, apparently,” Eddie chuckled, only slightly worried about his child’s admittedly impressive sleight-of-hand.

Buck shared his laugh for a second before a deep line formed between his eyebrows.

“I am sorry for springing that kiss on you, though. I know we didn’t really go over it beforehand and I think with Chris practically daring us, I just—got carried away and I didn’t think—I never think and—”

“Buck. It’s good. You’re fine. It was…nice.”

Another beat.

Two.

A slow smile spread across his face. Something between smug and coy.

“Nice, huh?”

He held up the mistletoe over their heads, mischief in his eyes. Before Eddie could react, he darted forward and smacked a wet, exaggerated kiss right on his cheek, complete with a ‘mwah’ sound and everything.

Eddie feigned annoyance, making grumbles of faux disgust and reaching up to push him off but instead kept his hand firmly pressed against his chest, feeling his heartbeat under his fingers.

“Your breath stinks,” he lied, knowing he was blushing too furiously to be taken at his word.

“Hey, you had those mushrooms too,” Buck retorted. “You and Chris looked like chipmunks who had stuffed them into your cheeks for the winter. Darcy got a picture and everything. Kat and Rosa laughed for a solid minute.”

He stared down at the sprig still in his hands, falling oddly silent.

Eddie counted the beats of his heart as waited for him to continue.

Duh dum.

Duh dum.

Duh dum.

“...Buck? You okay?”

He jumped, startled, before flashing him a half-hearted grin.

“Sorry. I’m fine. It’s just…this time of year, you know? Kat and Darcy planning a second honeymoon, Chim and Maddie getting ready for their big move, Connor and Kameron being pregnant…it just has me thinking about the future, is all. I just…I want that, Eddie. A home with a family.” Who loves me, went unsaid but not unheard.

Eddie’s heart panged in his chest. He reached down and clasped his arm.

“Buck. I know it’s not the same but you know that you already have that, right? With Chris and me? There will always be a home for you here.”

He nodded, eyes still focused on the mistletoe.

“I do know that. And I can’t tell you how much you and Chris mean to me. But what…what happens when you meet someone? A girlfriend—or a boyfriend?”

“I won’t.”

That got his attention, his eyes finally meeting his.

“What? What do you mean you—”

“Doesn’t matter. You’re my best friend. You’re Christopher’s best friend. No hypothetical boyfriend or girlfriend will ever change or come between that, okay?”

The will, Buck. Remember the will.

Those bright blue eyes scanned his face for any sign of deception. They found none.

“Okay.”

He squeezed his arm.

“We have your back and you have ours. That’s a lifetime kinda deal.”

He tried and failed to ignore how much that sounded like a vow.

A real grin finally broke out on Buck’s face.

“Even if it means me crashing on your couch until we’re 90?”

“Hey, it’s a good couch.”

“It is. I like your couch.”

“I like you on my couch.”

“What?”

Eddie shook his head, trying and failing to shake away the fog of alcohol loosening his lips.

“Nothin’. Go to sleep. I’ll see you in the morning. Thanks again for tonight.”

With that, he stood, picking up the mistletoe from where it had fallen to the floor.

“Eds…” Buck half-whispered, halting him in his tracks. “I…I like being on your couch. You and Chris…you mean everything to me. You know that right?” his voice sounded strangled in the nearly silent room.

It was then that Eddie noticed, the way he was standing and holding the plant, it was practically hovering over Buck’s head.

“I—” Eddie swallowed the lump in his own throat. “You didn’t have to do any of that tonight. The fake relationship, the dancing, the kiss, but you did it anyway. And I appreciate all of it, so much. Everything you do every day. You had my back. Just like you always do. But even if you did nothing at all, just…by being here, with us, being you, you mean everything to us too. To me. We don’t just want you around because you’re helpful or useful. We want you here because we…we love you, Evan. And you will always have a home with us.”

Jesus. Therapy makin' you a motormouth, now?

He knew he was being too honest, and repeating himself, but dammit, Buck deserved to hear it. Probably needed to hear it. And most likely hadn’t heard it from many people outside of his sister before.

Buck caught his hand, giving a gentle squeeze, apparently not able to verbalize a response.

In one hand, Eddie held mistletoe. And in the other, he held Buck.

He could do it. He could give one tiny tug with his right hand and pull himself down into his best friend’s lap, brush his lips against his and press him back into the couch, the couch that Buck had made his own so long ago. He could prove just how much he belonged here, with him, with them, as a family. They could steal each other’s breath, bite and lick and writhe…

But he wouldn’t do it.

Couldn’t.

Right?

He certainly wouldn’t risk everything they had. It was too important to him. Just because he had come out, and Buck had admitted to having fooled around with guys—it didn’t mean that, right?

“Thank you. I love you both too,” Buck finally replied after what felt like five breathless minutes of staring at one another, his tone just shy of teasing.

Something flickered across his face that had Eddie intrigued. It was pensive. As if he were trying to figure something out, but before he could ask about it, Buck continued.

“And yeah, tonight was fun. You’re a good kisser, Diaz. Even if it ‘didn’t count.’”

The spell broke.

Eddie laughed, wrenching his hand back and using it to shove him, forcing his feet away from the couch.

“You’re not so bad yourself, Buckley,” he called over his shoulder. “Go to sleep. We have pancakes to make in the morning.”

He was almost to his bedroom door when he heard his best friend pipe up again, a little more muffled this time, as if his face were buried in a pillow.

“Hey, I’ve been thinking, I’m pretty sure it’s not Izzy that Chris has a crush on.”

~*~

Eddie was at therapy with Frank today. He had joked that he planned on filling him in on all their antics at the Christmas party the other night, but the way he bit his bottom lip, made Buck sure that he wasn’t joking at all. He was probably going to do exactly that. The ruse, the interrogation from their friends. The kiss…

Buck knew he sure as hell hadn’t been able to stop thinking about any of it. The kiss, the dancing, and later, on Eddie’s couch…as he looked up at his best friend, the moon basking him in a soft glow, something bright in his eyes as he looked right back at him, sparking a treacherous flicker of hope within him.

A hope that one day, maybe Buck wouldn’t just be coming home for Chris. Or for Christmas. He would be coming home for Eddie. And for himself too. Because it was so obvious to see, now. He already had a couch, a home, a son, a family—with his best friend. His partner. Partners that had each other’s back, always had, and always would. And wasn’t that what Ravi had said about love? I mean, isn’t that what we all want in a partner? Knowing that they have your back?

Oh. It’s him. It’s Eddie.

He had been so stupid. It had been right in front of him, all this time. And he just hadn’t realised what it meant. But now, he had perfect clarity. He knew exactly why it had been so easy to play pretend, how effortless it had been to slip into the role of Eddie’s more-than-just-work partner. How nothing had to change in their behaviour to be believable. Now, he could look back on all those other times they had been mistaken for a family, and those moments where he had inexplicably found his eyes drawn to his best friend’s jaw, catching on his lips, drinking in how good he always looked and could finally admit how nice all of it felt—resting his hand on his back, on his shoulders, dancing with him, his lips on the edge of his mouth…

“Buck?”

His head snapped up, meeting Dr. Copeland’s gaze.

“You got lost in thought for a moment,” she smiled calmingly, leaning forward in her chair. “Want to talk about what’s on your mind?”

He heaved a deep, shaky breath.

“I think I’m in love with Eddie."

For my wonderful friend @itsmajel. Happy Belated Birthday xo

[dayfourwmv]

THAT DREAD, THAT HORRIBLE PRESENCE. CLOSER AND CLOSER STILL. This time was overcome with helplessness. Desperation. Panic. Despair. His body couldn't do anything but, finally, vomit — its cold sweat being the only relief from hellfire. He gasped for breath as those heavy chains felt they were melting into his bones.

Each step grew heavier as his pace began to crawl. The monster's silhouette, highlighted by magma, rushes newfound adrenaline into his already pulsing veins. The foundation shook as rubble from above trickled down on his already broken body. His legs quake as he stands. His knuckles turned white hot as he watched every slow and meticulous step. It's a useless attempt to save face. He's already seen what he needs to see.

The demon reached out a hand.

Like a child hiding under a blanket, he shut his eyes.

...He can't close his eyes?

The hand grew closer.

He tries to duck,

but

he can't move he can't even shout

WHY CANT I FEEL ANYTHING? WHY CANT I BREATHE? WHERE AM I? DID IT WORK? CAN ANYONE HEAR ME? CAN ANYONE SEE ME? SOMEONE HELP ME. DONT TURN THE GAME OFF. DONT LEAVE ME LIKE THIS. SOMEONE HELP ME. PLEASE. I'M SO SCARED.

—CRRRRACK!

BEN felt his neck snap too cleanly. The force was deliberate, agonizing; drawn out for every second he could spare. Every fragment that split from his body and fell into the lava pricked at him like boiled needles. His soul choked and cried and wailed as the statue remained stagnant as ever. Without a say in it, he'd die as quietly and as helpless as before. Where no one could hear him scream.

When HE ripped the body clean from its host, he let it fall from his grasp. His manic smile contorted more impossibly than before, mocking the boy with every wrinkle. HE stared into the statue's blank eyes of unresolved terror until BEN's body sunk deep beneath the magma.

and it burns and it burns and it burns and it burns and it burns and it burns and it burns and it burns and it burns and it burns and it burns AND IT BURNS AND IT BURNS AND IT BURNS AND IT BURNS AND

IT BURNS AND IT BURNS AND IT BURNS AND IT IT BURNS AND IT BURNS AND IT BURNS AND IT

BURNS AND IT BURNS AND IT BURNS AND IT BURNS AND IT BURNS AND IT BURNS AND IT BURNS AND IT BURNS

Ben's head is the next to go, slipping carelessly from his gloves like a useless toy. The RINGING in his head, HIS LAUGHTER, is maddening. The pressure makes his brain want to pop. His eyesight was an unreliable blur. The heat grew closer by the millisecond.

i think about my dad i think about rosa

i think about the nothing i was and

the nothing i

will return to

i think

i've wasted my existence.

[grandma-susan]

The soft squelching sounds filled the room with the occasional little ring of glass and metal striking one another. The room was dark and the air was bitter from various bottles that had been opened and used, their corks and lids laying askew. Balled and torn ribbons of linen sat soaked in blood or hanging off the dusty chairs in the room, quietly dripping on to the floor and spreading into an exquisite lace-like pattern. There was an old thick book opened to a page about lacerations and puncture wounds. Deft old hands dug into the warm, soft, wet flesh of the cowboy. A cannibal's delight. Teeth bared and face glistening with concentration, it would be so easy to.... If one wanted to... with the wounds left in this man would have made a great spot to grip and lift his lifeless body to your lips for a nectarous bite. His body was long, slender and lean, not a hint of idle fat underneath that red ruby skin. Even his skin was quite thick. Hardened by the elements and marred by passed battles. It had a ....ornamental look to it. It stretched over his lean muscles like a well fitted suit, and what a provocative suit it would have been. A disgruntled huffed escaped the elder as she reached over and pressed her wet fingers against his neck, feeling the slow pulse under her finger pads. Still breathing, this man could take much more than he let on, as they said, Imps were a hardy breed. A knife was tossed into a tarnished silver plated tray with a loud clatter, along with three smaller pieces of metal and with a heave, a sickening bone crunching pop bounced off the walls of the room. "Hneeh." Susan grumbled as she flicked her hands clean, blood spraying onto the floor behind her. Almost done. She reached over to an amber bottled, uncorked and it poured its contents into a basin of water and grabbed a fresh cloth and began to clean up her work. There was only four more things to do, sew, pack, set and bind. All the while a steady trickle of blood tainted liquid trickled onto the floor pooling and seeping into the aged wood. She wrung out the cloth and did a final wipe down before she reached over, and unfurled a roll of needles. Rummaging through an old drawer she pulled out a roll of sinew. She dropped the spool into another bowl reached in and cut a length off before threading her curved needle and began closing up the flaps of skin, her eyes watching the glistening blood seep though her stitches. It wasn't long before she was done and stood back to admire her work. The man who had laid in a messy heap in her yard was now laying bare on her table, with the crafty bindings and dressings of an expert. All she had to do now was to clean up and put his this serpent into a bed. But before she could finish cleaning, she heard a rattling stir and she looked over. Slits of amber eyes blinked into the darkness. A long, dreaded moan slipped through the imp's mouth, before he said his first words. His body jerked in an ugly fashion and his unfocused eyes began to wildly dance around the room. His body how twitching in an unruly fashion and his secured tail thrashing against the wooden table. Susan clicked her tongue as she watched blood starting to seep though the dressings she had worked hard to pack. "Quit your thrashing." She said with a lowly hiss, as she reached over for a bottle and cloth. With each step, her heels clicked closer to him. "You come ambling into my yard, making a mess of things...." Her disembodied scowl flashed in the dark. "I was hoping you'd stay asleep a while longer, so I could finish working on you, but your peabrain just had to wake up didn't it." She muttered, the sound of her final step making a splash, would fill Striker's ears before her hand cupped forcefully over Striker's mouth and nose, firmly holding down the chloroform soaked rag. "Go. Back. To. Sleep!"

His limber body bucked for a moment, but with the weight of his splints, stitches and bindings effectively held him down. "That's it. Close your eyes~, nothing to see here~." she purred as she watched those wild spiral eyes dim and his muffled protests go silent and his body weakening into a frantic tremble until it went limp once again. Now, it was time to move the body. There weren't many places in her home to stash such a wild man and a man of his size in his home. But after some thought she had the perfect place. With a bit of adjusting and planning, this frail looking woman managed to move the cowboy imp to a more suitable room. In he went. She tucked his less injured limbs in close to his body, adjusted his head onto the pillow and wiped off a smear of what looked like grease and ash on his cheek then lastly threw a light yet warm blanket over his frame. And left a bell on the side table for when he would wake up. Though, it was highly likely she'd know before he could figured out how to move his fingers again after the damage he took. "Now to boil an burn all the crap he made."

A few hours passed.

The young man slowly regained consciousness, the dim crimson light filtering into the room revealed a nightmarish scene.

He felt the weight of restraints binding him tightly to a makeshift table, his limbs immobilized by the crude yet effective contraptions. Panic surged through him as he took in his surroundings—a dingy room adorned with tattered and bloodstained furniture, an unsettling array of surgical and kitchen tools scattered nearby, and shelves filled with bottles reminiscent of those found in an embalming facility. He felt a chilling breeze against his skin. Looking down, he realized he was completely naked, adding to the overwhelming sense of vulnerability.

"What...What in the actual fuck...oh Satan..."

Cold sweat beaded on his forehead as he attempted to move, only to be met with searing pain coursing through his body. His eyes darted around, searching for clues, for any hint of escape. A book of anatomy lay open nearby, its pages filled with diagrams and descriptions that sent shivers down his spine. A tapestry depicting the intricacies of the human body hung ominously on the wall, adding to the eerie atmosphere.

He was going to get sick.

The air was thick with the scent of disinfectant and decay, mingling with the metallic tang of blood. Struggling against his restraints, he noticed jars filled with preserved organs and body parts, a chilling reminder of his dire situation.

Yep, definitely going to get sick.

Fear gripped him as he realized the gravity of his predicament. Someone had not only subdued him but had also subjected him to this grotesque imprisonment. With each futile attempt to break free, the weight of his confinement bore down on him, amplifying his sense of helplessness.

In the midst of his terror, a single thought persisted—he needed to find a way out, to escape the clutches of whoever orchestrated this macabre ordeal before it was too late.

He tried to break free from the leather straps holding down his wrists, ignoring the throbbing pain of his whole body.

"Come on, come on..."

[treescape]

This was going to be a longer oneshot, an alternate ending to episode 5, but the pacing isn’t working out, so here’s the bit that I most wanted to write in the first place 😆

Context: Obi-Wan surrenders to Vader to ensure the escape of those on Jabiim. They discuss the sparring match from their memories.

~1k, Rated M for discussion of sexual fantasies, below the cut.

-----------

The cell where Obi-Wan has been confined is empty, barren, but it wouldn’t matter if it weren’t. Vader is all he sees, tall and unmoving through the transparisteel of the walls, his shoulders an obsidian screen.

There is everything between them and almost nothing at all, ten years of hatred and pain and a bare handful of inches. Obi-Wan says nothing. There are no words for the things he wants to say, not in any language he knows.

Vader watches him for a long moment. Obi-Wan can feel the weight of his eyes through the thick lenses of his mask, through the regulated air of his ship and the thin barrier between them.

“This time you must concede my victory,” Vader finally says, and the words are mechanical, inflectionless, but Obi-Wan’s traitorous mind is all too quick to lend it the cadence of Anakin’s voice, to reach fingers into memory and dredge forth the precise beat of it.

Obi-Wan forces himself to breathe through the memory, and when he catches himself automatically matching the heavy hiss of Vader’s lungs, he makes himself breathe slower, makes himself cast off the rhythm.

It isn’t the same one long etched into his heart, he tells himself.

“I think perhaps you don’t remember that day clearly,” Obi-Wan replies. The skies of Coruscant flash in his mind, and the blue of Anakin’s saber, and the blaze of Anakin’s smile. They expand in his chest, threaten to burn through his bones and his muscles and his veins. They threaten to wither him whole. “The lesson was not in prowess or tactics, but rather in the forbearance of pride. As that is a lesson you have yet to learn, you have won no more this day than you did then.”

It’s a wonder that his voice can sound so calm when inside he is crumbling to ash. How easily he slides back into the guise of instruction with the one who stands before him.

“*I* don’t remember clearly,” Vader says, and for all the simmering darkness that Obi-Wan can feel roiling off of him, Obi-Wan thinks he’s almost amused. It’s like a kick to the gut, a saber through the heart, how quickly his mood changes. How much like Anakin he still is. “You know less than you think about that day, or what I remember of it.”

“Is that so?”

A beat of silence, only the harsh inhale-exhale of Vader’s breathing. “Do you know what I did after we finished sparring that day, Obi-Wan?”

Obi-Wan ignores the sound of his own name, lest it cut him to shreds. “I must assume you didn’t go to the gardens to perform the meditation exercises I assigned.”

A harsh laugh, discordant and loud. “I went back to my chamber,” Vader agrees, and there’s a note of triumph in his voice. “I sat there in my bed and remembered the feel of you, the smell of you as we fought. I held the saber you had used to defeat me and pretended I could still feel the heat of your hands.”

“Much less productive than the meditation would have been, I’m sure,” Obi-Wan says, a trickle of apprehension from the Force, a relentless certainty that he knows what is coming next.

Not this, he thinks. Don’t make me face this, not here. Not now.

“I imagined that you had one least lesson for me that day,” Vader tells him, the string of his words ruthless and unyielding, in that voice that is Vader but echoes like Anakin in Obi-Wan’s mind. Obi-Wan forces himself to stare with mild curiosity at that implacable mask, not to reveal the slow dread churning through his veins. “I imagined that you would tell me to kneel. You would instruct me to loosen your belt and pull you out. I thought about you teaching me to take you in my mouth.”

Obi-Wan doesn’t think it’s his imagination that there’s a hint of heat in that cold voice—not when he can feel the tangled fever of it in the Force, the vindictive twisting of a youthful fantasy.

He had always suspected his padawan nursed a crush; it wasn’t uncommon at all for such things to happen.

“And then,” Vader says, “once you’d had your fill of my mouth, I thought about you telling me to get on the bed. You would instruct me to open myself up for you with my fingers. You would watch until I was begging you to do it for me. I would have begged you to show me how to do it the way you wanted me to. And then—”

Vader falls silent for just a moment, only the sound of his breathing in the air, and Obi-Wan knows he wants only to wind the moment tight, to string out the tension before the victorious finale, the strike he expects to fell Obi-Wan  with ease.

Obi-Wan won’t let him have it, even if it costs him the truth.

“I could never,” he says mildly into the pause.

If Vader is thrown off, he doesn’t show it, but Obi-Wan can feel the hot flash of impatience, the burn of his ire. “Of course,” he sneers. “The great Master Kenobi would never have stooped so low as to want his own padawan.”

“No,” Obi-Wan says, and then, before Vader can sneer again, can claim that denial for his own use, can exploit it to shore up his own counterstroke, Obi-Wan forges ahead into the greatest shame of his life as if it is of no matter. “I could never, as you put it, have had my fill of your pretty little mouth. I would have had to keep you on your knees all day, at the very least. Would you have liked that?”

If nothing else, Obi-Wan tells himself, the cost of those words is not in vain. Vader stares at him—inhales, exhales, an endless moment that teeters on the brink of collapsing.

Then, he turns and strides away, cape flaring behind him, fury scorching in the Force.

Match to me, Obi-Wan thinks, his heart a leaden weight in his chest.

He knows, deep in his bones and through the ache of memory, that it’s going to be a long, long battle.