#I wrote this to comfort myself | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

justfangirlstuffs · 1 month

Text

Heart of Glass

A friend of mine finally talked me into reading LDR and this was the result. Takes place after chapter 13. LDR belongs to @spadillelicious

At your wit's end, you decide to try and have a normal time with Sun before opening hours.

cw: suggestive

You x Sun

wordcount: 2040

You came into work feeling a little more rested than you have been in the past few days. You chanced taking a quick glance around for Moon but the janitor was doing a good job of making himself discreet, and you couldn't exactly blame him given recent events. A knot formed in the pit of your stomach and you rubbed at your temples.

You missed the days when your greatest concern at work was customer service, or not making a total fool of yourself while skating, or… confessing to your crush. It was beyond agonizing how your world had gone from bright and sure to being filled with shadows of uncertainty at every corner overnight. And each day the shadows seemed to grow bigger and more numerous. It almost made you wish you could go back to the days of blissful ignorance before you knew the horrible, horrible truth.

“Good morning, sunshine!” Sun chirped from behind you, causing you to jump nearly a foot in the air. He placed both hands on your shoulders to steady you before you could fall over. “Careful there. You don't even have your skates on and already you're unbalanced.” He gave a soft, playful chuckle in your ear that made your heart squeeze in your chest and your breath catch in your lungs.

“M-Morning, Sun,” you forced out, trying to simulate even a sliver of the cheer he was radiating..

“You're here early again I see, perfect. That means we can get more practice in. I'll make an expert skater out of you yet,” Sun declared, giving a spin and winking at you.

You gave a soft snort in answer, doubting his claims. Your clumsiness on wheels aside… A dark thought pervaded your mind… would you even live long enough for that to happen? You stared up at Sun, seeing the eagerness in his body language, the way he was practically bouncing in his roller skates, the way his eyes were lit up with excitement and anticipation. He was eager to get you on the roller rink. His dance floor.

You considered him, and you considered one of your more recent conversations. His confession about the mixtape, how it meant everything to him, how he’d kissed it and handled it like the most precious of treasures. A part of you desperately wanted to believe his words, that he would never hurt you, that he wanted to keep you safe and protect you. But your mind was still swirling in a fog of doubt and fear.

After what you saw him do you didn't know what to believe anymore. You didn't want to think that all those months of you and him had been a lie. But if they had been… would he really be trying so hard? And then another thought occurred to you, a crazy and possibly insane thought. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to keep Sun endeared to you. If his feelings were really as true as he claimed, then perhaps keeping him on your side might be the smart thing to do. You felt like such a scuzz for even thinking that but it wasn't just about self-preservation on your part. You really did miss your friend. Your Sun.

“Not this time,” you said, straightening your back and puffing out your chest a little bit. “This time we're going on to MY dance floor.”

Sun stared down at you, his eyes widening in surprise as he blinked at you. Clearly, you had caught him off guard. “Oh?” The sound was drawn out, laced with intrigue, and his rays gave a little spin. “Do tell. Where is this said dance floor?”

Swallowing down all of your nerves -and they went down as smoothly as a thick wad of dried bread, with no water to wash it down- you took Sun by the hand and pulled him towards the DJ booth. He gave a soft giggle clearly intrigued as he let you tug him along, his roller skates gliding easily along the floor. When you got to the DJ booth you began flipping through the vinyls looking for the record you had in mind.

“Skates off," you told him.

Once again Sun was taken aback by your request. “Sunshine, this is a skating rink,” he reminded you.

“Oh, what's the matter?” You asked, throwing him a raised eyebrow and the hint of a smirk. “Afraid I'll show you up?”

Sun laughed and it was the first genuine laugh you heard since... you shook your head. No you couldn't let those thoughts frazzle you now. Not when you had a good flow going. “Someone is feeling daring today,” Sun remarked, and he sounded pleased as punch about it. “All right, then. We’ll play by your rules.”

While Sun changed out of his skates and into his casual footwear, you searched for a particular vinyl. It didn’t take you long to find what you were looking for, and once you got it set up, the music started and Heart of Glass by Blondie began blaring over speakers. You turned to face Sun and then you begin to move your hips to the music, doing a shuffle as your elbows and knees popped to the beat.

Sun gazed at you in utter awe. “I didn't know you could dance, sunshine. You've been holding back on me!”

Normally you didn't, normally you were too embarrassed and self-conscious to dance in front of others. But if this helped you to mend some kind of bridge…

“Once I had a love, and it was a gas,” you sang as you swayed your hips.

“Soon turned out, had a heart of glass,” Sun continued as he joined you, shuffling his feet, his limbs moving with a flawless elegance that was so enviable.

As it turned out Sun was just as graceful off the roller rink as he was on it. He matched you move for move and even had the cheek to embellish on some of them. Clearly trying to impress you, and probably also show off a little. Halfway through the song, Sun caught one of your hands and spun you around before pulling you into a dance of his own. With one hand holding yours and the other on your hip, he rocked and swayed your bodies together in time with the music. Your heart surged in your chest a mix of fear and something else. Excitement? Giddy? You decided not to look at it too closely and just enjoy the music and the rhythm that your bodies were making.

The two of you spun and danced around the small space and you felt a little bit more in control without the skates to put you off balance. Sun did a good enough job of that to you as it was all on his own. At one point Sun had spun you around so that you were face away from him, and you were acutely aware of his hips gently grinding against yours as your back pressed against his chest. It was only for a moment, maybe two, but it caused you to fluster enough that you nearly had a misstep as Sun spun you back around to face him, his smile perfectly bright and innocent.

Despite your nerves, you felt yourself actually having fun. “Lost inside, adorable illusion and I cannot hide,” you sing softly.

Sun continued the next lyric. “I'm the one you're using, please don't push me aside.” You heard his voice quiver a little at those last few words, his voice becoming almost pleading.

He pulled you a little closer in the dancing and once again you felt your heart being clenched in your chest. A thought occurred to you just then. (You’d been having a lot of those lately.) What if Moon wasn't the only victim here? You saw how Sun acted around Afton, how whenever the owner came by Sun distanced himself from you. Maybe… maybe Sun acted the way he did because he had to.

Was that stupid of you to think? Was that naive of you to wish that that was the case? At any rate, you couldn't allow yourself to fully believe it as much as you wanted to. There was too much doubt, too many holes in this gruesome picture that you found yourself a part of unwittingly. But in your heart of hearts you wanted to hold on to that hope that the Sun that you knew, the friend who had always been there to brighten your day and bring a smile to your face, you wanted to believe that that was the real Sun.

The two of you finished out the song, Sun slowing down the dance as the outro played until he was just gently swaying you with him. Holding you close so that your heart was practically hammering against his chest plate.

“I missed this,” he murmured against your hair. “I missed us.”

“Me too,” you said, allowing yourself to be honest.

Sun began humming, but not to the tune that was playing. It was a different song entirely. A much older one. “You Are My Sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy when skies are gray~. You'll never know dear how much I…” His whole body shuddered, his sun rays twitching and his words seemed to hitch.

You stared up at him, your mouth agape. “S-Sun?” It was a question, and you still weren't sure you wanted to know the answer.

Sun slowed the both of you to a halt, staring down at you with those pale eyes that seemed so… vulnerable at the moment. His hands reached up to cradle your face and your cheeks were hot against his cool silicone and metal digits.

“I know you're still… uncertain. But unlike you, there is no doubt in my mind about how I feel.”

He leaned down and in a panic, you closed your eyes too scared to back away or to move forward. But instead of a touch on your lips, you felt his smile press against your forehead in a sweet and affectionate gesture.

“Not to worry, sunshine,” he said softly. “If… when that happens, it will be because you wanted it.”

Your heart swelled and you almost wanted to cry. So many emotions and thoughts and feelings were swirling around in your head, distorting your reality and making you dizzy. Were you a terrible person for leading him on like this? Were you an even worse person for still loving him as much as you did? You opened your eyes to look at him but before you could say or think to say anything, you heard a distant banging on a door breaking the mood.

Sun glanced over to the front doors, an unamused laugh emitting from him. “Looks like we have some eager beavers this morning. It's still ten minutes til opening.”

Sun parted from you and you had to fight the urge to reach out and grab his windbreaker to stop him. He slipped his roller skates back on and flashed you his trademark grin. “I'll take care of things, sunshine. Why don't you go grab yourself a cup of coffee real quick? I made you a fresh pot.”

“Thank you,” you said, giving him a smile. And for the first time in a while, it didn't feel forced.

“No, thank you, sunshine.” He lingered in the doorway, gripping the door frame tightly. “I really needed this. More than I think you'll ever know.”

With that, he skated off to help the customers, all while singing the song that was playing “The tide is high but I'm holding on, I'm gonna be your number one~.”

You collapsed down into one of the swivel chairs, needing to catch your breath from the whirlwind of the last several minutes. For just a short while things had felt normal again. It felt like you had your friend and crush back. The hope in your heart, once a little seedling, was starting to grow, and you were wondering if it was too late to root it out. You just prayed that Sun would keep his promise. Because the hurt at his betrayal would kill you long before a bullet from his gun.

#fnaf sundrop #fnaf moondrop #sun x y/n #sun x reader #cw suggestive #love death and rollerskates #here's hoping I didn't totally butcher Sun's character #this story man #i'm emotionally compromised over these two broken bots #but i felt like this song REALLY suited the situation damn near perfectly #wrote this because after all the hurt I needed some self comfort #feel like i'm setting myself up for heartache with Sun but I will hold onto hope #justfangirlwritings

203 notes · View notes

fatuismooches · 1 month

Text

Self-indulgent Omega fic to help turn my writing brain back on, inspired by this brainrot. He is referred to as 24 in here as fragile reader hasn't named the segments yet. You two aren't the closest yet, but a chance encounter with the segment begins to change that. (I will respond to asks... eventually).

After a few centuries-long coma, when you woke up, the hardest thing to process wasn't that fact. It wasn't the fact your lover, who now went by "Dottore" instead of "Zandik" was now a powerful Harbinger. It wasn't the fact you had to deal with this illness for who knows how long (actually, this was quite hard to process, but you tried your best not to dwell on it.) Rather, it was the fact that Dottore now had copies of himself running around. And if you were to properly adjust to your new life, you absolutely had to make room for them. But that was easier said than done.

They were all Zandik, but at the same time, they felt like strangers to you. They were familiarly enigmatic as you had remembered the original one, but you weren't sure if you were good enough to puzzle each of them out all over again... However, pursuing Zandik as a student meant that you certainly were a persistent soul, so you would try!

One of Dottore's segments that you were trying to crack was named 24 (he hadn't bothered to give them names for some reason). 24 was tall and imposing, authoritative even among the segments, despite their tendency to bicker with one another. He was also different from the other segments in a way, but you couldn't put your finger on what exactly it was, for some reason. Needless to say, intriguing (just like all the others). Unfortunately, your attempts to move this relationship forward weren't going the smoothest. You found that even building up your courage for numerous minutes still resulted in a dry throat and awkward moments of the segment looking at you expectantly.

However, that would change one night.

Sleepless nights were frequent when you were a student, but they seemed to have followed you even all this time later. At least, instead of studying and dealing with assignments, you were left to stare at the ceiling in peace or pull out a nice book to read until you became sleepy again. But this time, no option satisfied you. You wanted company. And so you set off to find Dottore. The walk was always nice, but it seemed like you were more tired than you thought, as you eventually realized you were definitely not going the right way in the maze of a building, evident from the recognizable doors of one of the main labs.

Well, you were already here, and you didn't want to walk all the way back. You should just enter and loop your way back around somehow. Judging from the silence on the other side, there was most likely no one else there either, which was good for you! And so you pushed the doors open, intent on entering until you saw him.

24.

He sat there unmasked, screwdriver in hand, carefully tweaking himself, a few other tools to the side as well. Wait, a screwdriver to his face? You squinted a bit more and that's when you realized he... had no face? Well, kind of, he had a mouth and squishy cheeks, but the upper half was replaced by mechanics instead. A gleaming red gem in the middle along with blue wires made up 24's face in replacement for actual eyes, You had no clue that this was what he really looked like.

You were a mix of shock and awe. It was surprising but you supposed you should have expected the segments, who weren't human, to have some features like this. And didn't Prime say 24 was the most recently made segment? More recent, more advanced, you guessed. But you also had a feeling you really shouldn't have walked in on this, so you should leave while you still could. Maybe 24 didn't notice you yet-

"It's awfully past your bedtime, isn't it, [Name]?" 24 hummed, continuing whatever modification he was doing calmly, not the slightest bothered by your intrusion, or by the fact you saw his face. You wanted to retort with something, but your usual attitude with Zandik seemed to die down around this individual that you had yet to become fully comfortable with.

"I could not sleep. So I took a walk." You glanced away from 24, then back at him. "What... what are you doing?" You asked, curiosity overtaking your nervousness.

"Simply performing some routine maintenance. I will be finished soon, and then-"

"Can I see?" The sudden, rather eager question from you, made 24 pause. You had always been quiet and a bit jumpy around him, so this sudden change in attitude had him interested. On the contrary, he thought that seeing this inhuman face of his would make you keep your distance more, but it attracted you? Not what the segment predicted, but he found himself enjoying the surprises you brought with you.

You, on the other hand, were reminded of the old days of helping Zandik put together and apart various contraptions. It was a mixture of 24's display and also the star in the middle, which reminded you of all the Ruin Guards you'd dissected in the Akademiya. It was quite fun. You wanted to see more. Hopefully, this could be a splendid opportunity to satiate your inner researcher and also get closer to the segment.

"Of course, if that is what you'd like." You walked up to him, steps full of caution yet fascination. The way his fingers maneuvered effortlessly with precision at something that appeared delicate - it was very cool, to you at least.

"You don't need a mirror or anything?"

"No, I know my body more than well enough."

"Do you have any sensation up there?"

"Yes, I can feel my own fingers when they brush against it."

"Can I touch you?" Though 24 had entertained your barrage of questions, it was this request that made him pause his work and stare at you. The red star that glimmered intensely at you suddenly made your nervousness go all the way up again.

"I'm sor-"

"Very well," 24 interrupted you, placing his hands on his lap, now looking at you expectantly. You held back a sigh of relief as you stepped even closer to him, giving his upper mechanical face an experimental tap. He didn't react outwardly, but you could tell he felt that. Gulping, you tried again, this time gliding your finger over the blue lines imprinted on the black background. And then the red star in the middle, you gave into the urge to press down on it like a button. Still, 24 seemed to be unbothered. Darn, you had hoped he was ticklish there or something.

Regardless, the area was pretty hard, compared to the softness of his cheeks, which you unconsciously slid another finger down to calculate the exact difference. Until a hand grasped your own, not too tight or too light, firm enough to make you jump.

"[Name], would you care to explain your reasons for such prodding?" Oops. 24 didn't seem very amused.

"I have no intentions, I am just interested in feeling you." As soon as the words came out, you realized how they sounded and rushed to clarify yourself. "Because I've never seen anything like this before! The technology is just interesting to me! As a scholar and all! You understand, right?" But alas, from the now growing smirk on his face, you had already lost.

"Is that so? I shall allow you to continue then, if that is what you wish. I would never block a fellow scholar's pursuit of knowledge," he grinned, pointy teeth grazing his lip as he let go of your hand. Ugh, he was definitely making fun of you.

"And, if you truly desire to obtain satisfactory results, you should come closer, no?" At that moment, the segment suddenly pulled you toward him so that you fell into his lap, legs draped over him and chests nearly pressed against each other. It was rather intimate - the only other lap you've been on was Prime Dottore's. But although your heart was beating quicker than normal, you liked how it felt...

"Better?"

"Yes," your lone word came out quiet, an attempt to hide your flustered state. But you quickly moved on, not wanting to endure further teasing. "S-So, how do you see? Since you have no... you know." 24 chuckled, relishing in the state he and he only reduced you to. But he decided to spare you this one time. He didn't want to drive you too far away now, did he, now that he finally had the chance to be alone with you.

"I have a Kamera installed inside."

"A... Kamera?" The unfamiliar word felt strange on your tongue. You never heard of such a thing.

"It is a device that takes photographs. A photograph is..." 24 pondered, trying to come up with the simplest definition for someone who hadn't had knowledge of the developments of the past four hundred years yet. "It is something that captures a moment of time in physical form." You furrowed your eyebrows at that. It sort of made sense, but it also didn't. How could time be permanent? From the expression on your face, 24 could tell you most definitely wanted to see a Kamera.

"I shall show you it-" you brightened up, "in the morning," and then deflated. "You have delayed far too long, and no one will let you sleep in." You pouted at this finality.

"But what if I want to stay with you?"

"I will accompany you back to your room, and wait until you fall asleep. Is that satisfactory?" You nodded, and then you were lifted into the air as 24 began to carry you effortlessly, making his way to dreary corridors.

And so you began to reflect in the segment's arms, which had gone from never touching you to holding you so intimately. You were surprised to see this side of the segment - you never thought he could act this way. But you suppose, if Dottore cares for you, then the rest of them really do as well.

"We should talk more," you said, just as he slipped you right back into bed. "It would be fun, I think." You don't know why you felt the need to provide a reason, perhaps because he was undoubtedly extremely busy and had better things to do than chat with you all day. And ugh - "fun"? That was such a stupid reason. Why would 24 care about fun? But he seemed to find your request attractive anyway.

"I have harbored the same sentiment for a while. I await our future conversations with great anticipation, [Name]." With a light feeling in your heart, greatly proud of yourself for your progress with the segment, the sleepiness began to settle in once more. The last thing you saw before you fell asleep was the red glow emitting from 24.

From the day he came into this world as 24, to the day you named him to live and die as Omega, he will love you.

#smooches talks #fragile reader <3 #dottore love notes <3 #dottore x reader #did u guys know i love omega...#i also have a lil cute idea of comforting him after the other segments stress him out #sniffs... i miss him... i miss the silly pookie...#i also have a lil hc that reader calls him 'mega but i should keep the delusions to myself huh #divider by cafekitsune #i wrote this in like one sitting which is pretty impressive for me #(i get distracted and unmotivated quickly)#why am i actually kinda proud of this...

236 notes · View notes

daydreaming--on--jupiter · 7 months

Text

It's okay to rest.

Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

Sometimes he truly didn’t understand how she did it. She always managed to drag herself out of bed, the weight that seemed to crush her was almost palpable and he wasn’t even the one feeling it. She carried it so well that he never would have noticed if she hadn't told him and made him aware of the signs. Katsuki could tell that she was running on empty and yet, she kept going. It was a trait that he couldn’t help but admire because she was so resilient but at the same time, it worried him, he hadn't seen her have a crash yet but he was worried it was coming.

“Hey y/n, I’ll do the dishes why don't you go sit down,” he says to her from his spot in the entrance to the kitchen arms crossed over his chest, his vermillion eyes scanning her form from where she stood in front of the sink. “It’s fine Katsuki, I got it,” she says, her voice tired as she smiles at him over her shoulder. Kastuki frowns slightly and pushes off the wall, he walks over to where she stands and wraps his arm around her shoulder, pulling her against him. His concern rises when he feels her almost melt into him.

Without a second thought, he reaches over turns off the sink and starts pulling her away from the sink ignoring her protests. “Come sit with me,” he says, pulling her to the couch. He can feel the moment she gives up because she seems to collapse into his side, her arms wrapping around his waist with her head on his chest. His hand comes up to play with her hair as he turns on her favorite movie.

“I have stuff I need to do Katsuki,” she says softly, her eyes finding his. “You can do it all tomorrow, give yourself a break you deserve it,” he says, his voice uncharacteristically soft as he pulls her closer. As much as he believed that people should keep going no matter how they feel, even he had to admit that a break was needed every once in a while. And he’d happily help her take them for as long as she needed.

#bnha #boku no hero academia #fanfiction #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #bnha bakugou #comfort #i wrote this mostly for myself but i decided to share it #don't forget to let yourself rest yall #also drink some water

269 notes · View notes

redbleedingrose · 1 year

Text

Pretty? - Eris x Fem!Reader

Summary: It was expected that when you become of age, as the daughter of a member of the Autumn Court, you will wed. As you enter the court as a woman, potential suitors make comments about your looks, specifically your weight, and you are devastated. Your best friend, Eris Vanserra, heir of the Autumn Court, comforts you and will always have your back.

Warnings: 18+/MDNI: men being disgusting pigs (seriously), cursing, men degrading women, self degrading thoughts, topics related to weight and feeling insecure, there is some fluff, and some minor smut? (not really in terms of the smut, but just in case yk?)

Word count: -8.7k

Masterlist

A/N: Hey beautiful people, so uhhh what was supposed to be a minor fanfic, really only a drabble, max 1k words, but then it turned into a full blown fic. This concept came to mind because of comments that have been made about my weight practically all my life, and especially these past couple of days since I came home for the holidays. I was crying yesterday morning after being asked if I am hungry even in my sleep, and viola, I was inspired to write this fic, because I just know that Eris would be a real man and would love me in any form. I hope that you know, you are stunning and the only thing that matters in reality is your heart. As always, please show some love by liking, commenting, and reblogging. It means the absolute world to me. Remember to eat something, drink a sip of water, and take your meds. Lots of love!

You didn’t mean to hear him. Your betrothed that is. A male, named Buchanan, you had only recently met weeks prior at a ball the high lord had thrown at the Forest House for the sole purposes of matchmaking. You were presented by your father as a female of the Autumn Court society, a female who was available to be wed. Your sole purpose in life, at least from what your parents had told you since you were a toddler, had been nearly fulfilled when Beron had arranged for you to be married to the male on the winter solstice.

You didn’t know much about him. Only that he was the army general's youngest son, and he was training to be a warrior. After Beron had decided you two would be “perfect” together, you tried your best to get to know the male. Buchanan did not give you much to work with, in all honesty. The male silently glared at you every chance he could get, only speaking to you with short, cold remarks. All you had learned about him came from the other females of the court, who gossiped about anyone and everyone whenever they were given the chance. They had spoken of his trysts to brothels, taking so many as three females on the same night. They had spoken of his cruel views towards females. How he believed females were only meant to be housewives and had no place in the workforce. How a female's only true duty was to tend to their household, children, and husband, and keep themselves in shape after having said children so the husband would find them desirable enough to use her whenever he pleases.

Deplorable. Every last word. And frightening.

You were frightened by the male. At first, you tried to ignore what the females had said, citing it as harsh rumors that were only bound to tarnish his reputation. But the more time you spent with the male, the more you began to believe that maybe the females had been speaking the truth. It was the complete opposite of what you wanted in a potential partner, a potential husband. And you were terrified for your future, a future that was nearly upon you, a future that was only a couple of months away.

A small part of you hoped that you would be able to change Buchanan’s mind about females, maybe change his values? Maybe, if you let him get to know you, let him see your personality and wit, let him see your love for reading and writing and learning new things, let him see your fascination with healing, maybe he would fall in love with you. And maybe he would try to be a better male for you. And so, you kept trying.

You went out on walks with Buchanan, hanging onto his arm and letting yourself lose the ‘quiet girl’ mask you usually wore in court, exposing your true self. You would invite him over for brunch, showing him your less than impressive cooking skills and offering him your favorite stories and anecdotes from your life. You took him to your favorite cafe in town to tell him your own dreams and aspirations in hopes that he would love that you wanted more out of your life than just marriage. He…

Well… he listened, you guess you could say. He didn’t offer you anything in return, never commenting on your stories or anecdotes or your dreams or aspirations. He only watched you, silently brewing in whatever thoughts he had. He never had anything to add to your conversations, and often, it was only your ramblings that would fill the empty silence. But… he listened.

He listened.

He was also polite. He would nod in greeting and would hold his arm out for you to grab onto whenever you went walking. He would move you to the inside, away from the cobblestone streets, whenever you were walking on the sidewalk. He would open the door for you, and take out your chair for you and push you into the table. He did all the things a normal gentleman would do. He was amicable at the very least. And maybe, maybe that was enough for you. Enough for a partnership or friendship. Or enough for an understanding in your marriage. At least that was what you had hoped for.

And that's why when you heard his older brother ask Buchanan what he thought of you, at the party Beron was throwing to celebrate your engagement, you halted outside the door, leaning in and pressing your ear against the stained oak, unable to control yourself from eavesdropping. Your mother had informed you with urgency that he had been dragged from the ballroom by his two older brothers so they could give him advice on, “taming a female,” and she pushed you to go retrieve him so the high lord could see his match of the season interacting in front of him.

You didn’t know what you were expecting. Maybe you were wishfully hoping that Buchanan had grown to like you, had grown to see you as more than just a match made by Beron, had grown to enjoy your presence. Because if he hadn’t, then you were too afraid of what your future would be. You didn’t know what you were expecting, but it certainly wasn’t this.

“What a fucking cunt, I cannot believe the High Lord wants me to marry that pathetic excuse for a female,” he scoffed out with a harsh laugh, his words laced with acid pulled from the depths of the couldron. Your stomach was suddenly heavy with lead as it churned, your heart leapt up to your throat beating impossibly fast. Waves of nausea rolled over you, threatening you with every passing second. Harsh breaths were slipping past your lips as your lungs heaved in your chest, trying to catch your breath, trying to calm yourself. Your brain had shifted into a fight or flight mode as adrenaline thrummed through your veins, but you were stuck. You couldn’t move, you couldn’t think. You only pressed yourself closer to the closed door, clutching your soft stomach in an effort to self soothe as your toes curled within the heels you had worn.

One of his brothers let out a loud snort, “Damn Buchanan, speak your truth. Is she a slut?” Horror coursed through you. You were stunned. Absolutely floored. You had thought things were going at least alright with Buchanan. Your eyes began to sting, lining themselves with tears that blurred your vision. Your cheeks were burning as the heat of your blood raced throughout your body, desperately trying to send oxygen to your tissues and organs in an effort to stop them from shutting down. “Gods, no,” Buchanan replied, sounding incredulous from the disbelief. A small bit of relief coursed through you. “Have you seen the fat bitch? What sane male would ever want to fuck a female like her?”

Disgust. Shame. Utter self loathing replaced that small ounce of relief a hundred fold.

Your throat tightened shut, a lump forcing its way into your voicebox blocking off any air as you stood still. Silent tears began seeping out from the corner of your widened irises, slipping down your rounded cheeks and meeting at the chin, only to drop onto your chest forming a wet spot at your gowns neckline. You begged Mother above for that to be the end of it, for that to be Buchanan’s final words, but he only continued. Like he was on some sort of tirade. “She is not appealing to look at in any way, seriously my dick goes limp every time I have to look at her. And not only that, she is driving me fucking crazy. The cunt never shuts her fat mouth, and rambles on like an idiot any time I am near her. She keeps going on and on and on about finding happiness and love in marriage, but who could ever possibly love her?” His two older brothers roared with laughter at his rant, Buchanan’s own chortling striking straight through your shattering heart.

It was the last straw. It was your last straw. Sobs began wracking your body, you pressed your hand tightly to your lips in an effort to silence them, as your biggest insecurities were voiced by your betrothed in such a vicious way, mocking you in front of your future brother in laws and then laughing together. At you. They were laughing at you. Shuffling behind the door alerted you of their movements, possibly approaching the hallway you were standing in. Panic flooded you, your muscles suddenly snapped out of their paralysis and into action. You darted into the room across the hallway, quickly opening and shutting the door to hide yourself from them. To hide yourself from the world. Only when their footsteps receded down the hall towards the ongoing party did you let out a slight sigh of relief that the males hadn’t heard you, hadn’t noticed the scent of you in the hall, that you hadn’t been caught.

You leaned your back against the door, sliding down as loud choked sobs you were holding back moments ago began leaving your lips. Mangled breaths formed as you tried, and ultimately failed, to inhale a proper breath. Your heart was beating too fast, too hard, trying to make up for the lack of oxygen in your inhales. Your entire body was screaming from the inside, each muscle tightened and every organ twisted up inside until it felt like you were being stabbed at every inch of your skin. Pain, pain, pain.

Pain. It was all you felt. All you could think.

Your hand that had been clutching your stomach was now holding your head as you hunched forward between your knees. The wave of nausea had become so strong, that saliva had flooded your mouth in order to coat it with some sort of basic liquid before stomach acid would burn at the membranous tissue. Your vocal cords had been pulled taught, only allowing ugly wails to leak out. Self deprecating thoughts flew through your mind, throwing themselves at the base of your skull. The pounding in your head resembled a migraine, throbbing right at the base of your eye meeting your nose.

Your other hand palmed the floor, trying to find steady ground that you could sit on. Some kind of flooring to prevent you from falling over. But you were already falling. Already falling into a deep pit of hate for yourself. After a couple of minutes of letting the agony sink into you, your throat opened a little, allowing for you to finally breathe some short breaths. In and out. In and out. In and out. Over and over and over and over again. Until, finally, there were no tears. Just the streaks they left behind marking your cheeks like scars. Where the pain once reeked within you, you were now numb. You were finally able to look up from the ground, glancing around the room only to realize that you were in Eris’ private library. You weakly pushed yourself off the floor, gripping at the door to help you stand. Eventually, slowly, you made your way to the small couch at the very back of the room that faced the expansive windows facing the outside forest. The one you and Eris often laid on for hours on end, reading whatever books we could find that were the slightest bit interesting, and silently enjoying each other's presence. You slumped onto it, lifting your feet onto the coffee table in front of you, and stared out into the dark forest, the outlines of which were highlighted by the moonlight.

You allowed your thoughts to let go of the terrible words that had brought you here in the first place, and allowed them to wander off to the irony of the entire situation you were forced into. When you were teenagers, one thing that you and Eris had always joked about is the fact that Beron likes to play matchmaker, and has tried for years and years to create pairs who would be unyieldingly loyal to the high lord, and yet, has never made a successful match. The glaringly obvious failure being Eris himself and that one female from night court. Even his own marriage was, and still is, in shambles, taking out his pure hatred and evil on his wife and children through physical, emotional, and verbal abuse. He was to be feared, the high lord. His word was the law. His matches were the law. No matter how awful they might actually be.

Beron liked to use status and power to make his matches. He didn’t care about a person's beliefs, a person's values. He didn’t care about kindness, friendship, or love. He didn’t care about partnership or finding a balance between two individuals. He only cared about whether or not the person had enough wealth to shove up his ass.

You had grown up as the daughter of the chief accountant of Autumn Court. Your father, a ruthless male, was claimed by the high lord himself, as his favorite court member and most loyal supporter. The both of them loved to line their pockets with the hard earnings of the general citizens of the court, taxing them on Tithe without mercy and creating trade laws that would only benefit the most senior members of the court, while obliterating the income of the truly hard working.

Your mother was no better than your father. Beron’s father had played matchmaker for them, evidently the role running within the family, and it had actually worked out for once. They truly were the perfect match in the worst way possible. As the only child of your mother and father, you were raised with the strictest standards and unrelenting criticism that surely ruined your self image.

Constant comments on how you dressed, constant comments on how you carried yourself, constant comments on you being chubbier than your cousins, constant comments on how you would never find a suitable match because of all of these things. The critics were never ending. They were heartbreaking coming from your mother, and mind-shattering coming from your father.

The amount of tears you had shed over your lifetime were too many to count. The amount of times you went to bed, crying yourself to sleep, loathing and despising yourself, were too much to count.

The constant comments from your family was enough to make you unsure. Unsure about your future, unsure about who would want to marry you, unsure about who would ever possibly love you. Because, surely, the way you looked, the way your stomach carried a little pudge, the way your hips had dips that made dresses fit awkwardly on you, the way your thighs were covered in stretch marks, surely it would make it impossible for anyone to ever find you beautiful enough to want to marry you, let alone, love you.

Two things had been made very clear to you very early on in your life though. The first being, you were to marry whomever Beron chose for you, and you were to be an absolutely perfect bride for your match. And you would need to shape yourself into a quiet and shy bride, beautiful and thin, who followed whatever rules her husband laid without question. That was the only way, your mother mentioned during one of her sessions of berating, that you would be pleasant enough for any male to look in your direction. Truthfully, you were just praying to mother above that whichever male Beron decided to match you with would never lay a hand on you.

The next thing being, there was only one reason you were grateful for being born into the family who had inflicted you with so much pain, so much trauma. One reason. One person. Eris Vanserra. The heir to the Autumn Court. Your best friend. Your person. Your other fucking half. You loved the male, and sometimes… sometimes you would allow your mind to dip into the thought of being in love with the male. But you would quickly yank yourself away from it, not letting yourself even daydream of what it would be like to be more than just friends.

You had met Eris at the ripe age of five. It is almost impossible in fae culture to have known someone, been friends with someone, loved someone as long as you have known, been friends with, and loved Eris. Eight hundred years of friendship never grew old, never grew tiring like other relationships had. If there was one thing your parents approved of, it was your friendship with Eris, only propelling your family closer to the Vanserra’s.

Eris… Eris protected you. He had always protected you since you had first met when he pushed the boy who had stolen your favorite plush, snatching it back before handing it over to you. You leaped into a hug, holding him close and thanking him profusely. From that moment on, you and Eris were friends. Your friendship only continued to grow as the years went on, as you became more aware of the horrific abuse he experienced on a daily basis, as he showed up to your house in the middle of the night as your parents slept, as you snuck him into your bathroom and pushed him to lean against the counter so you could clean his wounds, as you would hold him close as he sobbed into the skin of your neck, as you whispered your own traumas despite them being more emotional in nature, as you read to him your favorite book and visa-versa, as you baked pecan and cinnamon apple pies together, as you went horseback riding together, as you trained in weaponry together, as you went hiking together, as you did everything together.

He protected you against the words of your mother and father, constantly reassuring you that you would find a male who truly loved you the way you deserved to be loved. Eris had never once tried holding you back. He never once judged your expressive nature. He never judged your outgoing personality and often found himself craving your ramblings and anecdotes. He never once said a word about the way you looked, only once on your hundred and fiftieth birthday had he breathlessly whispered into your ear how stunning you looked. He never once judged you. He never once made you feel uncomfortable in your own skin. In fact, he only ever adored your true nature.

But after one particular night, when you were two hundred something, Eris had drawn a line. Not daring to cross it out of fear of what Beron might do to you if he ever found out how either of you felt for each other. And Eris was a stubborn male if anything, so he would not let you or himself cross the fucking line. The night Eris found it necessary to make it clear to both of you that he didn’t think it was possible we could ever be more, he had accidentally walked in on you half naked, seeking out your comfort after a particularly hard night, as you were undressing yourself from some sort of function in the town your parents had dragged you to. The only garments that covered you were your panties and a corset bound so tight, your tits almost spilled out past the lacy fabric. He stopped in his tracks, standing stiffly, as you stared at each other through the bathroom mirror, frozen in each other's spots as you eyed each other up and down. His fists clenched at his sides, trying to find some semblance of control, and a flush curled up his neck towards his pointed ears. His eyes locked onto yours, and you could see the dark ambers in his irises light with fire as he stalked towards you, pushing you forward right up against the mirror, and pressing his entire front to your back. His quickened breath puffed into your hair, and down the expanse of your throat as he buried his face deep into your neck, picking up every last bit of your scent.

You could only watch through the mirror, your arousal slowly dripped into your panties, soiling them as you felt his taut chest move up and down, up and down, up and down against your back. One of his hands gripped roughly at your waist, feeling the slight sinch in it while the other roamed the expanse of your hips, squeezing ever so slightly at the plush before moving on to explore every inch of your covered skin. Mist from your warm exhales collected on the mirror, dew drops forming and slowly slipping down as Eris held you tightly against the glass. You felt a shot of courage, and arched your back toward his chest, rubbing your full ass against the strain in his pants, a soft moan escaping you at the stimulation. Hot energy struck through your stomach, and down to where you ached for Eris to touch you. The lordling hissed as the musk of yours and his arousal intermingled in the air that surrounded, suffocated and intoxicated you both all at once.

He lifted his head from where it had been buried into your neck, watching you through the mirror, pupils blown wide open with lust, knocking the breath right out of you. You sucked in a shaky inhale through your teeth as his fingers snuck down to the waistband of your underwear, toying with the edge, before pinching the fabric and allowing it to snap back onto your skin. He did this again, once, twice, three times. A groan of frustration was making its way through your entire body, and you wriggled your hips to get the male to do something, anything. His pink tongue poked out between his lips, lapping at the shell of your pointed ear, sneaking in a soft nibble, almost as if he could sense the growing tension within you. Your sex was throbbing, all the blood in your body had rushed down to focus in on the one area Eris couldn’t seem to bring himself to.

“What the fuck are you waiting for Er?” The taunt in your voice muddled with his favorite nickname you had gifted him at thirteen years of age… it had a growl reverberating from his chest straight into your back. His hand came down so hard on your ass, the smack echoed in the bathroom and you were sure that a burning sensation would leave behind the mark of his palm. The heir rubbed at the redness that was forming there, massaging the muscle beneath the soft, stretch marked laidden skin, “So fucking needy,” he murmured, voice raspy as the air in the bathroom dried out from the heat. He gently tugged once at the lace. Another tug, this time with enough force that it shredded the fabric lining your cunt. And then he stuffed the ripped red number into his back pocket. Your eyes had fluttered shut, unable to maintain the focused eye contact. Your nerves were on fucking fire, every cell within your body was shunting out desire that rippled in the striations of your muscle and layers of tissue, shaking you to the very core. Several missed beats of your heart had you almost worried you would go into cardiac arrest, but you didn’t care. You would die a happy female, if you died in this moment.

One of his hands, adorned with gold rings that embodied the lavish wealth of the male, wrapped itself around your throat, squeezing tenderly, but with enough pressure that your eyes snapped open. Your irises were missing, replaced by the dark depths of your pupils as they met his through the mirror. A smirk lilted his face, looking smug as ever, when his other arm snuck from behind you, brushing over the soft, supple skin of your thigh that was damp with your arousal. Strangled gasps turned into pants as the lordling finally reached your swollen clit, the pads of his forefinger pressing down firmly for a second, sending the rest of his digits through your slippery folds. The grasp on your throat tightened imperceptibly, Er bit his swollen lips, trying to hold in the croaking groan that was bubbling within him but coming up short. The beautiful sound from the male was enough to send another wave of liquid pleasure from your cunt. So much so this time, that your slick began to coat the inner-most portions of your thigh, some even daring to dribble down your legs to the tile beneath you.

You both had been knocked out from the heat of the moment when a loud crash from downstairs, reminding you that you were in your home, where your parents were present, where anyone could catch you both. Before you could say or do anything, something within Eris had snapped, ripping his fingers away from the ministrations he was making at your sex and yanking his hand from its grasp on your throat. He jerked away from your body so fast, you nearly gave yourself whiplash watching him through the mirror. When you turned your body to face him, your heart was beating so fast, you wouldn’t be surprised if he could hear it across the room. And the butterflies in your stomach that rammed against every internal organ within your abdomen had your knees nearly buckling, as you tried to regain your composure. He had bent over, digits slick with your arousal grasping onto both of his knees, trying to catch his breath with his eyes squeezed shut, as if it had pained him to pull away. You opened your mouth to ask what had happened, why he was here, why he had stopped, but he didn’t give you the chance. He stood stalk straight from his position, giving you a once over as his face dropped into a cold mask that was usually reserved for everyone except you. The neutrality, the ice in his usual burning eyes paused you, your chest heaved for a second as shock settled in you, and with a blink, the heir had vanished, winnowing away to mother knows where.

You hadn’t spoken to each other for seven months after the incident. You had worried that the moment of stupidity, the moment of lack of self control was going to be the knife that tore into your friendship, damaging it irreparably. But you needed him. He was yours, and you were his. And if that meant that you couldn’t be with him in that way, then that was something you were willing to accept. So one day, after seven months of heartbreaking silence, you marched right up to him while he was in the stables with his sixteen horses and twelve ghost hounds. You reached up and yanked him down by the collar, his eyes widened with surprise as you leaned in close, “Please Eris, lets just go back to how things were. Please, let's forget it ever happened. Please.” It came out as a whimper, not what you had wanted as you had spent days preparing a long speech on how best friends don’t abandon each other. But… it had worked.

The lordling nodded numbly at your words, before pulling you in for a tight hug. Shaky breaths misted in the cool air as you pushed your face into his neck, leaning in as close as you could while he pressed a soft kiss to your temples in apology for avoiding you. And there it was. The silent agreement. To forget. To never try again. Even if it hurt you, you could live with it. Because the hurt of not having him in any capacity was too unbearable to even think of. And now, almost six centuries later, you were stuck in an engagement with a male who apparently loathed your looks, your personality, every part of you really. And Eris was still only your best friend, never toeing the line. And he would only ever allow himself to be your friend, nothing more, with Beron still alive.

Maybe… maybe if the high lord was dead… maybe things would be different.

You had been so entrenched by your reminiscing, you hadn’t realized the lordling made his way from the party with a bottle of chardonnay, to the library in which you were seated. You heard the creak of the door swinging open, “There you are, I've been looking everywhere for you doll,” his deep playful voice brought a watery smile to your face as a fresh wave of tears appeared in your eyes. One slipped out, and you hastily wiped it away with the sleeve of your velvet dress, the dark emerald color blending into the upholstery of the couch. You didn’t want him to see you like this. You didn’t want him to ask what happened, because you wouldn’t be able to hold your tears back if you spoke of it. Because you were embarrassed by the entire situation. Because telling him would involve you speaking the words Bucahnan had spoken about you. Because telling him would mean that Eris would be able to share his own thoughts and opinions. And you didn’t know if you would survive Er agreeing, even in the slightest bit, with Buchanan.

And also because Er wouldn’t hold back. When it came to you, he never could. You knew that if you told him about the nasty words Buchanan had spoken so cruelly, Er would hunt him down, rip the male into pieces, and then feed what was left behind to his ghost hounds. Literally. And Beron would not be merciful towards his eldest son, with his evil nature ruling his every decision, a punishment involving a beating would likely not suffice. And there was no way you would ever risk Er like that. So, you would just have to swallow the fact that you would be in a loveless, probably abusive marriage.

But for Eris… for him… for his safety… you would. You would do anything. Even if it meant you getting hurt.

You cleared your throat, removing the lump that had been stuck in your throat since you had heard Buchanan talking with his brothers. A short laugh was forced from your throat, even though your vocal cords were still stiff, “Here I am.” You swiveled your body to watch as he made his way to you, smoothly and swiftly. A grin that had been reserved for you and his mother filled his beautiful face, moving around the couch to plop himself right next to you, so close that his entire side was pressed against yours. The shifted one of the two wine glasses into your hand, popping the cork from the white wine, “Why is the guest of honor to this hideous party hiding herself in the personal library of the most famous, most handsome, most dashing, extremely powerful heir to the Autumn Court?” You snorted at his arrogance, slightly tilting your glass so he could pour in a quarter of the bottle. You leaned into his side and rested your head against his broad shoulders; he slumped further into the couch so you would be comfortable against him, leaning his head onto yours as he took a sip of the crisp wine, waiting patiently for your response. You took a deep breath to calm yourself. Another. Again. Another. But it had seemed the lump in your throat had lodged itself deeper into the very muscles that were supposed to sound out words. So you just sat. Hoping that Eris wouldn’t question it. Wouldn’t question you. Wouldn’t press you further.

But the lordling was a perceptive male. Nothing ever, ever slips past him. Especially where you are concerned.

The pause you gave was long enough for him to grow concerned, setting his already half empty glass on the coffee table in front of him as he rotated to face you head on. His dark amber eyes narrowed in on you, focusing and studying your figure, your face. You shifted uncomfortable against his penetrating gaze, avoiding eye contact with the male knowing that the whites of your eyes were bloodshot. “Have you been crying?”

Damn it all to the cauldron, how had he figured you out in a matter of seconds? You again forced a laugh out, crossing your legs sending one thigh over the other, “No, Er, don’t be ridiculous.” Your voice came out shakier than you had intended, and there was no way he hadn’t picked up on it. “Don't give me that doll. The tip of your nose is red and I can see the streaks on your blushed cheeks. Who the fuck made you cry? Tell me. Right now.” The tone he had once used had changed entirely too fast, going from playful to ice cold laced with finality. A shiver ran down your spine, your mind racing to come up with any plausible excuse to account for your recent tears.

Your heart began pounding within your chest, a new onset of anxiety coursing through your arteries. You couldn’t let Eris find out, because he would do only Mother knows what to Buchanan, and Beron would do only Gods know what to him. “I was um… I was just reminiscing–” He cut you off swiftly, “Don’t bullshit me, Y/N. Tell me who made you cry and what they did.” His hands tightened into fists at his side, continuing to pierce you with his stare. You had never been able to properly lie to the male. You didn’t think you could start now.

“Don't freak out Er–”

“Mother above, Y/N, tell me. Right now.” You flinched as he cut you off once again, reading right through you. Any chance of you getting away with a half truth had been thrown out the window the second he realized you were upset. He sighed, reaching out his fist unfurling to gently tug on your wrist, “Just tell me what happened doll. You know I will always protect you.”

Leave it to Eris to say something that would make you smile, even in your darkest moments. The corner of your lips rose slightly, staring up at the heir who had burrowed into your heart. Sometimes… sometimes you thought about how if you got married, there would be no space in your heart for any other male because Eris had taken every corner, every ridge for himself. Unintentionally of course, but nevertheless, benevolently.

“Do you think I'm pretty Er?” Damn it all to the cauldron, the words had tumbled out, without permission. And there it was, sitting in the empty space between you. He blanched, “What?” The ice in his voice had completely melted into shock. Clearly, it was not what the male was expecting for you to say or ask. You would have laughed at his face if the nervousness of his lack of response wasn’t seizing you, “Well? Do you?”

He scoffed at your question, perturbed that you still hadn’t told him what had happened, “Of course I do, Doll. Only a fool wouldn’t.” His eyes flicked back and forth, locked in on yours, trying to dissect whatever it was that you were thinking. He opened his mouth again, sucking in some air, probably to continue to interrogate you on why you were crying. But you didn’t let him, “Why?”

“Why what, Y/N?”

“Why do you think I’m pretty?” This was not the way you had expected for the conversation to go. Suddenly, the topic that you had avoided for years, centuries with Eris was becoming the elephant in the room as the questions continued to stumble out. All the self doubt, all the self loathing, screaming into your brain that it wasn’t possible for the lordling to find you pretty. You were too fat, too annoying, too much. He continued to stare at you, gaping at the obvious shift in conversation.

“What is this about Y/N? Just tell me what happened.”

“No.” Simple yet final and firm. You became impassive, lifting your legs to face away from him, turning your back to him. You didn’t want to have this conversation with him. You didn’t know how to. Because even if Eris “took care” of Buchanan, there would be another male, and another, and another. And it was possible that all of those males felt the exact same way Buchanan did. The train of thought returned the stinging in your eyes, and this time, there was no holding back. Your lip trembled, pressing together to hold in the sobs, as Eris continued to stare at your back.

His tattooed arms lifted, wrapping themselves around your waist, hands pressing into the velvet of your dress. He ever so gently, with so much care and worry, pulled you into his lap. You immediately lifted yourself, trying to scramble out, not wanting to crush him under your weight. But his muscled forearms, on display from rolling up his sleeves, held you in place, not letting you budge. A hand came up to grasp your chin, softly turning your face towards him so he could look you in the eye. The immediate eye contact had your eyes dropping down to stare at the rising and falling of his chest. “Look at me, Y/N,” the seriousness of his command had your eyes snapping up to meet his, tears fell down your cheek, hot streaks pressing into the skin below. His eyes were filled with so many emotions, concern at your tears, worry over your recent questions, love and adoration that he held for you, his best friend, and burning anger at what prompted all of this.

“There are no words that can describe your beauty doll.” You huffed shaking your head, not believing a single word, but the grasp on your chin tightened, not painfully but enough that imprints of the pads of his fingers would be left whenever he would decide to let go. “Hey– stop that right now doll,” he exclaimed, putting a pause in your display of skepticism. “There are no words or expressions that I can use to describe your beauty Y/N… your beauty is not quantifiable. It is everything about you. I– I can’t– Maybe. Maybe I can try.” Desperation started to seep into his voice, his eyes flitting back and forth between yours, trying to convince you that he saw you. Truly saw you. That he adored what he saw.

“I– I think you are the most divine being I have ever had the absolute delight and luck coming across.” He paused, exhaling softly, “We met when we were only five. Some punk had stolen your favorite doll, and you were fighting him valiantly, not afraid, not cowering. You faced him head on, throwing your tiny fists into his back, and I just knew. I knew that you were different from anyone I had ever met” His hand that was on your hip unconsciously squeezed once, twice, thrice at the recollection of the memory. “You know that's why I call you doll, right?” You shook your head, and his palm came up to rest against the roundness of your cheek. Thumbing away at the final tears that had dripped out. “You had this elaborate richness to you, and it reminded me of your doll. Anyway, over the years, I got to know you. Really know you. I guess what I am trying to say is that I have loved your personality, the female that you were shaping yourself into. You opened up like this flower waiting to bloom in spring, sharing every part of you with me. And letting me do the same. No one had ever done that, Y/N. No one ever listened to me, but you did. No one ever let me be me, but you did. In fact, you loved me for it.”

He leaned in closer, so close that your mind began to fuzz. His warm breath that smelled of whiskey and chardonnay kissed your lips and nose, as he continued to eye you, tracing every inch of your skin, dimples, bumps with his blazing embers. You wanted to cower, you wanted to hide. You didn’t want him to see what you saw. “When I look at you Y/N, I feel unbridled joy. Joy that I so rarely feel. All my fears, all my worries, they slip away when you look at you. When I look at you, I feel like you are my breath of fresh air after drowning. I feel like you are my warmth that shields me from this cold world. I feel like I am awake after a thousand years of coma. When I look at you, I see all of what is good in the world.” He pulled you closer than you already were, your full thighs spread apart and pressing against the sides of his, the grasp on your chin leaving, favoring running his digits through your hair and massaging at your scalp. Twisting and twirling the strands between his fingers, his next words coming out in hushed whispers as if he didn’t want anyone, not even the air between you, to listen. “I have studied the color of your eyes since the day I met you. I have gotten lost in them countless times, and I still cannot think of a way to describe them. There is nothing I could say that could ever fully encompass the depths of your beautiful irises. And Gods, Y/N, whenever you smile, this little glint appears right in the corner of your pupil before disappearing. I pray I get to see those glints. The way your eyebrows furrow, giving away every thought at a moment's notice. If I am trying to gauge your mood, I only need to look at your eyebrows because they will tell me if you are annoyed, sad, happy. And Mother fucking above–,”

“Eris,” a laugh sped out of you, trying to scold the lordling for his blasphemy.

He only smirked at you in response, “Mother fucking above, Y/N. Have you ever looked at your beautiful lips and cheeks?” He tilted his head back in a groan, “No, no you fucking haven’t. Gods, they are my favorite part of you. The color of your lips, the way your smile brightens up the room even in the darkest of days, steals my breath away. Your fucking cheeks, doll. I mean they are so adorable and sexy, all at the same time. How is that even possible? I don’t know, but clearly, your cheeks know. The flush they get whenever I tease you Y/N? Blood goes straight down to my cock.” You gasped out another laugh, slapping his taut chest and squirmed to get out of his unbreakable grasp.

He only pulled you closer.

Till your chest met his, and you could feel the beat of his heart through the fabric of your clothes. Your breath hitched, “Y/N, I could stare at you for days, for centuries, and never grow bored. It– It feels like I am looking at a goddess when I look at you. And your body, Y/N. Don’t get me started on your fucking body. Gods. It is so fucking soft, and lucious, and irresistable, and mesmerizing, and alluring, and all the fucking words one could use to create a synonym with beauty. And none of those words are enough Y/N. Gods, you don’t fucking understand how utterly perfect you are. Your tits are the perfect fucking size, and whenever you wear those necklines that fucking dip? I– I have to hold myself back from bending you over and fucking you into oblivion. They are round and full, and I daydream about touching them, kissing them, tonguing and sucking at them. Your waist, it sinches in and is my favorite place to wrap my arm around. Whenever I am around you, my arm grows heavy, begging to be placed around your waist. Your hips are wide and dip, giving these love handles that I just want to bite. Honestly Y/N, they are sexy as fuck. It– It reminds me of depictions of ancient goddesses. And it makes me think of you, swelling with a babe. My babe. And Mother above, you don’t know how many times I’ve fisted my cock at the thought.”

Tingles began erupting from the places Eris had grasped, all the way into the very cells that made up the skin, up the nerves that lined your entire body, and shot down to reach the bundle of nerves that rested at the apex of your thighs. The way the lordling was describing you with such passion, it had awoken something within you. His hand began to squeeze your hip so hard, you thought it would leave a bruise of his handprint, one that you would gladly welcome. He cleared his throat because his voice had become saddled with lust, “Your thighs are so thick, doll. They– I think about them. Wrapped around my hips. Wrapped around my waist. Thrown over my shoulders. Wrapped around my head as I savor the sweet taste of your arousal. And your ass is perfectly spank-able. Every time you bend over, I have to physically restrain myself from slapping it as hard as I can, just so I can see the ripple of your skin from where I hit you. I yearn to see the bruises that I would leave behind on it, I yearn to rub lotion into those very bruises, and I yearn to kiss and bite into them.”

Your arms had found their way around his neck at some point during his speech, only a hair width separating you two at this point. “And this… these words… they aren’t enough. They aren’t enough to describe your captivatingly, heavenly, beauty Y/N.” You eyed him, studying the pure sincerity, the truth, the longing in his irises. You didn’t need him to say anything more. Because… because, what he had said… it had been enough, for you at least. You tilted your head forward, pressing a featherlight kiss into his chapped lips before quickly leaning back to see his reaction. He didn’t let you get far though, adjusting his grip at the back of your head to slide down to your neck, his other hand jolting your hips down to his as he surged forward, pulling you in for another kiss. And another. And another. And another. And another. Soft pecks, slowly turning more desperate. Quiet moans escaping the both of you, the sensation of your tongues swirling, first in long, smooth strokes, and then in short, quick strokes. His body shuddered against yours, trying to pull you impossibly close. You kissed for what felt like a lifetime. It naturally slowed as you finally pulled back for a breath. Your chest heaving against his, heart fluttering, mind muddled with only thoughts of Eris.

He leaned in again, encasing your bottom lips with his in a soft final kiss. You were still trying to catch your breath when he let out, “Well now we’re fucked aren’t we?” A startled laugh left you, but the seriousness in his face had your mood dropping from elation into the ground beneath you. It all hit you. You were still betrothed. You were still to be married to Buchanan. Eris still didn’t know why you were in here kissing him, and not out there, enjoying what was supposed to be your engagement party. And you were scared. You were scared for yourself, for your future. You were scared of Buchanan. Because if he could say such cruel things behind your back while playing amicable in front of you, what else was he capable of? Would his words behind your back one day turn into words spat at you in front of you? Would his words one day turn into a hand lifted at you?

“I am terrified, Er. What the fuck am I gonna do?” He shook his head, before resting his forehead against yours, murmuring through his swollen lips, “Baby, please just tell me what happened. You don’t need to be scared, I am right here. I won’t let anything happen to you, you know that. I have said this before, and I will say it again. I will always protect you. Always, Y/N. No matter the cost. Please, Y/N. Tell me.” So, you did.

You told him. You told him everything. Heartbreakingly slowly, sometimes with muffled sobs into his shoulder and has stroked your back in an effort to calm you, you told him. You told him of your parents' abuse, their verbal lashings leaving their mark on your inner child, making it inherently difficult to believe that someone like Eris, anyone really, could ever find you attractive, could ever fall in love with you, could ever be in love with you. You told him you were dreading marriage with Buchanan, how you had tried to cultivate a friendship with the male, how you had hoped the friendship would transform into love. You told him how you were sent to look for him, and how you overheard him. You told him exactly what Buchanan had to say. You told him how his brothers laughed at you. You told him how Buchanan laughed at you. How you had hidden yourself away, trying to bury the shame deep within you. How you feared to tell Eris, knowing that he would in fact, protect you. How you feared that Beron would go after Eris, how if Eris wanted to protect you, what makes him think that you don’t want to do the same for him? You told him that you loved his friendship. How it meant everything to you. How having him, even in the form of a friendship, was enough for you even if you wanted more. How you would wait for him. And you finished by telling him how you were in love with him, and how you hoped that he was in love with you.

Er had listened to every word you had said, not interrupting once, only offering you comfort and support when you needed it. Only when you finished, did he pull you in for another soft kiss, his own voice breaking as he mouthed, “I love you, I am in love with you, I will always be in love with you,” against your lips. He hugged you close for a minute. And another. And another. And another. And another. Rubbing at your back, your waist, and hips, squeezing ever so slightly every couple of minutes as if to remind him that it was you he was holding so close to him.

You only separated from each other when you heard your name being called out by Buchanan, maybe your mother sending him after you, or your father, or even Beron who wanted to see the “happy couple” dancing before his subjects. Eris sighed irritated by the interruption, pressing a finger to his lips before he moved you delicately off his lap, handling you like you were a priceless jewel in his hands. You tried to reach up and grasp at his sleeve, silently begging for him to stay with you, to not do anything stupid, but Er wasn’t having any of it.

“He made you cry,” it came out as a hiss not directed at you, but a hiss regardless that only showcased his rage that was beginning to bubble through as he heard Buchanan again call out for you. “He hurt you. And I will kill him for it.” Determination shown through his eyes and inflection, and you knew, there was no stopping him. “We will face this together, my beloved. Fuck, when I am done feeding him to my hounds, I am finding you and taking you to the nearest temple, and we are gonna get married. Consequences be damned.” You laughed out another sob, this time, from happiness, “Promise Er?” You lifted up your left ring finger to link with his, and he brought your laced fingers up to his lips, kissing them, “I promise, beloved.” The tingle of the newly formed tattoo inking into both of your ring fingers, spreading across the dorsum of your hand till it reached up to your wrist, connecting you both into a promise-forged bond that would hold till the end of time.

468 notes · View notes

araekniarchive · 1 year

Text

Michael Gray, I Think Love is Something That Happens to Other People

Dead Like Me (2003–2004), 1x13: Vacation

Shireen Dadkhah, ‘Love Must Be For Other People’

E. M. Forster, Where Angels Fear to Tread

#webs #web weaving #theme: otherness #theme: wanting to be wanted #theme: loneliness #theme: anguish #theme: death #mine #hurting my own feelings as per usual :)#michael gray #dead like me #shireen dadkhah #e. m. forster #i comfort myself with the knowledge that when forster did eventually get dicked down he literally never wrote another novel bc he was so #busy with the amount of gay sex he was having. legends only

273 notes · View notes

padfootastic · 6 months

Note

please say more about jilypad + diverging parenting styles... perhaps even a possible scenario >:) i imagine harry has very cunning tactics for using this to his advantage

helloooooo <3 thank u for this ask bc i love talking about these three and harry. i went looking thru the archives to find this post; my first foray into this side, and really, i’ve never looked back after that.

so i’ve talked ab this a bit before but i fully think that james was a very overprotective ‘mother hen’ type parent. i tend to read his behaviour in lily’s bday letter to sirius as being scared of his child on a broomstick and i fully, fully think he’ll never be able to let go of that as harry grows up. he’ll be anxious and suspicious and paranoid, and his first instant will always be to wrap harry up in cotton wool and hide him away. (i low-key connect this to his childhood as well; going from being spoiled and sheltered to dropped in the middle of a war, black & white thinking, living in extremes etc etc makes it v hard for him to be Normal about his child. as he shouldn’t be, really, but yeah) that’s why he thrives during the initial years; he never minds the hard parts of being a new parent, loves it in fact, and it makes it better that he can keep harry close to him at all times w/o coming off as a helicopter parent (not that the notion bothers him ofc).

it’s good, then, that he has two partners to even the scales, no? i think lily was the most…balanced out of the three. she had a relatively normal childhood, grew up in a working class family/neighbourhood and had to deal w adversity from a young age so she’s developed a nice, thick skin. she also has a sibling with whom she has a v rocky relationship so she knows that kids are, ykno, a bit unhinged. and a little bit of hardship is not a problem. i hc her as needing time to get used to parenthood, unlike james who stepped into it natural as breathing, or even sirius who loved harry on much on first sight that it made up for everything else. ofc lily loved her son, but it didn’t come w the same blinding intensity of her partners and made her feel really shitty in the beginning. but, i think she’d shine during his teen years actually, because she’s not overbearing or intense and becomes the quiet, calm strength that a hormonal, spotty teen boy would probably need.

and sirius <3 our poor baby falls in love with harry, perhaps even more quickly than james, with such startling speed that it shakes his entire foundation. he doesn’t regret it but he’s constantly discombobulated. i also imagine that…it takes him longer to settle into the role of parent, esp bc he’s not biologically one ykno? not like it matters to anyone, ofc, but it takes him a long time to truly accept his authority and place, to believe that he has just as much right as j&l to be there, to parent harry. this has the consequence of him always being more indulgent than the other two; after all, he considered himself a godfather before a parent and a lot of that thinking stayed. he lets harry get away with stuff the others might not (and the little mf figures this out later); some of it also comes from sirius seeing so much shit, and facing so much shit himself, that he rationalises a lot of stuff as ‘well, this isn’t the worst it can be, so what’s the harm’ (because his life has been such a roller coaster that he’s forgotten that not everyone’s like that, if that makes sense?)

its obviously not this clear cut but i imagine harry looks at it like this: if he needs unconditional love, he goes to james; rationality and logic, lily; acceptance and calm, sirius. when someone has to be beat up for hurting harry, james steps in. if he needs help burying a body, it’s sirius. dealing with some asshole boss/teacher/classmate’s mother who’s making harry’s life hell? lily. i can keep going but,,,u get the idea, right? this makes sense, i hope lol

i actually think harry’s first birthday is a great example. sirius pushes the boundaries by gifting lil harry a broom; james loses his mind running after him; lily places an industrial sticking charm on harry’s butt, leans back with a glass of wine, and enjoys the show. even as he grows up, lily and james act as the disciplinarian, and sirius is the emotional outlet. all of them fill in each other’s cracks so well, and it’s only when harry grows up that he realises how effortlessly they worked off each other to parent him.

also oh man o man. harry being cunning is,,,,,see, i’ve not considered it this far but it makes perfect sense. i think canon harry actually had so much manipulative energy and it’s often overlooked for his goofier traits but! this is the same dude who used his dead parents to trick slughorn into revealing sensitive info! imagine if that could be channelled into his jilypad interactions 😈

it’s like, it takes him a bit, because his three parents r so smooth, but once he realises that all of them have certain weak spots, he does NOT hesitate to exploit them. (it has the unintended consequence of truly strengthening the jilypad relationship into an unbreakable one bc one thing their kid taught them is to have ironclad communication going at all times so nothing they’ve said, or not said, is used against them). so like, he knows if he wants to sneak out to a party, it has to be sirius and in a specific way—‘i’ll be totally safe, papa, plus i really wanna see what it’s like and idk when it’ll get a chance to again’. if he widens his eyes to pitiful levels, pouts a little, and blinks faster than usual, then james is putty in his arms as long as he’s separated from the other two. divide and conquer becomes the main tool in harry’s arsenal, actually. lily’s the toughest nut to crack, purely bc she doesn’t run on emotions or irreverence, but harry soon learns that if he comes up with a solid, logical case that proves his argument has unbiased merit then he has a good chance of getting her to say yes. (this is good, bc u can arrange words in the correct order, but u can’t always control emotions)

so overall yeah, you’d think one kid + 3 parents would be an easy bet, but harry keeps them on their toes all the fkn time.

#sirius black #james potter #lily evans #jilypad #harry potter #i knew before i even started this that it would be ridiculously long lmao #i just cannot bring myself to shut up #wrt lily and harry’s baby years #i feel v v strongly ab motherhood not coming naturally to her #and becoming a very sore point for her. bc she sees james and sirius and she keeps blaming herself for being an unfeeling robot #when she’s not. she just thinks more logically than them and doesn’t feel as strongly. that doesn’t make her a bad mother #and no matter what j & s say a small part of always thinks like that. until the teen years. and suddenly the dynamics r reversed #bruh i think i need help it’s not even funny how not hinged i am for this trio lmao #there also! padfoot!#a while ago i wrote a lil thing. but i fully believe that whenever harry was emotionally distraught he’d actually go to padfoot #bc he needed someone to just. sit. and be there. while he’s processed emotions #and lily would be too ruthlessly logical and james would be fretting and trying to fix it and sirius would panic. just a little.#but padfoot is a warm comforting weight agains this side and he just lets him be. it’s grounding.#so harry always. without fail. does that #it’s actually 3.5 parents lmao #i do wonder what their parenting fights would about if any. hmmmm. my glasses are too rose tinted for me to consider it #a thought for another day #anyway. hope this endless rambling made sense! and that u liked it!#would love to hear ur thoughts too <3 #pen’s notes #pen’s asks

73 notes · View notes

spooksfinder · 10 days

Text

imagine your f/o comforting you after a breakup, whether that be a friendship breakup or romantic. they go to the nearest convenience store to get you your favorite snacks, and they get a big blanket to wrap you up in while they sit beside you. they offer comforting words, maybe they wrap an arm around your shoulders if you’re comfortable with that. you watch a show/movie together and they just help you forget about everything else for a while, a steady presence by your side.

#self ship #f/o #f/o community #self ship community #f/o imagine #self ship imagine #imagine your f/o #f/o imagines #self shipping #self shipping community #f/o comfort #self ship comfort #kinda wrote this for myself but i hope it might comfort others as well

39 notes · View notes

m1d-45 · 9 months

Text

rain or shine

summary: you aren’t feeling the best, but luckily for you inazuma’s resident “fixer” is here to do away with your ailments

word count: 1.1k

-> warnings: mentions of nausea, reader doesn’t eat much due to said nausea, dw thoma has you covered though

-> gn reader (you/yours)

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay || @cupandtea24 || @genshin-impacts-me || @chaoticfivesworld || @raaawwwr

< masterlist >

you were having a bad day. plain and simple.

it started yesterday, when you had to stay up late to complete some last minute forms. the estate needed supplies a bit sooner than typical, but you didn’t mind the extra time it took. rain kept you company, a light sprinkle that quickly turned heavy, though thankfully with no lightning. it seemed the shogun was in a better mood today.

you woke up tired, with rolling nausea and a fierce headache. had you caught something? you hoped not, as you were planning on being productive today. a painkiller and a swig of water mostly did away with the headache, but the nausea refused to leave. you couldn’t even properly enjoy your breakfast, only getting through half of it before giving up. maybe you’d have it for lunch? that would save you some time and trouble later…

that was your first mistake. if anything, it only caused more trouble as the day stretched on. you went to the garden with a folder in hand, passing it off to a group of staff waiting by the gates. it was their list of things to pick up, and a lengthy one at that. the party was larger than typical to account for this, but when you were asked to join them, you couldn’t help but agree. they could use the help, right?

your second mistake. the trip was to bring back various supplies—silks, ingredients, toiletries and the like—from inazuma city back to the estate. it was a routine operation, one that you would normally be able to complete easily, except for the fact that it had rained the night before. mud stuck to your shoes, the unusually humid air clinging to your skin. your half-breakfast didn’t help, and your headache was beginning to return again. halfway through, when your crew took a break, you couldn’t stomach anything more than a few sips of water. by the time the final crate was carried back to the estate, you were far past lightheaded, breath coming in thin pants. a few of your fellow workers stopped to check on you—“hey, you should sit down” “what’s wrong?” “here, have some of my water”—but you waved all of them off. you were supposed to help, not worry them. you did have to promise to take a break before they’d let you leave, and though you were grateful for their concern, you did feel a little bitter.

all of this was your own fault, after all. why should you make them worried over something easily preventable?

you walked to your room with a hand on the wall for balance, blessedly not running into anyone. you weren’t sure how you’d explain yourself in you ran into lady ayaka- or worse, thoma. it wasn’t that you’d get in trouble, certainly not, but you were too ill for whatever food or drink they’d offer, and you didn’t feel like distracting either of them from their jobs. thoma especially so, since you knew he’d have a hard time focusing on his work if he saw you like this. it would normally be endearing, but today was everything but normal.

you pushed open the door to your room, pushing it closed behind you without stopping to lock it. the estate had the highest security in inazuma second only to the tenshukaku itself, and you honestly couldn’t be bothered. it’s not like staff were in the habit of snooping through each others rooms, and the extra effort was hardly worth it right now.

your sheets were blessedly cool as you fell onto your bed, barely putting in effort to arrange yourself on it. you’re… just taking a break. that’s all. just resting, and then you’ll get up and do all those things you were supposed to.

after all, it would be irresponsible of you not to, right?

you wake up to something cold dripping down your face, though your room was still dark. at least no one was here, then… but what was on your forehead?

you struggled to open your eyes, barely making out anything. you could tell someone had closed your door since no light was coming through, but who?

a gentle hand on your shoulder stopped you from getting up, the cold whatever—cloth, maybe?—on your forehead shifting as you did. “stay, you’re alright.”

you let your eyes close. you should have seen this coming, in truth.

“…thoma?”

“i’m right here.” his hand moved up and you could feel his gloves on your cheek as he wiped something away. “and don’t worry, all of my duties were finished while you’ve been asleep. i’m all yours.”

well, at least you weren’t disturbing him. small wins. “what are you doing here?”

“you have a fever,” he said simply. “you likely just caught a small bug and overworked yourself. don’t worry, it should be gone within a day or so.”

you’d been hoping you weren’t sick, that maybe it was the heat of the humidity making you feel ill. then again, you’d also hoped not to fall asleep, so…

thoma took the cloth from your head, and you hear small splashes and the trickle of water. “furata tells me you went out this morning with the other staff.” he places it back on your forehead, wiping away any droplets that spill before they reach your ears or eyes. it’s much cooler now, and you worry about how long he’s been sitting here. “she also says you looked quite tired before you left.”

“thoma-“

“i’m not upset.” as if to prove it, he takes one of your hands in his, squeezing once. “but i am worried. can you tell me why you went with them if you weren’t feeling well?”

“i just wanted to help.”

“i understand that, but you need to put yourself first, love. you can’t help others if you don’t first help yourself.” he removed the towel and put the back of his hand to your cheek, humming, then both were gone. “do you think you could eat something?”

you opened your eyes properly, taking stock of your body and room. he’d propped his vision on your nightstand as his source of light, and though it was small it still stung, your eyes slightly watering. but the rest had been good for you, and your head hurt a little less than it did before. “maybe.”

he smiled, lifting your hand to press a kiss to the back of it. “i can work with maybe. how does soup sound?”

“lovely.”

“perfect.” he lets go of your hand and moves it behind your back, the other hooking under your legs.

“thoma, you-“

“don’t have to, i know.” effortlessly, you’re lifted into the air, greeted with a kiss to your cheek. “but i like taking care of you. now, what kind of tea would you like with your meal?”

#wrote this for myself but y’all can have it if you want #genshin #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin x you #genshin impact x gender neutral reader #genshin impact x reader #thoma x you #thoma x reader #thoma #thoma genshin #genshin hurt comfort #hurt comfort #fun fact. this is about a legitimate self care tactic i have dubbed ‘self care thoma’#would thoma let you get away with not doing [thing]? then go do it #it’s pair is self care diona. would you let diona get away with not [thing]? then why aren’t you doing it?#it works and i sometimes kinda hate it does. no i don’t wanna brush my teeth but fuck man i can’t make thoma sad #i may be cringe. but i have brushed my teeth.

143 notes · View notes

imaginativeworks · 3 months

Text

Imagine Your Favorite Character

Imagine your favorite character finding out about one of your favorite things that bring you comfort/joy, could be a comfort food, show, book series, etc. and seeing how happy it makes you. Them loving to surprise you with it just to see that excited truly happy look that you return to them when they give it to you. As you are partaking in your comfort thing they can’t help but admire you from across the table whilst resting their head in their hand.

#favorite character #favorite character imagines #Favorite character imagine #favorite character prompts #Imagines #imagine #prompts #Prompt #f/o #sweet #nice #Cute #comfort #comforting #*I mostly wrote this because at the time I was thinking about my Favorite food/dessert.*#*Usually I’m the one who has to make it for myself and/or my family but I feel like it would be nice to be treated to it/given for a change

31 notes · View notes

eddiediazes · 1 year

Text

broken pieces fit together

[2.7k words] [rated: teen+] [post-6x10 coda that also scraps 6x11 spoilers for parts, sorry] [hurt/comfort cuddling getting together fic]

[read on ao3]

It’s the middle of the night - the kind of late where it might actually be early, and some of the light bleeding in through the kitchen window has more to do with the sun creeping up towards the horizon than it does with just light pollution in the city.

Eddie had stopped seeing this time of the night for a while. He got lucky. He still remembers, though, and it settles in his body like a kind of muscle memory. He’s well-acquainted with the ache in his skull that spreads out from his eyes, the way fatigue spreads through every one of his limbs. He’s got a glass of water sitting on the counter, and he keeps thinking about trying to make hot cocoa, but he can barely manage to make his fingers twitch to try and grab a pan. Instead, the images from his nightmares keep flashing behind his eyelids every time he manages to squeeze them shut, and it’s all he can do to stay upright.

He’s so, so tired, but so tense he can barely move, and he feels like there’s gravel in his throat that he can’t seem to swallow.

“Eddie?” A tired, familiar voice calls out behind him.

For two very separate reasons, Eddie startles. He shakes off his fatigue enough to turn around and cross the room, and he only stops once he’s within arm’s reach of Buck, just in case. He reaches out as if he might steady him, but hesitates with his palms hovering over the bare skin of Buck’s biceps.

“What are you doing up?” Eddie asks him quietly, eyes checking over Buck’s body for any unfamiliar signs of further damage - catching only briefly on the new scar that spreads over his chest.

“Woke up and you were gone,” Buck mumbles, scrubbing at one of his eyes with the heel of his hand. “I got - I don’t know, just- I don’t wanna say nervous.”

Eddie shakes his head just slightly, and finally reaches out to wrap his fingers around Buck’s right elbow, far away from the scar. “You shouldn’t be out of bed. You should be resting.”

“I can walk, Eddie,” Buck grumbles - but as Eddie steers him back towards the bedroom, he follows the touch easily.

“I know that, but you still shouldn’t be straining yourself.”

“Don’t really think stumbling into your kitchen counts as straining myself.”

They make it back to the bed, and Buck sits down, as slowly and gently as he’s able. Eddie puts an arm behind him and supports him as he lays back against the pillows. Then he goes around to the other side of the bed to climb in.

It’s a new arrangement, and one they haven’t actually talked about out loud. Obviously Buck couldn’t sleep on the couch right now - and Buck couldn’t seem to stand the idea of Eddie doing it either, so sharing the bed had been the unspoken compromise.

Buck hasn’t really said much about it, but it’s starting to become clear that he had some kind of dream in the coma that he hasn’t managed to shake off completely. Every time he wakes up now, Eddie can see the way his eyes seek out whoever else is in the room, the way they look for familiar landmarks that he can use to ground himself.

Sometimes Eddie wonders if that’s why Buck hadn’t ended up at Chim and Maddie’s new place, and had instead ended up here, at the Diaz house. The loft’s stairs had made it out of the question until Buck was further along in his recovery, but otherwise Eddie had less space than Bobby and Athena or Chim and Maddie - but here Buck is, all the same, sharing Eddie’s bedroom.

All Eddie really knows is that he’s grateful. It soothes him more than he can put into words to have Buck here and close. Even if sometimes the nightmares do still push Eddie out of bed, it still helps to be able to wake up, roll onto his side, and to see Buck lying there next to him, breathing deeply.

Right now, as Eddie does that very thing, he finds Buck looking back at him.

“You don’t have to get out of bed when you have a nightmare, you know,” Buck whispers.

Eddie huffs out through his nose and turns properly onto his side, tucking a hand under his pillow. “I was trying not to wake you up.”

Buck huffs out a little breath through his nose. “That’s sweet and all, Eds, but I’ve been sleeping like shit anyways. I’d rather-” Pausing, Buck flicks his eyes up to the ceiling. He opens his mouth, though, and closes it again, and shakes his head.

“You’d rather me wake you up than you wake up alone?” Eddie finishes softly - as gently as he can make his mouth take shape around the words, trying to sand off any edges that might cut or puncture.

Sighing, Buck nods, just one simple move that tucks his chin down towards his chest. “Yeah. Sorry.”

Reaching over with his free hand, Eddie hooks two of his fingers over Buck’s palm, right where it’s resting open on the blankets. “I don’t know what it is that’s - you don’t have to tell me, you know. Not until you want to. But I don’t really want you out of my sight right now either, Buck.”

Another little huff - the closest thing to a laugh that Buck seems able to manage for now. “Think you and Bobby and everybody else would be happiest if you could just set me up in a glass case and keep an eye on me for a little bit.” Buck’s hand twitches a little, then he shifts so he can tangle his fingers with Eddie’s properly, and squeeze tight. “The worst part right now is, I don’t know if I’d mind.”

Nudging closer on the bed, as close as he can get without touching, Eddie pulls Buck’s hand up and wraps his other hand around it, too, curling up around it, fighting against the desperation he feels in every cell of his body to press his lips to Buck’s knuckles or the point of his shoulder. “I’m right here. And I’m not going anywhere. We’re all in this with you.”

He tilts his head back up and finds that Buck is looking down at him, right down at his face rather than the awkward curve of his spine or even where their hands are interlocked.

“Eddie, what was your nightmare about?” Buck asks quietly.

Unable to stop it, Eddie laughs, dark and a little strangled. “What do you think? You- I don’t have to say it, Buck, we both know.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t do that,” Eddie urges, shifting around so he can move one hand up to Buck’s chin, nudging it towards him with just one press of his index finger. “Don’t apologize. You weren’t being reckless, we both took all the precautions, it just- happened. You got struck by lightning.” His tone edges into something desperate, and he squeezes at Buck’s hand like it’ll help emphasize his point. “I saw you dangling there - and I don’t think I can ever unsee it. I felt responsible, and I couldn’t help you, and then I couldn’t even do compressions until we got to the hospital, but - please don’t blame yourself. I’m just-”

But there, Eddie stops, because any single word he could say falls short.

He isn’t just happy or relieved or grateful or glad. He can’t make a single one of those words come out. Instead, finally, he manages to edge out, through the grip his own emotions have on his windpipe, “I don’t even know what I would have done, if you weren’t- If anything had happened to you.”

“You-” Buck pauses, and blinks at Eddie. “You sound like how I felt, when you got shot.”

“If you felt like this, I don’t know how you did it,” Eddie admits.

This time when Buck laughs, it’s a little more like a wheeze - a little more sound than the huff. “I still don’t know how I did it. I didn’t even feel like I was - functioning. But I had to be.”

Those days in the hospital, haunting the waiting room waiting for news and feeling like a hollowed out shell - Eddie remembers them well. If Buck really felt like that-

“I’m sorry I couldn’t talk about it,” Eddie says, and he sounds like he’s choking back tears, probably because he is.

“I’m sorry I made you feel like that, too.”

Eddie shakes his head. “Still isn’t your fault.”

“Still wish I could do something about it.”

“You’re here,” And that - now, out of sheer relief, and the way it’s sweeping through his body all over again, Eddie does pick Buck’s hand up, and he avoids kissing his knuckles only by pressing them against his cheek instead - by feeling the warmth of Buck’s skin pressed just there against his face, just by the corner of his mouth. “You’re alive , Buck. You’re doing plenty.”

“I felt like-” Buck can’t shift much, on the bed, but he turns his hand and brushes his knuckles more deliberately against Eddie’s cheek, down towards the line of his jaw. “Just the fact that you let me take care of you helped me so much. And you couldn’t even - you kept apologizing for not being able to do things on your own, and every single thing you let me do for you, every thing I got to help with, felt like a gift, because you were still here to ask me for it.”

Eddie nods, just once, and swallows. “I know the feeling.”

“Eddie…” But Buck trails off there, and he doesn’t say anything else.

Silence stretches out between them, but their eyes stay locked, and Buck’s fingers are brushing restlessly over the shape of Eddie’s ear.

“I love you,” Eddie says finally, shifting his grip down to Buck’s wrist, thumb pressed against his pulse. “I don’t know that I’ve ever - said it in those exact words, but I should have. When I was telling you about the will or thanking you for helping me out or just - any time you’re over here, I should have said it. I’ve said it fifty different ways without ever telling you that, and it was all I could think about when we didn’t know if you were gonna wake up.”

“I love you, too,” Buck says - and now that his hand is free, he presses his fingers gently against the mole just below Eddie’s eye. “No matter what, Eddie. I love you, and I love Chris, and I’m so - I’m so glad that I have you in my life, and I’m sorry if any of my stupid - soul searching happiness bullshit made you feel like that wasn’t true.”

That actually makes Eddie smile, a real genuine smile for the first time since he sent Buck up that ladder. “Buck, c’mon. I knew it wasn’t about that.”

“I’m not-” Buck shakes his head, and moves both his hands, reaching them over towards Eddie. “Can you help me turn, please? I need to be facing you for this, I have to do it right.”

He doesn’t even try to ask exactly what it is that Buck’s doing, or trying to do. Instead, he nudges an arm under Buck’s waist and grabs onto one of his hands, and pulls him up onto his side, holding his breath as he tries to make the movement as smooth as possible. Buck exhales with him, once they’re both settled - but suddenly, they’re almost nose to nose. Eddie’s arm is still tucked under Buck’s side, and Buck doesn’t startle or pull away, he just settles there, his hand still holding tightly onto Eddie’s, keeping him close.

“Hi,” Buck says softly.

“Hi,” Eddie says back, just a little bit breathless.

“What I realized isn’t just that I was already happy in general or that I was implying something by saying that I wasn’t, that some nebulous thing was missing. It was-” Buck pauses, and bites at his lip for a moment. “I had this dream where everything in my life was different. And I had never been a firefighter, so we were never partners. I never worked at the 118. And in some ways it was this - picture perfect postcard life, but I felt sick to my stomach, because it was wrong - it was so wrong, and I woke up and realized that I don’t want any of that. I don’t want what I thought life would be like or might be like - I want to feel secure where I already am. I’m not gonna be happy unless it’s here - with you, and Chris - and with the rest of the 118, too, because they’re my family, but my whole - the thing that was missing wasn’t a person, or some outside thing. It was just you. It was the rest of what I didn’t think I could have, with you. Some other couch and some other family isn’t gonna cut it. Someone else’s kid-” Buck finally cuts off, and he tips his head down, breaking eye contact. “I would do anything to get back to you.”

“And you did,” Eddie reminds him quietly, so awestruck it feels like he’s been staring into the sun. The room is actually almost light now, and he can hear birds chirping somewhere down the street. “You came back. And you’re here - in this house, in my bed, instead of with anybody else. And every time you let me help you with anything, since you moved in here, I want to tell you thank you for it. Because it’s proof that you’re alive, and you’re here, and you’re breathing, and I still have a chance.”

“A chance to do what?” Buck asks, tipping his head back up.

“To tell you that I have never loved anyone the way I love you,” Eddie murmurs. “Maybe even, if I got really lucky, to kiss you.”

Buck’s face lights up, and it puts any ray of sunlight to shame. “Eddie.”

“Can I?”

“Please.��

So Eddie does. He shifts just enough to close the centimeter or so that’s left between their mouths, and he brushes his lips against Buck’s. Buck’s mouth is still damp, from the way he’s been biting his lips all throughout their talk, and it means that their lips catch for just a moment, stick in a way that’s somehow both a little uncomfortable and a little perfect all at once. Eddie pulls back just to feel the drag of it, but Buck follows him forward and Eddie gives up, pushing closer again instead, pressing in harder to kiss Buck properly.

It still isn’t rough - there’s no teeth, no biting or tugging, because Eddie is probably being overly cautious in light of Buck’s recovery. The kisses are thorough, though. Slow and lush and lingering - Eddie turns his head to literally brush his mouth against Buck’s, back and forth, a kind of nuzzle. Then he ducks in and kisses Buck’s top lip and his bottom lip in turn, truly trying to feel out the lines in Buck’s lips, the texture, the feel and the warmth of his mouth. Then he opens his own mouth to taste, to lick over the salt of Buck’s skin and to press their tongue together as gently as he can.

They kiss until Buck starts to shiver, and Eddie pulls back out of concern only to find his pupils wide and dark, and they snap right to Eddie’s face as soon as he can focus.

“Eddie,” Buck says out loud, his voice still rough.

“6 out of 10?” Eddie asks, knowing full well that it was the best kiss he’s ever given in his life.

“When I’m feeling better I’m gonna hit you for that,” Buck says - and then he tips forward again, pressing his mouth against Eddie’s, kissing him again, and again, and again, a series of damp little smudges to each corner of Eddie’s mouth and then right in the center. “10 out of 10. 100 out of 10. Keep kissing me like that and it might actually cure me, I’m - 70% sure.”

“Only 70%?” Eddie repeats, wrapping a hand around the back of Buck’s neck. “I think we can do better than that.”

So Eddie tugs him close again, and slides his tongue back between Buck’s lips, and he feels the hum against his tongue, and he shivers with it.

Outside - the sun climbs into the sky, and the birds start to sing in earnest, and any lingering signs of the storm are cleared away.

#buddie fic #911 spoilers #911 on fox #buddie #sorry i went crazy and wrote myself a comfort fic before bed!#goodnight aksmdf

150 notes · View notes

cerise-on-top · 3 months

Text

Ghost with a Schizophrenic!S/O

I've been going through it again as of late, so I decided it's time to write something that would help me cope. Not requested, because who would request something like this in the first place? I'm very nervous about posting this, but I thought maybe someone else would like to see something like it, maybe someone else can like it as well. That's the reason why I started to write in the first place, so the things I want to see are somewhere out there as well. Anyway, what it says in the title. These are based on how I would like someone to treat me, so this is not at all a guide on how to treat someone with the condition. I wrote the same thing for Soap, except his is twice as long. I'm gonna post it afterwards.

As soon as you come home from your appointment, either completely dejected or empty looking, he’ll know something was up. Whether you outright tell him or not is up to you, but he will ask you what happened, he’s just that worried about you. Your diagnosis must be pretty bad if you, usually so cheerful and always trying your best, are pretty down in the dumps about it. He’ll gently try to coax it out of you if you won’t tell him immediately, he just really wants to know what he can do to help you. While he won’t force it out of you, if he sees you’re feeling especially blue about it then he will try to ask you about it. Making you budge in a gentle way is his goal, he just really wants to be there for you whenever he can.

In all honesty, Ghost is probably the last person to judge you for something like that. When it comes to you he’s understanding and patient, just communicate with him what you need. You really don’t need to be ashamed of your being schizophrenic in front of him, or at all, you can just tell him.

When you do tell him, he’ll be quiet for a moment, processing the information and what he should do with it. Granted, he doesn’t exactly know what it all encompasses, thinking it’s just hallucinations of varying degrees, but the second he has some time to spare he will read up on it and what kinds of symptoms there are, what it’s like for someone who has the illness and, most importantly, how he can help you. While he may not always trust what his sources have to say, he will openly communicate with you about what he read and ask you if it sounds like it might be of help to you. Generally speaking, he wants to understand this as well as possible since being schizophrenic can be quite the hurdle.

You have a problem with obsessive thoughts? He can’t take them away from you, he knows that much, but he can try to help you with them. You wanna hurt yourself? It’s alright as long as you don’t act on it. While he will grow concerned with you and maybe put the knives somewhere you can’t easily reach them at first, he trusts you to not act on your autoagressions. If it gets so bad you’re nauseous, shaking or twitching, then he’ll gently put your hands in his and tell a few jokes to get your mind off of things, to get a conversation with you going so you can be distracted from it all. It might not always work, but if it helps even somewhat then you can be sure he’ll try again, try harder next time.

Your mind is foggy and you’re confused, incapable of thinking well, or at all? He won’t judge you and try to make the conversation easier for you to follow. He definitely won’t belittle you and act as if you’re stupid for having a hard time. He tries to repeat things he said during a sentence so you can remember better what the conversation was about in the first place. And if you can’t speak at the moment in the first place? Not a problem either! The two of you can just spend your time together in silence, watching a movie or a series, maybe reading a book together while drinking some tea. If it’s easier on you, then he’ll help. By the time you’re together, Ghost probably knows you well enough to be able to respond for you from time to time, if you’re comfortable with that.

Thoughts or delusions of persecution? He knows it’s probably even harder for you in that regard since he works for the military and thus you might become a victim of the government or other organizations at any point in time, but he’ll go to great lengths to show you that he’s not affiliated with the government in that way. While he’s also well aware that you likely won’t believe him either until your episode is over, he’ll repeat it as many times as you need to hear it. Problems with thinking everyone can hear your thoughts? Oh, he’ll play a guessing game with you. Whatever it is you’re thinking, he’ll try his darndest to guess it wrong just to help assure you that he cannot, in fact, read your thoughts, regardless of what vicinity you’re in. He does try to make his wrong guesses a bit humorous as well. After all, it definitely wouldn’t hurt to see you smile again.

If you’re isolating yourself, he’ll tolerate it to some degree. While he knows that that’s just something a lot of schizophrenics do, he does want to spend time with you and make sure you’re doing well. If you’re prone to loneliness despite isolating yourself from time to time, then he’ll slowly introduce you to the people he trusts the most, namely Soap, Gaz and Price. They won’t know about your condition, but he’s hoping that you can befriend them somehow and have a good time with them as well. Soap especially is a social butterfly and it’s not that hard to get along with him. If you’re scared of any of them, he’ll try to desensitize you towards them with silly stories and making time for hangouts every once in a while, but he won’t force you to see them. Being scared of people is hard, but he just wants to help you be less lonely and maybe find some friends as well.

#cod #cod x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #I wrote these over a month ago since I didn't feel well #but I do believe that he's one of the most accepting and supportive people out there when it comes to mental health issues #these are very surface level because being schizophrenic can encompass many many things some of which I don't even know about #Soap's is twice as long so there are a few more things I discuss in his #I just really wanted some comfort for once but when it comes to this I was sure I had to do it myself and so I did #I am genuinely so very nervous about posting this and potential backlash but I'm gonna be brave about this for once #please don't ostracise me for this I just wanna feel better about my condition for once

42 notes · View notes

buddie-buddie · 10 months

Text

as long as you're right here (stay next to me)

2.2k - g - read on ao3

The fireworks show is Buck’s idea.

Not that Eddie puts up much of a fight once he sees the hopeful glint in Buck’s eye. But still. Buck’s idea.

“Fireworks?” Eddie asks, passing Buck the stack of plates he’d just pulled out of the dishwasher. He used to like fireworks. It feels like a lifetime ago, but he did. Before he was choppered out of a combat zone with a couple of bullets and some shrapnel beneath his skin. Before he almost bled out on the pavement in the middle of the day and added another couple of scars to his collection. Before sparks rained down in the middle of a parking lot and left Buck’s lifeless body hanging limply from the ladder truck.

“It’s the Fourth of July,” Buck says by way of reply, putting the plates away before turning back to Eddie. “We have to see fireworks on the Fourth of July.”

It is the Fourth of July after all, and Christopher is sleeping at the Wilsons’ which means Eddie and Buck have the night to themselves. Fireworks might not be the worst idea. Sure, they’d have to go to the ones in the park to avoid running into Christopher and his friends at the pier, lest they commit the ultimate parents-of-a-preteen crime.

But it could be nice. Romantic, even. Eddie can picture it now. Just the two of them, laying side by side in the grass and staring up at the stars, hands intertwined as they wait for the show to begin. Although he doesn’t think there’s anything romantic about his chest tightening and his heart rate ratcheting up as soon as the explosions begin. Nothing screams “romance” quite like his palms sweating and his skin buzzing beneath an onslaught of anxiety.

Any protests Eddie might’ve had die on his tongue when he goes to pass Buck the silverware basket and instead finds himself lost in the sparkle in those beautiful blue eyes. There’s something hopeful there, something that has Eddie setting the basket down on the counter and stepping around the dishwasher door, something that has him snaking his hands around Buck’s waist, something that has him saying, “Okay, baby,” before meeting Buck’s lips in a kiss.

Eddie understands why Buck wanted to come. It’s… well, it’s kind of perfect. The sun is dipping beneath the horizon, leaving the sky painted in shades of purple that slowly bleed into blue. The balmy air smells like popcorn and Buck’s lips taste like cotton candy, which makes the twenty minutes spent waiting in line for it completely worth it, as far as Eddie's concerned.

There are plenty of other people here, but there’s more than enough room for everyone to spread out and have their space.

“This is nice,” Eddie says, once they’re settled on the blanket Buck insisted they bring. Buck hums in agreement, leaning his head against Eddie’s shoulder as their fingers tangle together.

. . .

The first explosion startles them both. There’s plenty of warning, and yet Buck feels Eddie tense beneath him, the muscles in his shoulders coiling tight as the first round of fireworks burst in the sky above them. His own breath hitches in his throat, and he catches himself gripping Eddie’s hand just a little bit tighter.

Eddie squeezes back almost instantly, without hesitation. It’s the reminder Buck needs that Eddie’s here, that he’s safe. That this won’t be like the last couple of times a similar sound echoed around them. That no one’s going to be left bleeding out in the middle of the street. No one’s going to be dangling lifeless in the air as a driving rain pours down over them.

“We’re okay,” Eddie murmurs. Somehow, amidst the explosions and cheers and voices around them, Eddie’s quiet assurance rings the loudest.

“We’re okay,” Buck echoes. He squeezes Eddie’s hand again.

When the next round is fired off, neither one of them flinches.

There’s something a little bit surreal about it, living in this moment. It’s the same feeling he has every morning when he wakes up next to Eddie, the same feeling he has every time he packs Christopher’s lunch, every time Eddie announces it’s Buck’s turn to take the trash out. It’s the same rush of warmth beneath his skin, the same flutter of his heart that happens every time they pull up to a red light and Eddie steals a kiss across the center console, every time Eddie texts him from the grocery store and asks if they’re out of eggs.

There’s beauty in the mundane, and even more so in the moments— these moments— that make up a love, a life that Buck simultaneously dreamed of and never thought he’d have.

He’s never known happiness like this.

He turns to tell Eddie as much when the first spark hits them.

It takes a moment for Buck’s brain to realize what’s happening. At first, all that registers is Eddie grabbing him, his arms coming around Buck’s sides as he pulls him into his chest. One of Eddie’s hands is in the middle of his back, the other on the back of his head. He tucks Buck against his chest, holding him as close as he possibly can. And then they’re moving. Rolling, more specifically. There’s a flash of heat, a loud series of pops and sizzles and high pitched whines.

Someone screams. Someone else does too. And then there’s another round of quick, loud pops.

And then Buck doesn’t hear anything at all except for the hammering of his own heart.

Maybe it’s Eddie’s heartbeat he hears. He’s still holding Buck against his chest, still has his own body draped over Buck’s. He’s still blanketing him— still protecting him.

Buck doesn’t know yet what’s happening. He doesn’t know what it is that Eddie is shielding him from. But he does know that it feels safe here, wrapped up in Eddie’s arms and tucked close into his chest.

“Buck?” There’s panic creeping into Eddie’s voice. “Hey, look at me.”

His hands come to bracket Buck’s face, leaning back just enough so they can see each other clearly.

“You okay?” Eddie asks.

Buck nods. Part of him wants to look around and figure out what the hell just happened. But a bigger, more insistent part of him can’t tear his eyes away from Eddie’s. They’re wide and searching, filled with fear and concern as they rake over Buck’s face. Buck doesn’t miss the slight tremble in Eddie’s bottom lip, nor the way his breath seems to catch in his throat with each shaky inhale.

“You’re sure?” Eddie asks, his voice equal parts hopeful and unsteady.

Buck nods again, and lets Eddie hold his face in his hands and run his thumbs over his cheeks as the panic in his eyes melts into relief.

“W-What’s going on?” Buck asks, his voice unsteady.

“Some idiots brought homemade fireworks.” The disgust is thick in Eddie’s voice, each word dripping with disdain.

A second round explodes nearby and they scramble to get to their feet. Buck stumbles, his foot catching in a stranger’s blanket amidst the chaos. He hits the ground, though Eddie’s quick to haul him up and link their fingers together. People are still screaming, still running, the entire area having descended into madness as the professional fireworks continue firing into the sky.

Eddie leads the way as they weave through the crowd. His grip on Buck’s hand is steady and unwavering; he doesn’t let go until they’re back at the truck, and even then it’s only long enough for the two of them to climb inside and shut the doors before Eddie’s hands are back on him. This time, they’re running over Buck’s hands, his wrists, the warm skin of his arms left exposed by his arguably too-tight t-shirt. They make their way to his face, pausing in time with the breath that catches in Eddie’s throat.

“Eddie,” Buck begins. His voice sounds gravelly, like he’s just swallowed sand. He clears his throat and tries again. “Eddie, I’m fine. I— I’m okay.”

. . .

“You’re bleeding,” Eddie says. Voicing the realization doesn’t do much to stop the hammering of his heart, nor the way his breath is coming in bursts so quickly his lungs have started to burn. If anything, it magnifies it. “You’re… you’re bleeding. On your cheek.”

Buck brings his fingers up to his cheek, and Eddie guides them with his own trembling fingers to where the skin across his cheekbone is scraped. It isn’t bleeding heavily, but enough so that Buck’s fingers come back tinged in red.

“Guess I am,” Buck says, his voice calm in a way that’s almost disarming.

He’s bleeding because some imbeciles thought it would be fun to set off their own amateur fireworks a few feet away from them, and Buck is calm about it. Not that it matters — Eddie’s got enough rage for the both of them.

Buck pulls down the sun visor, turning his face away from Eddie’s gentle hold just long enough to check out his scraped up cheek in the small mirror before turning back to face Eddie. “Nothing a little betadine and Neosporin can’t fix.”

“Buck—” Eddie hates the strangled edge to his voice, the way it threatens to break over the single syllable. He hates how scared he sounds, how weak and defeated. He needs to be strong for Buck. He needs to—

“I know,” Buck says, his voice soft and gentle as he brings his hand up to Eddie’s cheek. He runs his thumb over the freckle beneath Eddie’s eye, the same one he makes sure to press a kiss against every night and again every morning. “I was scared too.”

He leans forward, his forehead resting against Eddie’s. They share a long, deep breath. Eddie’s hands have migrated to Buck’s neck, the steady thrum of his pulse beneath Eddie’s fingers grounding him in ways he’d never be able to describe. Eddie closes his eyes, breathes in the familiar scent of Buck’s shampoo, and thanks God and Jesus and every saint he can name that they made it. That they’re here. That they’re together.

That they’re okay.

By the time they get home, Eddie’s calmed down. Around halfway through the drive, his heart no longer felt like it was going to beat out of his chest. His hands were still shaking, mostly due to the adrenaline comedown. Buck had been quick to notice, though, reaching over and taking Eddie’s hand in one of his own.

“How were you so calm?” Eddie had asked, looking over at Buck and admiring the way his eyes sparkled beneath the glow of the streetlights.

Buck had shrugged. “You had me. I knew it would be okay.”

Eddie’s eyes shone with tears for the next two blocks.

Their hands are still laced together now, as Eddie leads Buck into the house and towards the bathroom. He pulls out the first aid kit as Buck sits atop the counter, spreading his knees to make room for Eddie to work.

“I’m sorry,” Buck says after a moment, earning himself a frown from Eddie.

“Sorry?” Eddie echoes, his voice low and quiet as he focuses on getting the lid off of the betadine, but the concern in it perfectly clear all the same. “What for?”

Buck sighs. Shrugs. Drops his gaze to where his hands grip the countertop on either side of his thighs. “This isn’t supposed to be how we remember tonight.”

“Nah,” Eddie says simply, pouring the solution onto a gauze pad. “I’m not going to remember this part. Standing in the cotton candy line for twenty minutes because someone has a raging sweet tooth, though…”

Buck scoffs. “Well I’m going to remember you eating half of the cotton candy you insisted you didn’t want.”

Eddie will remember that too.

He’ll also remember the way it tasted even better clinging to Buck’s lips. He’ll remember that slow, sweet kiss right as the sun went down. He’ll remember Buck’s head against his shoulder, the way the tension bled out of him and how everything inside of him suddenly settled as their fingers laced together in the overgrown grass. He’ll remember his stolen glance at Buck as the fireworks display started, the way the shadows danced across his face beneath the shades of red and blue that lit the sky.

He’ll remember being together.

He’ll forget the rest.

. . .

Later, once Eddie’s put the first aid kit back under the sink and eased Buck off the counter— despite his protests that he’s completely fine, baby, I promise — they make their way to bed. It’s there, with Buck tucked into Eddie’s side and his curls brushing the underside of Eddie’s jaw, where Eddie presses a kiss to the top of Buck’s head and murmurs, “That’s not what I’ll remember.”

“Hmm?” Buck hums, looking up to meet Eddie’s eyes.

“When I think about tonight,” Eddie says. “I won’t remember giving you first aid on the bathroom counter. Or those godforsaken idiots lighting off a glorified IED.”

Buck grins. “Yeah?”

“I’ll remember being with you.”

“You will?”

“And the cotton candy line,” Eddie deadpans. “But mostly being with you. That’s the only thing that matters.”

Buck tips his chin up to meet Eddie for a kiss. And even though this one doesn’t taste like cotton candy, Eddie thinks it still might be the best one he’s ever had.

#my writing #buddie #whump #not like a tonnnn of whump but enough to tag it #hurt/comfort #also soft as hell #protective eddie diaz #soft evan buckley #soft buddie #i started this fic a year ago and immediately got absolutely rocked by covid and wrote half of it with a 104 fever #and didn't touch it again until today #princessfbi enabled me as always #i'd like the record to reflect that #but anyway i digress #my birthday is today and finishing/posting this is my gift to myself #all the online shopping i've done today notwithstanding

96 notes · View notes