#his son. But then the dream turns on its head; Christopher is there but not. Eddie dies in front of him and he doesn't even flinch | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wackybuddiemewbs · 2 years

Text

Hello there, folks. It's that time of the week again. So that means I'm back on my bullshit. And as per usual, I make it everyone's problem.

Working title: Buck, the Wedding Planner

Basic idea: Buck is set on giving his sister the wedding of her dreams after she and Chim finally sealed the deal. Which means clipboard!Buck is back with full swing - and with a mission. Oh, and of course, there is the small inconvenience of some (not) unrequited feelings for a certain best friend. But that's just the details...

Find out more here: Moodboard, Part 1

“We have a pavilion we can set up right in the big garden on the other side.”

“Georgia, you may make me cry right now. I’ve been aching for an open ceremony with a pavilion. Most places don’t offer them unless they are on a beach. Is it white or at least a light color?” Buck touches her shoulder gently. “Please tell me it’s white.”

“It is.”

He strikes a victory pose that might be a bit over the top for a white pavilion. “That means it goes with all colors. Psych!”

“Dad, why’s dad so excited about white pavilions?” Christopher asks, leaning over to his father as they watch Buck gush about pavilions with the woman kind enough to give them a tour around the property.

One of the Top 5, as he kept reminding us on the ride. Several times.

“I’m not entirely sure, buddy, but I guess we should just be happy for him,” Eddie whispers back.

“Okay.”

Eddie certainly didn’t wake up this morning, thinking he’d spend the remains of his afternoon walking through a possible wedding location for his friend and his fiancée, who happens to be his other friend’s sister. Neither did he expect to do it with his son and Buck.

But then again, being friends with Buck should have taught him by now that he does best expecting the unexpected. Because Buck is the kind of guy to wind up at your place with packed bags, having planned out a weekend trip for you and your kid from start to finish just because he can.

“But alternatively, we could host it inside, right? In case there’s bad weather or whatever else?” Buck continues, the damn clipboard resting by his hip.

Georgia nods her head. “Sure thing.”

“You’re making me very happy right now, Georgia.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

Buck beams at her with the kind of smile that can light up an entire room – and that for white pavilions and the option to host the wedding entirely inside.

“Well, that’s about all I can show you. You can either go with our own catering or bring in your own, whichever you prefer. And you can see which rooms you want to book. If you want to, I can work out an offer for you as an estimate, and how big the deposit would be,” she tells him.

“That’d be great, thank you.”

“Alright, then I will leave you to it for a while, and come back with the papers. You can venture around a bit, see for yourself. If you have any questions, you find me right at the reception. How does that sound?”

“Sounds like a plan to me.” He grins at her.

“Alright, then I’ll see you in a bit.”

“Thank you,” Buck says, waving at her as she walks off.

Once she is out of sight, Buck turns around on the back of the heel to look at Christopher with utmost sincerity. “So, Christopher! I need your honest opinion.”

“About what?” he asks.

“Do you like the place? Would you be okay spending a day here sometime?” Buck questions.

Christopher tilts his head, carefully considering his reply. “I liked the fountain.”

“The fountain was great, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Christopher agrees. “And they have a white pavilion.”

Eddie chuckles to himself, patting his son on the back.

Buck smiles from ear to ear upon hearing this, then looks at Eddie. “See? This kid gets it. Why can’t Chim, too?”

“Wouldn’t have any idea. After all, it goes with all colors,” Eddie snorts, amused.

“Thank. You. Finally someone talking some sense!” Buck waves his arms around in dramatic fashion, nearly losing the clipboard in the process, which is oddly admirable in its very own way.

“So is there anywhere else you need to go?” Eddie asks, looking around.

Buck wrinkles his nose, then shrugs. “Just down this way to see whether we can get a golf cart in here.”

Eddie makes a face. “Golf cart?”

Last time he checked, golf carts were no necessary component of a wedding. But then again, it’s not like he’s been reading all of the wedding magazines that have since piled up right next to Buck’s bed. Eddie’s wedding was nothing out of the usual. Dress, suit, cake, loads of food, the entire family, some music to play, and a perfect day was made.

But yeah, I guess I’m just being old-fashioned. Certainly if I asked Buck, which is something I just as certainly won’t do.

“Some people are not well on their feet, some don’t like walking, others are lazy, and golf carts are always fun. So I thought putting some here would be a great idea. I know a dude who knows a dude who runs a club,” Buck replies matter-of-factly.

Eddie shakes his head. “You have strange relations.”

“You’d have no idea,” Buck laughs. “But anyway, count yourself lucky I don’t play golf. That’s for old people… Does Bobby play golf, do you know?”

“I wouldn’t ask him if I were you,” Eddie snorts.

“Yeah no, now I’m gonna.”

And yeah, Eddie knows he now planted a thought. Tomorrow’s shift is sure as hell going to be interesting.

Eddie shakes his head before turning his attention to Christopher glancing up at them both. “You wanna come with or wait and play with your Nintendo a little?”

“I’d like to play a bit,” Christopher answers.

“Okay, then you stay here and play,” Eddie agrees, smiling at his son softly. “Buck and I will be right over there.”

“Okay.”

They make sure the kid is all settled in the grass before they head to where Buck wants to set up the golf cart palooza. Hugging his chest, Eddie watches silently as Buck checks the ground, takes some notes, then continues walking about.

“So,” Eddie says after a while.

Buck blinks at him. “So?”

“Will you explain to me why you work yourself up so much about your sister’s wedding?”

He shrugs his shoulders. “I just want everything to be perfect.”

“Buck, trust me, weddings are not about the event,” Eddie sighs. He’s been to his fair share, he’s had one of his own. In the end, none of that matters the moment that one person walks down the aisle.

Corny as it may sound, it’s true.

“Don’t say that when you haven’t seen all seasons of Say Yes to the Dress, the spin-off with the bridesmaids picking dresses and fights, The Wedding Planner, the one show where…,” Buck recounts, but Eddie cuts him off, waving with his arms, “Enough.”

Buck raises his hands. “I know it’s not about that, trust me, I know. Even though I haven’t walked down any aisle for that reason.”

“Well, if you know, then why do you insist on making it a huge event?” Eddie wants to know.

“This is Maddie’s and Chim’s big day. I want them to have a good time and not worry about a single thing, simple as that.”

Eddie frowns at that. “Worry?”

“Maddie has enough on her mind as is, now also including the prospect of marrying again. Thanks to Doug… that’s just another thing to add to the list of things she shouldn’t have to think about, but still has to because that’s what happened and we can’t change it anymore.”

Eddie grimaces. That does shed some light on the situation. While Buck caring for his sister and for Chim is perfectly out of question, wanting her to forget all about the past and focus on the future is… very much a thing Buck would do, Eddie knows.

“Maddie’s first wedding was all self-made, self-organized, and low-budget in a shitty place that smelled of toilets and moldy wood. She was entirely on her own coz I knew shit and I hardly got to leave the house. She made all the food herself, the location was mediocre at best, the music was shit… and the husband was evidently the biggest shit of all. I want it to be different for her this time.”

“But do you think Maddie needs all that?” Eddie ponders.

“I think she deserves all that,” Buck corrects him. “Maddie deserves a fresh start. A sign that all is headed in the right direction now, after they came such a long way together. I want this to be the perfect opposite of what she had before, so the only thing she thinks about will be how happy she is and not how unhappy she used to be.”

“You are a very good brother,” Eddie can’t help but say.

“And I hope to someday deserve the amazing sister I’ve got, but… yeah, I want to do that for her. And if that means bossing around some purveyors? Piece of cake for me.”

Eddie smiles softly. “I honestly didn’t know you were that much of a wedding enthusiast.”

“I’m not really,” Buck snorts. “Some images are scourged into my brain about women turning to banshees over the wrong cream tone for a dress.”

“Which does not at all sound familiar. Peonies.” Eddie cocks an eyebrow at him for emphasis.

“Vanessa was pulling my leg, I’m telling you, Eds,” Buck insists. “Either way. I don’t much care about the pomp and the glitter and the ironed table cloths.”

“But you think it’s important to Maddie?”

“No, which is precisely why I am taking care of it. Coz it isn’t important to her… just that it kinda is,” Buck tries to explain.

“And why is it, kinda?”

“I know she won’t say it out loud, but Maddie is freaked. She’s scared that things will remind her of the first wedding, that she’ll think about Boston, about all that’s happened, that it’ll show on her face… And that she may upset Chim with it. I don’t want her to look back but focus on her bright future with the man she loves ahead. That’s all,” Buck answers. “So I… take care of these things in her stead and make sure it’s all different from what she knows. A fresh start.”

“Which is very kind, but still, I think you are being a bit over the top,” Eddie argues. “Said as your best friend.”

“Just a bit?” Buck snorts, then shrugs. “Might be. I don’t know.”

Though honestly, Eddie finds it admirable. Buck is throwing himself into this so his sister doesn’t have to. Not that this in itself is any surprise. Now that he understands the reasoning, he knows he should have understood all along. Because Buck will do whatever it takes to make his family happy. And if that means making sure his sister doesn’t have a flashback to her shitty first wedding or her even shittier marriage, he’ll outdo himself.

That’s Evan Buckley for you.

“Leaves me wondering what you’ll cook up for your own wedding,” Eddie teases.

“Oh, if I get married, there will just be family, a tiny chapel or some open field, and family dinner over at the firehouse. I’m pretty set on that,” Buck declares.

Eddie blinks, somewhat caught off-guard. “I didn’t even know you had a plan for that to begin with.”

He still vaguely remembers Bobby telling him in confidence what kind of face Buck pulled when he teased him about a ring as a Christmas gift for Taylor. To quote: Just like when you give a baby a slice of lemon to eat.

“It’s not that much of a plan as a picture in my head,” Buck ponders. “Dunno. Also, are you slut shaming me with the whole ‘I didn’t take you to be the guy to wanna get married’?”

“You can be kind of slutty,” Eddie snickers.

Buck nudges against him. “Piss off.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “You know how I mean it.”

“That was Buck 1.0. That guy was, admittedly, a bit slutty. But Buck 4.0 will be decisively different once he seals the deal.”

“Not the software updates again,” Eddie sighs.

Honestly, he really wished Buck would stop that. It always makes him uneasy somehow. That Buck still tends to think of himself as some piece of faulty software waiting to be fixed. Sure, Buck is not perfect, and he may be a bit over the top with all this here, but Eddie wouldn’t want to change a single thing about who Buck truly is. That does not need updates or fixes.

But that’s a conversation for another day.

“But just for the record, I’m not surprised at you wanting to get married,” Eddie adds. “I was just surprised at you having a fable for weddings. That’s two different things.”

Buck smirks at him faintly. “True again. Well, funny enough, I wanted to get married for longer than most guys should probably have business thinking about it.”

“Did you?”

“Oh yeah. First big crush I had as a kid? I had the whole damn wedding and reception planned in my head. Though it didn’t last long when I understood that you actually had to be dating that person, and not just pine after them.”

He laughs, leaning his head back at the memory.

“Things turned sour when I had to watch Maddie marry that asshole. That definitely does something to how you perceive the… whole deal. But still, I’d always wanted it. I just didn’t feel like I had that kinda special connection with anyone. With Abby, I thought it would come, but things changed. Well, and with Ali and Taylor… that just wasn’t meant to be.”

Eddie opens his mouth to utter a quick reassurance, but Buck beats him to it. “But… the day will come. Buck 4.0 is a patient man. And until then… I plan weddings of the people I care about.”

“… And you are surely doing one hell of a job,” Eddie mutters, honestly a bit at a loss right at this moment.

“With white pavilions? You bet I am,” Buck laughs. “Now let’s see what Chris is doing. If he set a new record, I need that Gameboy for the ride back.”

Eddie rolls his eyes as they start to head back.

“So golf carts are still in the game?”

“Definitely. They won’t fit the color scheme, but with some festoons and some cloth, they should look festive enough.”

“Just make sure everyone gets a proper instruction – and the kids don’t ride them alone.”

“Oh please,” Buck snorts. “You don’t seriously think I haven’t considered that yet, do you?”

The two continue silently. Eddie frowns when Buck stops in his tracks and turns around slowly.

“Something the matter?” he asks.

“Actually yeah,” Buck answers. “It’s decided. This is the place.”

“And you don’t intend to consult with, you know, the people getting married?”

“I have a permit!”

“You wrote it yourself?” Eddie snorts.

“You bet. With fancy font. They complained about how much work it is, so they don’t get to complain about not being in the picture. It’s like a huge surprise party!”

“Buck! I found some beetles!” Christopher’s voice rings out. The two turn their heads to see him sitting in the grass, the Nintendo abandoned, entirely focused on those beetles, apparently.

“Coming, little Superman!” Buck hollers. “Just don’t eat any!”

“You know that’s basically like daring him?” Eddie huffs.

“Well, you’re the dad. You keep your kid from eating bugs.”

Eddie narrows his eyes at him. “You taunt him to eat a bug, you keep him from eating a bug. Or else I will end you.”

“They are actually nutritious. In some parts of the world they are common snacks and source of proteins.”

“Just make sure he doesn’t eat beetles,” Eddie rolls his eyes.

Buck smiles at him oh so sweetly. “If you go check in with Georgia to see if she’s done with the estimate, I might.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because you don’t want your son to eat any beetles. And I got a push message from the forum I dug this place up at for when it’s getting recommended. And it is. So, off you go!” he shoos him.

Eddie shakes his head. “Unbelievable.”

“Yeah, I get that a lot.”

Eddie waves him off as he starts walking. No, this is definitely not what he envisioned his day to look like when he woke up this morning. Because even expecting the unexpected does not prepare you just what that unexpected thing is going to be.

After a quick chat with Georgia, Eddie heads back over to where he left Buck and Christopher and the beetles, with Georgia in tow. Buck has Christopher balanced on his back, mimicking an airplane as they rush over the grass, pulling sharp turns around the trees framing the large garden. Christopher croons happily as he is tossed from one side to the other, though always feeling perfectly secure when he’s held by Buck. Because that man would never let go of him, simple as that.

Eddie can’t hold back a soft smile at the sight.

Some things are going as expected after all.

“You have an adorable son,” Georgia hums beside him.

“Thanks. He’s my world.”

“So, when this wedding is through, you two will be planning your own, I suppose? Just to let you know, we still have some slots available early September,” she continues.

Eddie whips his head around. “What? Buck and I? We are not… we’re just friends.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I just assumed you two were… nevermind.”

“It’s okay,” he assures her.

“Georgia! There you are!” Buck calls out from afar. He expertly rolls Christopher off his back to gather him in his arms and set him down. “We’re taking it! Sign us up!”

“Glad to hear that!” she laughs.

Buck runs up to her, beaming from one ear to the other. Eddie watches with amusement as Buck hands her his clipboard to take hers and sign the necessary forms, only to rotate it all back around again in a rather awkward manner.

“Alright, then I’m going to put down your info and arrange for the rest. You have my card right there. So the rest we can discuss once I have booked your slot. Sounds like a plan?”

“Like the best of plans,” Buck chirps.

“You’re welcome to stay a while longer and venture around.”

“Thanks, Georgia.”

“Enjoy your time. See you.”

“See you!”

She waves at Christopher another time, before heading back inside.

“We did it!” Buck shouts, raising his arms above his head for a victory pose.

“Congrats, man,” Eddie chuckles softly.

“Okay, you two can chill on the grass for a bit,” Buck then says. “I will take some pictures to send to Decoration Dude.”

“Is that how you call him?” Eddie frowns.

“Dave is great fun and yeah, he lets me call him Decoration Dude, or Décor Dave. I didn’t get too fancy with the names after her snort-laughed his green smoothie when I called him the former.” He grins at Christopher. “It looked like the boogers just kept coming out of him nonstop!”

Christopher giggles at that mental image.

“Sounds like you’re great friends, you and Decoration Dude.”

“Getting jealous?” Buck laughs, elbowing Eddie lightly in the side.

“Hey, if you and Decoration Dude are happy together over snort-laughing smoothies, it’s fine by me.” Eddie raises his hands.

“What can I say? He has an eye for details and he has reasonable prices. Anyway. I didn’t plan an actual picnic coz the time slot came up on short notice, but I got these,” Buck ponders, reaching into his backpack to take out some bottles of water, a few nut bars, a bunch of apples, and three small packets of chips.

“And you seriously didn’t plan on this?” Eddie laughs.

“Actually not,” Buck admits. “Normally, I would’ve taken you to the park and I didn’t find it in me last night to actually cook food to take along, so I just grabbed whatever I had lying around my kitchen.”

“I think we’ll survive on that diet,” Eddie assures him, taking the not-a-picnic items from Buck.

Buck smiles at him, visibly relieved. “Okay, catch you in a bit.”

With that, he starts to roam around the area, taking pictures from all kinds of angles. Eddie settles himself down on the grass next to Christopher, making sure the boy eats at least some of the healthier items Buck brought along.

“Are you enjoying yourself alright, mijo?”

“We should go looking for locations more often,” Christopher says between bites of his apple. “It’s fun.”

“Well, that may be a bit expensive,” Eddie laughs.

Though he will have to admit, the afternoon was surprisingly pleasant.

“This place is nice,” Christopher sighs happily.

“It really is.”

“So Uncle Chimney and Aunt Maddie will get married here?”

Eddie nods his head. “That’s the plan.”

It certainly is Buck’s. And the happy couple will have to deal with that.

“They’re going to love it,” Christopher declares with utter surety.

“Yeah, I think they are. I mean, Buck sure loves it.”

“Then everyone’s going to love it.”

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?” Eddie laughs.

“Because everyone loves Buck,” his son says, as though it was the most obvious thing on earth.

Eddie lets his gaze wander back over to the other man busy taking pictures, making even visiting a wedding location a day trip to be remembered.

“Everyone loves Buck, yeah,” he whispers, smiling.

A couple of minutes later, Buck seems satisfied with the amount of pictures he’s taken. He makes his way back over to where Eddie and Christopher sat down on the grass and flops down next to them unceremoniously, which earns him another heartfelt giggle from Christopher.

“So? Cartographed the whole place?” Eddie teases.

“Oh yeah. Dave’s gonna love me. My phone’s storage is gonna hate me for flooding the gallery again,” Buck chimes.

“Well, then how about you stuff your phone away at last?” Eddie snorts.

“In one hot second,” Buck laughs, before holding up his hand to snatch a quick group picture. He checks the picture for a brief moment, his smile growing even bigger. “And that one’s for me.”

“You’re not gonna share?” Eddie scoffs.

Buck rolls his eyes. “Fine, since you asked kind of nicely.”

Eddie smirks when the message pops up on his screen. His gallery is going to hate him for it, too. After all, Eddie has an almost endless collection of just those pictures, the three of them smirking brightly in the camera. And while he won’t say it out loud, he will look just through those pictures after a rough shift or when he needs to distract his mind on the way back from a tough call.

“Dad? I think Buck fell asleep again,” Christopher mutters.

Eddie turns his head to look at Buck’s peaceful expression, still clutching that clipboard tightly to his chest.

“You get to wake him in a bit, however you want to,” Eddie chuckles softly. “For now, let’s let him dream of that wedding for a bit.”

Eddie pulls Christopher against his side, ruffling the boy’s hair as he enjoys the soft breeze, glad that he let Buck be Buck and change his plans.

Because very often, they turn out unexpectedly good.

#buddie #buck x eddie #eddie x buck #evan buckley #eddie diaz #eddie diaz x evan buckley #evan buckley x eddie diaz #buddie fanfic #fanfic #wip wednesday

17 notes · View notes

dialnoisenow · 1 year

Text

If I want to bake bread before football day, I have to get out of bed earlier than 1030. And then move faster. This could be in the oven now.

This morning I dreamt our goat was sick. It occured to dream me, I havent been feeding it! This poor goat, no wonder its dying. So I asked dream husband and he said he was feeding it. Then dream me got it in her head to take it for a walk during a blizzard. Goat got out as goats do. So I went to my friend's house because logically she would know what to do, she irl had goats. Shes not home. No one is. House is shrouded in shadow, it's cold, and dark in the way light pollution reflects from the clouds. I opened the glass gate to their house and all their baby goats and ducklings ran out. Now I gotta get everyone back in and they all ran which way and me with no experience is trying to corral them like cats going "pspsps" in a snow storm. I must have gotten the lot, except for one and my goat which happened to have ducked under some storage near the garage. Jokes on me, it's not storage it's an oddly bright tunnel that looks like a green house and covered in spider webs. "Better not" dream me decides and when I turned around now I'm at an entirely different location, as dreams go, in a decrepit alley way about to go into an apartment of a house I've never been but dream me has. You know, dream houses, places never visited irl that you come back to dreams and theres that deja vu/familiarity. Anyway, I'm trying to get inside and I'm stuck in the foyer and I also have to greet all these people and they're all randos that I know. I'm ignored by like half of them and then my cousin and his wife show up. They're dressed in really 90s clothing. Like those vibrant blues, pinks, and purples that made up school picture backgrounds with that weird textured denim and the patterns on those paper coffee cups-yea. The line stops and it's just us awkwardly standing there and it reminds me of my wedding when I had to greet/thank people for coming and the procession down the stairs to the bar got clogged up so I had to make conversation with a friend of the family's son-Anyway, cousin and wife are here now and dream me picks now to congratulate them on the birth of their son and they say "ok" after a long pause of staring me down and then the procession picks up and they move on. "Oh, I get it," I say lucidly to whoever is next to me, Lorraine, I think. "These are all people I think are mad at me. Great." Well now is the time to leave, so I go outside onto the sidewalk and a whole bunch of art pieces are displayed all over the ground on blankets the way people sell things on the sidewalks. My dream aunt, who is not one of my aunts but like a combo of all of them, starts an open critique on a charcoal piece. It's a still life of a lot of pots in candle light on the sidewalk and there are words written in chalk that I cant make out. She tells me it started off strong but my usage of the lighting doesnt make sense with the direction of the shadows.

Mind you, before all of this there was another dream where I was in my basement. Our basement has old glass paned windows that dont have curtains on them. If you dont turn the light on, you can still see everything fine and can navigate ok in the dark due to the light from the windows and in this case from the stark contrast of a moonless night in winter. The blanket of white provides enough to see. Or it did, until a figure stepped out in my basement and started walking towards me and completely shrouded, blocked out everything.

So, I skipped new moon last night cause I was just so tired. Feeling pretty guilty about that but also, this is kind of why Inception as a story about dreams didnt really work for me. Yeah, it was good but my dreams are too batshit crazy to accept you're just moving the roads around in ways roads dont go. Granted, I think about Inception everytime I have a weird dream so point you, Christopher Nolan.

#dreams #Hekate #and my bullshit

0 notes

stcveskent · 3 years

Text

their little miracle; chris evans

pairings: chris evans x reader

warnings: fluff and a bit of swearing

request on wattpad

_____

its been 8 months,since you heard that you would be giving a little miracle of yours and chris, soon. You still remember the day when both of you saw the baby for yhe first time, as it moved around your belly.

you remember how Chris held your hand when he saw your baby, and said, "it's ours" while crying, you remember the day when he found out it was a baby girl, and he was so happy, and when he told his family about it, they were crying too, because their son's dream came true. Since then he never left your side. Well, he haven't announced it on the internet too . He used to talk to your baby, late at nights, when she won't let you sleep, by endless kickings.

"Hey honey, don't do that to Mama." He says, slowly, and calmly as you laid down next to him, and his hands on your belly rubbing it gently.

"I won't leave your side, y/n." He whispered softly and kissed you. During those times, when Chris got intimate with you, for eg, he would kiss you more often, and lay next to you all the time, hold your hands all the time, you used to blush alot, as if it was a school crush, you could say it was the hormones.

"i love you so much." He says and you smile.

"I love you too and more." You reply and he wraps his arm around you, and kiss your head, and then you gasped as soon as your baby kicks you, because you were giving all the attention to her daddy and not her and even daddy didn't give her attention.

"alright baby, i love you too." He says as he keeps a hand on your belly and you laughed at how your daughter already had control over her Dad, even before her birth.

your smile grew wider, as all those thoughts came to your mind, and Chris noticed how you were smiling, and thinking about some things. He smiled looking at how adorable you looked.

"what're you smiling at, sweetheart." He asks as he comes closer, and kisses you gently.

"thinking of how our girl, already has control over her dad." He smiles as he heard you, it was a very different feeling for both of you.

"Well, trust me, the queen has more control than the princess." He says referring to you and you roll your eyes.

"oh stop!" You said as both of you chuckled, just then, to ruin the moment his phone rang. He groaned, and you laughed at him.

"Always messing up my moments, with my queen." He said, and you blushed at how he made you feel so good.

"Chris, i'm sorry to call you now." His manager spoke, as chris answered.

"No its fine, Joshua? what did you need?" He replied.

"Well, the agency has been calling up alot, for your photo shoot, and i tried to decline it, because you wanted to stay with your wife, but they aren't listening , and said you're their hope."

"alright fine! I'll do it."

"ah thank god!! I'll arrange the dates and timing and inform you."

"Alright!" Chris says as he ends the conversation and looks at you, smiling.

"What's wrong?" You asked

"I have to stay away from you for a couple of hours."

"and what would be the reason?" You asked as he sits next to you and pull you closer to him, and you put your head on his shoulder.

"There's this photo shoot they need me to do it and I honestly don't wanna stay away from you, even if its for a couple of hours, you're now close to your date, I can't just leave you here all alone, when you'd need me." He spoke.

"Chris, i'll be fine, you're worrying too much, babe. I can manage on my own, honey!"

"I know you can, i just don't want to be away from you and our daughter." You smiled as he said that, how your daughter's and his bond was so strong.

"babe!!" You squeeled and hugged him and he kissed you multiple times. Just then the phone rings and he groans again.

"Its the agency, i'll have to take it, i'm so sorry!!"

"Its fine, honey." You said and he answered the call, going into the living room to talk while you watched some TV

"Thank you so much, Chris for joining us!" He said and chris smiled.

"The pleasure is all mine!"

"Is there any arrangements we can do for you?" Just as those words left his mouth, he smiles thinking of an idea.

"Yes! Could i get my wife with me? I want her to be next to me."

"Ofcourse sir! It's our pleasure to have her with us, and we can have some couple photoshoot too!"

"Thank you! See you, soon!" He says and walks to you.

Chris comes back to you and tells you that he's made arrangements for you to come with me, you denied at first but he made you to agree to it, typical christopher and then the day comes when you had to go with him. You were nervous about something which he had completely forgot about. Announcing about your little miracle.

As soon as both of you entered, the photographers welcomed you both so warmly, and as expected they were shocked by the news, and they were happy for both of you.

As soon as chris finished his part of the work, you two had to pose together, it was all cute with him, and then the photographer requested that you should have a photo or two of your own with your bump and Chris happily agreed to it.

Just after you completed your work, you told Chris, that now seems to be the right time to tell everyone about it. No , only family and some of his close friends knew about this, so he was just concerned about how his fans and co workers would annouce, but you knew things would fall back into a perfect position.

"I posted it." He said and breathed.

"i did too!" You said and smiled.

Just a second later, yours and his phone were filled with notifications, hundreds to thousands, and all were really happy about it, because all of them understood that this was Chris's dream and you could only turn into his reality.

a week or two has passed, Chris had to go through a lot of press , and interviews where the main interest was your pregnancy. As you waited for him to get over with the last interview for the month, and after that he promised he'd take a break, he comes to you.

"How was it?" You asked as he kissed you and sat next to you.

"It was good, i was happy to tell them, how you made me happy, and they obviously wanted you, but i said you were resting."

"Thank you —*gasps* oh shit!" You said and his eyes came out if his eye sockets.

"Baby what happened?!"

"She's coming omg!! My water broke!!!" You said and he panicked, he was roaming around the house finding the baby bag, and you felt contractions, which were going on for a day which you tried to ignore.

"Chris where the fuck are you?!" You yelled, as the contractions hit you again.

"I found it!! Let's go." He said as he helped you get up and rush you to the hospital, through out the ride he didn't leave your hand, and just made you breathe, but it was true, when you're about to give birth, your temper loses, and poor Chris had to listen.

Now you were in the waiting room, with him and yours and his family started to visit you both.

"Hey!" Your mom said and rushed to hug you as you breathed.

"Hey Mom! I'm good? Are you?" You asked and she laughed at you.

"I know, the temper, i gave birth to three kids!" She said and hugged Chris, and he chuckled and stopped as soon as you gave him a death glare.

"come on! my little girl needs a break, how are you feeling honey?" Your dad says and you roll your eyes.

"P A I N!" You said and then your siblings laugh at you.

"Y/n , for real, you need to calm down, also guess what i already have done half of the preparations for my niece!!" your brother says while your sister argues with him that it was she who did it, and that made you laugh, and Chris smile looking at you.

His mother stayed longer with you but then you told her to go, because she looked tired, and she agreed, time passed and you were ready to deliver the baby, Chris started to breathe heavily, he was nervous, more than you.

"Its gonna be fine, babe!" You said and he nods

"I'll be next to you the whole time." He says and you nod.

Slowly the doctors start to give you instructions to how to push till they count till 10 and you agree to it, clearly understanding their instructions.

"Push!" They said and you pushed while your groaned and your grip on chris's hand tightened.

"You're doing amazing honey!" He encouraged and honestly, that made you stay strong till the end.

Just few more pushes later, the cries of your baby girl were heard and you sighed as both of you burts into tears. They laid your little miracle on top of you as Chris adored both of you, he starts to wipe his tears, and the doctor takes your little girl away.

"No where are you taking her!" Chris says and you chuckled at him.

"they're cleaning her, she'll be back soon, with us." You said and he looked at you with a smile.

"You did so good today!" he says and you smiled at him.

"It wasn't possible without you." You said and he shook his head.

"You're the most strongest women i've ever seen, and how beautiful you look today! Your glowing baby!" He says and you laugh as he pressed his lips onto yours in a sweet and filled with love kiss.

"I love you so much." He says

"I love you more!" You reply and they bring the baby back to you, and Chris holds her, tears falling from his eyes, as he met his daughter.

"She's so beautiful just like her Mama!" He says and you feel your tears falling.

"Daddy loves you and your Mama so much! He'll do everything to protect both of you!" He says as he holds her in his arms and kisses her multiple times on her head.

"Okay now, Mama also needs attention!" You said and he laughed and kissed you again, and just then you met your family, already waiting and excited to greet their grand child, neice and goddaughter.

Yours and Chris's mother couldn't hold back tears and were crying with joy, while Scott hugged you and cried and you were crying because he was crying , which made everyone laugh and later Scott Shanna, Carly and your siblings already started giving suggestions for the baby names for your little miracle.

It was the best day of your life, you for the first time witnessed how one life can bring so much happiness to so many people, and you were only concerned about your husband, who was on cloud 9 because of his happiness and you couldn't stop smiling because of him. You won't be able to forget this day ever!

------

done with your request!!hope you liked it❤️

also, but Daddy!Chris is making me cry😭😭

#andy barber #andy barber fluff #andy barber smut #chris evans #chris evans fluff #chris evans smut #ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale smut #steve rogers #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers and reader #nomad steve x you #chris evans angst #chris evans x reader #steve rogers angst #ransom drysdale angst #ransom drysdale fluff

472 notes · View notes

thomaslightwood · 3 years

Text

The Weight of Love

THOMASTAIR WEEK - Day 2 (16th July): Thomas Appreciation Day (hosted by @youngreckless!)

I managed to put myself together to write this, hope you enjoy it 🤧

Words: 1 773

•

When Thomas was a little boy he hated runes.

He hated seeing the anxious faces of his parents when the Silent brothers put the Voyanceon rune on his hand.

He hated how he had memorized the Nourishment rune and still did it on himself.

He hated how the Iratze runes were put on him over and over again when he had a bad ill episode.

He hated runes.

But he loved musical notes.

In a way they were so similar to the Shadowhunter runes but it didn't cost anyone worries.

The first time he wrote a song - full written song - he didn't want to show it to anyone. It wasn't something that was meant for anyone's eyes.

“Tommy!”

Thomas sighed. He loved his sisters. He loved his parents. But sometimes their love was a weight that was crushing him.

“I'm coming!” he shouted in response. He hid his notebook with stories and songs under his bed, carefully putting a few things over it. Then he ran over to the living room where his sisters were.

“Yes?”

Eugenia was furiously pricking with a needle the tapestry she was making. Or trying to make. Barbara was doing the same as her's but she used the needle much calmer. She looked at Thomas.

“Come here with us,” she smiled. “The dinner is soon.”

Thomas sat on the couch next to Eugenia without saying a word. He knew why his sister had asked him to come. So they can watch after him. Like he was a glass that could be broken by the wind.

“Barbs,” Eugenia said, her face a little red. “Please come help me with this or I swear to Raziel, I'll rip it off.”

Barbara left her tapestry on the table and stood up from the chair she was sitting on, coming to the couch. Thomas moved at the end of it, making space for her.

“Here,” Barbara gently took Eugenia's needle. “You must be careful with the threads…”

While Barbara was explaining to Eugenia, Thomas was staring at the wall without blinking. He wanted to be alone. To write a new song. To train. He didn't want his sisters to babysit him.

Barbara laughed. Her laugh was soft, quiet, warming up something in your chest.

“It's alright, Nia. It's hard.” She stood up again. “I'll bring some of my materials. Wait a second.” Then she left the room, heading towards her bedroom.

“Damn it,” Eugenia said, angrily throwing her work at the table. “Stupid, useless thing.”

She hid her face with her hands and took a few breaths. Thomas, unsure what he could do to comfort his sister, approached her. He slowly hugged her, wrapping his short hands around her.

She looked at him. Her eyes were wet. But as she blinked a few times the tears disappeared. Eugenia hated people seeing her cry.

She hugged Thomas across his shoulders, almost crushing him in a hug.

After a few seconds he murmured, “You're stopping my oxygen.”

A devilish smile broke on her face.

“This is not my problem. I'm a big sister, I have duties of annoying my little brother.”

Thomas giggled and tried to fight her off. They ended up falling on the couch, laughing.

Barbara was standing on the door, smiling, while she watched them.

•

The day his parents decided he was ready to go to the Academy, Thomas had conflicted feelings. On one side this meant he wasn’t looked at like a fragile little boy. On the other hand - he had to deal with people. He was worried he wouldn't find friends. Or he would do something stupid and everyone would laugh at him.

The night before his first day at the Academy Thomas couldn’t sleep.

But in the end everything turned out fine. Even better than he expected to. He had a whole group of friends. While there, he missed the solitude he once had. He missed being alone with his own thoughts. But he liked being here. To talk with so many people who weren't his family.

There was one thing he couldn’t escape. That worry on everyone’s faces. He agreed to go to the Academy because he wanted to go away from his overprotective sisters and worrying parents. But sometimes he could see the same worry on his friends’ faces. Maybe it was all in his head. But he couldn’t get rid of the feeling that since they once knew him as a sickly boy, they forever would see him as a sickly boy.

The only one who didn’t have this worry on his face was Alastair Carstairs.

•

Thomas was aware he was becoming ridiculous. But he wasn’t sure he could stop.

He didn’t want to be Alastair's puppy that follows him everywhere. Matthew hated him. James was bullied by him. Alastair was nasty to everyone. But still.

Thomas couldn’t explain it but there was something in Alastair Carstairs that was… extraordinary.

Sometimes Thomas would spot Alastair looking at him when he thought no one was watching. He was turning away quickly and called him “pipsqueak” or “half pint”. Thomas’ heart was starting to beat very fast when this happened. Like a small song was trapped in his heart and Alastair’s closnesses was making it louder.

Shortly after James, Matthew and Christopher were expelled, he found himself in an old room in the Academy. It was all dust and dirt that made his lungs ache. But he stayed because there was an old piano in it.

It made him smile. He took out his notebook with songs and sat in front of it. He was happy to touch it, to feel its coldness and steadiness. It was refreshing.

Eventually he decided to examine the rest of the room. It was stuffed with books and old furniture.

“Pipsqueak?”

Thomas jumped. He turned and saw Alastair next to the piano.

“What are you doing here, pixie?”

“Um” Thomas said. “Just looking around.”

Alastair’s gaze slowly moved to the piano. Thomas’ heart stopped. His notebook was there. Alastair was going to see his notebook.

“T-That’s nothing-”

But Alastair was already reaching for the book. He grabbed it from the stand. Thomas started to tremble. He hurried towards the other boy.

“Please, this is just-”

“Wait a second, tea cup,” without much effort he avoided Thomas’ attempts to take his notebook back. He was scanning the pages and then glanced at Thomas. Looked back at the page.

“That's not bad, pipsqueak,” then he gave him back the notebook, turned around and before leaving the room stopped. Turned to him. “You should let me play this sometime,” Alastair said and left the room.

Thomas' heart was beating fast. He was still trembling but for other reasons. His face was hot.

He glanced at the song Alastair had looked at. It was his first song. Did he really like it? Did he really want to play it?

Thomas hugged his notebooks, smiling, because he imagined how Alastair was playing his song.

But this never happened.

•

“You damn Shadowhooligans,” Polly murmured. “Don't have demons to hunt or something?” she sounded annoyed but said this with a smile.

The four boys, giggling, headed towards their room where James managed to make their exclusive place in the Devil's Tavern.

Thomas was happy. He felt alive. He couldn't remember the last time he felt so reckless, so independent from his family. A time when he could just be.

As he looked at James and Matthew he thought how lucky they are. To find themselves parabatai. They were so different, not just by appearance. James was more quiet natured, more into stories and books. Matthew was loud, bohemian and liked being around people. Yet they somehow made it work.

Sometimes Thomas dreamed of having the same bond with somebody. The only one he could think of was Christopher. He was his brother in every way except blood. But he knew they weren't like this. Christopher would be kind of Shadowhunter Thomas wasn't and vica versa. And he couldn't imagine being with someone like Matthew - he loved him with his whole heart - but Thomas would prefer somebody more like James or himself.

Probably the parabatai-hood wasn't for him after all.

•

“I believe you'll like it there, son,” Gideon said to Thomas. “It helped me a great deal when I was your age.”

Thomas was packing clothes. He soon would turn eighteen and he was going to his travel year. He was scared. And anxious. But so excited at the same time. He looked forward to it for months.

“I hope so,” he said while putting a few shirts in his pack. “I will have a great opportunity to practice my Spanish.”

Gideon smiled. “Indeed.”

He watched Thomas pack for a few minutes with a warm smile.

“Tom,” he said quietly. Thomas turned to him. Gideon hesitated. “I came to realize that all the attention and care the family took for you were necessary but… that they may have been a burden for you.”

Thomas looked at the floor. Gideon put a hand on his shoulder.

“You never said so, I know. This is what you do. But I have noticed it. When you're annoyed at the overprotectiveness of your sisters, at your mum and I when we put some restrictions on what to do, especially when you were younger.”

Thomas looked at his father. His face was kind, gentle.

“It's alright. When I was your age I did similar things. I was silent for… some things. You know the story of your grandfather. But going to Spain had a really good influence on me. It helped me grow outside my father's control. I hope it can do the same for you. I strongly believe when you have the chance to be on your own and far away from all the people that overwhelm you with their care, you'll do great.”

Thomas' eyes were wet. He blinked a few times, trying to chase the tears away.

“I… I don't want to be away from you.”

Gideon hugged him and gently squeezed him. Thomas buried his face in his father's chest.

“I know,” he said. “I also know that this can be scary and equally exciting. Just want to let you know… it's alright to feel this. All of this. Has always been and always will be. When you return you'll be changed. And our family, we'll be here, waiting for you.”

Thomas hugged his father too. It was alright. Everything was going to be alright.

“I love you,” he whispered, his voice a little muffled.

Gideon kissed the top of his hair. “I love you too.”

#thomas lighwood #tlh #tsc #tsc fanfiction #alastair carstairs #gideon lightwood #eugenia lightwood #barbara lightwood #the merry thieves #thomastair week #tsccreatenet #the last hours #the last hours fanfiction #the shadowhunter chronicles #sav's writing #my post #tsc fanfic #thomastair

90 notes · View notes

milenadaniels · 3 years

Text

Still Waters, 7k - Buck/Eddie, post s4 (AO3)

As Eddie lays on the hot pavement bleeding out, his eyes locked on Buck’s bloody face, his hand reaching out towards him, what washes over him isn’t his hard-earned stillness nor is it shock.

It’s clarity, edging slowly into focus from off-stage.

And when he wakes up in the hospital bed and registers a soft, slim hand in his, he thinks, "no, that’s not it.”

----

Or, Five Ways Eddie's Body Feels Different After the Shooting

Eddie takes comfort in living with a certain stillness.

Being an army medic means walking into gunfire without being able to shoot back. It takes a steadiness that’s hard to train and while the army did help him grow into the man he is today, they couldn’t teach him that. That stillness, that restraint and level-headedness — he showed up to basic training with it. It makes him a good medic, a good firefighter, and it’s what makes him a good son. (If he’d countered his parents’ yelling with his own, if he’d let loose the caustic retorts he has tucked away, it wouldn’t be long until they were out of his life for good.)

He lost that stillness after Shannon died and he nearly lost everything else he’d worked so hard for because of it. So he built that restraint back up brick by brick until he was safe again. It was a little harder to breathe sometimes, but it was a familiar kind of pressure. Like a jacket you’ve grown out of but still love the look of enough to wear out sometimes.

And then he gets shot, and he doesn’t move, doesn’t say a word, doesn’t react at all. But it’s not his stillness kicking in.

It’s having a bullet tear through his body on a sunny afternoon in L.A., thousands of miles away from where this should have been a hazard of the job.

It’s hearing the bullet go off before registering the pain, but seeing the blood spray across Buck’s face before any of that.

It’s falling and Buck — open, emotional Buck — not reacting at all.

It’s collapsing on the street and smelling iron and finally putting together all these pieces and understanding why it’s so hard to breathe.

It’s not stillness, it’s just shock. Pure and simple.

But after that moment passes, as Eddie lays on the hot pavement bleeding out, his eyes locked on Buck’s bloody face, his hand reaching out towards him, the stillness that washes over him isn’t his hard-earned restraint nor is it the shock.

It’s clarity, edging slowly into focus from off-stage.

Clarity like he had in Afghanistan as the bullets rained down around him and he bled out in the sand, the clarity that nothing in the world mattered to him more than Christopher and nothing would ever keep him from his kid again. Not the army, not his problems with Shannon, not his parents.

This clarity, this epiphany, is seeping slowly into his consciousness and he grasps at it, tries to pull it in closer to understand. But just as it starts to trickle into him, Buck screams for him, his voice breaking, terrified, and a strong hand lands on his arm. Anything else his mind was trying to tell him is drowned out by his own screams.

When he wakes up in the hospital bed, lights too bright and his throat sore from the extubation, he feels...strange. He feels a stillness take hold of him, but it’s not a familiar one. His body and mind are calm, but anticipating something. He feels like he’s woken up from an important dream he can’t remember. Like he’s late for something but doesn’t know where to go. Like he was mid-conversation when the other person vanished.

Then he registers a soft, slim hand in his and thinks, no, that’s not it.

Eddie’s skin feels different after the shooting.

He knows that from the moment his mind and body reconnect and half-asleep he tries to pull his hand out of Ana’s, but he doesn’t get the extent of it until his welcome home party where he tries to lean in for a kiss but diverts himself to her cheek, lingering there longer out of guilt. Her skin is as soft as always, warm from the heat of the house, but that small thrill of learning intimacy with someone new is gone and he’s not close enough to her to feel the deeper, warmer rightness he feels when he kisses Christopher’s forehead or Abuela’s cheek.

Carla’s comment has been rattling around in his head since before the shooting, trying to find the unfinished puzzle inside him it could match up to. Ana sidles up to him at the party, lacing their fingers together and a faint rush of no crawls up his arm. He squeezes her fingers to compensate and smiles, blaming its weakness on fatigue. He looks at her, so beautiful, kind, and patient, and suddenly he hears Buck’s voice in his head saying, “Overcorrecting” as the puzzle piece slides into place.

Eddie’s parents were wrong about Christopher, about Eddie as a father, and he will forever be angry that they made him feel like nothing, like worse than a deadbeat dad when he was already at his lowest. But he still loves them, still understands they were trying to do the best they could for Christopher, and in that their values will always align. He knows that if the day comes that he needs their help, they’ll be on a plane in a heartbeat.

They’re family.

So he can’t dislodge the seed of hurt buried deep in his gut when they tell him he’s failing in their eyes. And they weren’t wrong in their accusations, really. He works crazy hours, the extended family doesn’t live here, and every other week with a specialist or new consultation makes him feel like he’s playing catch-up on what his son needs to be healthy and happy.

And then Ana was placed in his path. A schoolteacher turned vice-principal with a Ph.D, who could cook, and who was kind, beautiful, Latina, and worked almost exactly the same hours Christopher would be in school for. And so, just like he had with the skateboarding, Eddie had overcorrected and tried to make up for his deficiencies.

Eddie breaks up with her over coffee during her lunch break while Christopher is at school and Buck is at work. She’s as understanding as she has been since they started this little courtship and he’s grateful to have known her, to have tried this, even though it didn’t work. She squeezes his hand on the table as she gets up to leave and he smiles politely, stretching his fingers in and out only once she’s completely out of sight.

He passes out on the couch when he gets home, grateful to have the excuse of recovering from a major injury to do absolutely nothing but blank out for a bit, and is woken up by warmth cupping his shoulder. He opens his eyes to find blue eyes and an amused smile tugging at full lips.

“Hey, dinner’s on,” Buck says. There’s a question written across his face, a hint of worry creasing in the corners of his eyes, but Eddie smiles back tiredly and the shadows on Buck’s face clear. Mostly.

“We’re having ziti!” Christopher yells from the dining room, and Eddie is not surprised. Buck has been staying with them for three days and they’ve had foods easy to eat one-handed for those three days.

“We are having ziti,” Buck echoes with raised eyebrows to convey the nonexistent significance of having ziti.

“Well I’m definitely getting up for ziti.”

Unexpectedly, Buck’s hand slips into his good one and his other hand goes to support Eddie’s shoulder to help him upright on the couch. He backs away once he’s sure Eddie isn’t listing sideways and shoots him a smile with a cocked head before hopping back to the dining room to supervise. Eddie takes an extra moment on the couch opening and closing his fist, letting himself revel in the electric tingle racing up and down his arms, and the feeling of sweat prickling along his skin where Buck’s slid.

Eddie's hearing things differently after the shooting.

Between being a young, single parent and his military training, Eddie has mastered the art of sleeping lightly to keep alert to any sounds in the night. He’s so good at it that when they first moved into this house, he only lasted 3 weeks before he had to get his toolset out, take Christopher’s bed apart and reassemble it with a copious applicable of WD-40 to stop the one damn metal slat squeaking just loud enough for him to hear all the way from his own bedroom every single goddamn night.

He thought he’d naturally start sleeping more soundly as Christopher got older and more independent, but then Shannon died, and the tsunami happened, and being able to spring up at the first hint of a cry overrode any other instinct his body could manifest.

And now he’s recovering from an injury, which never lends itself to a deep sleep, which works out well because Christopher is processing his father getting shot at work and Eddie needs to be ready to reassure him that he hasn’t lost both his parents when the nightmares come.

So when he wakes to Christopher shaking his arm and whispering, “Daddy”, he immediately springs awake, his hands already reaching for his crying son….who isn’t crying. Which Eddie can see clearly by the strong light of the sun filling the room.

“Mijo?” Trying to blink himself into alertness.

“Are you awake?” Christopher asks, a crooked smile on his face. “It’s breakfast time.”

“Yeah, yes, I’m awake,” he says, though his mind is trying to tell him otherwise. “Breakfast? What time is it?”

“Breakfast time!” Christopher repeats, shaking his arm again for good measure. “It’s gonna get cold!”

“I’m coming,” he says, but grunts as he actually tries to lever himself up.

“Hey, hey, you were only supposed to see if he was awake, not actually wake him up,” Buck admonishes as he rushes the room. He pokes Christopher in the side a few times as punishment until the boy is shrieking with laughter. Then he moves into Eddie’s space to slip a strong arm under his back and practically lifts him up into a seated position without Eddie’s help.

Eddie blinks against a small rush of dizziness and Buck’s hands stay on his shoulders until he nods that he’s okay. The feeling of them stays on his skin like tattoos long after.

They make it to the table and Eddie finds himself still disoriented as he takes in the impressive spread on the dining room table. Buck is many things but he is not a quiet man, especially not while cooking and this is a minimum of a half hour’s work. Probably closer to an hour judging by the very uneven shapes of the hashbrowns pointing to Christopher’s appointment as sous-chef.

He didn’t hear any of it.

But the biggest blow comes ten minutes into the meal when Christopher, who’d been all energy until he got to the table, suddenly seems to have lost his appetite and slumps into his chair as he plays with his food instead.

Eddie’s hand comes up automatically to check for a fever despite the lack of redness in his cheeks but Buck catches his eye and shakes his head, assuaging that concern. Buck, Eddie now notices, is sporting quite the bruises under his own eyes.

“Nightmares,” Buck mouths silently, tipping his head towards Christopher.

And for a moment, Eddie’s parents stand in front of him, telling him he couldn’t even be there for his son when he needed him and the guilt and shame curls between his ribs and suffocates him.

But then Buck negotiates Christopher into eating one half of a banana in exchange for two more squirts of ketchup for his eggs and Eddie lets the guilt wash into him, through him, and then away.

He wasn’t there for Christopher, but Buck was. And would forever be. Eddie has had nearly a year to come to terms with that fact, to grapple with what little doubts he had that Buck would pass on the responsibility — not because he didn’t want it, but because he’d forever find someone else more worthy of it — and yet he’s still caught off-guard every time he’s reminded he isn’t alone in this anymore.

Still, he feels the need to be there himself for Christopher if he’s needed, so he tries to train his mind to stay alert while he sleeps that night.

He lets himself drift, cataloguing the sounds of nighttime. The periodic hum of the fridge, the air conditioning kicking in, the crickets outside. He slips away at some point, pulled into darkness by a healing body and a tired mind, but he’s gratified to find himself waking suddenly at 1:13am at the sound of murmuring voices down the hallway.

Buck is up with Christopher again.

Eddie’s stomach muscles make a valiant effort to try to get him up but the rest of his body and mind are unconcerned. He tries to flare up some adrenaline, something to tell his body to respond to his child who’s in distress, but all he gets is the molasses-heavy pull back to sleep. He knows he should be bothered, should be scared that he can’t do this. But he’s just not. Because Buck’s got this.

A month ago, footsteps in his hallway at night would have him waking up tense and alert, ready to respond to the intruder, until he remembered that Buck stayed over, or Tía Pepa came in early and he would slowly, consciously release the tension in his muscles until he was calm again.

Tonight, the sound of heavy footsteps going back to the living room doesn’t even pass into conscious thought. Before it can even get to his higher thinking, it’s interpreted as safe.

Eddie’s seeing things differently after the shooting.

Eddie’s back to work a week after the shooting, on light duties, and while he hates not being able to jump in the truck and watch his team’s back on calls, he doesn’t hate taking it easy. Just for a little while anyway.

Today, however, they’re all taking it easy. It’s a slow day, and they have an open house for several local high schools’ career day. The firefighters of the 118 are spread out, some leading tour groups, some recounting PG versions of intense calls, some handing out snacks and pamphlets. Civilians are milling about as though this is a museum and not a functioning firehouse that could get a call any minute, but he’s not stressing about it. That’s Bobby’s job.

He does raise an eyebrow at whichever parents feel it’s okay to let their toddler toddle off in a strange place full of dangerous equipment though. Eddie sees the tyke waddle past him and almost moves to block her path when he sees her destination.

Later, he’ll remember this moment as time slowing down to a crawl just for him, but what really happens is his heart realizes something just moments before the rest of him does and his brain has to pump the brakes to align everything back up.

What happens is Buck crouches down to the level of the little girl whose pudgy arms are reaching up for him, like she recognizes the safest place in this whole new, strange environment. He puts his hands around her — his fingers spanning from her hips to underneath her arms — and lifts her up high above his head in one quick swoop that has her shrieking with delight. And the people drop away, the cacophony dies down until all Eddie can see is Buck and the little girl backlit by the sun pouring in from the open bay doors. And at the crest of the arc the little girl makes in the air, everything stills and something in Eddie’s chest just cracks right open. Something deep and consuming. Something that resonates through him until he’s shuddering with it. Something that yells,

I want that.

It’s a picture of achingly beautiful contrasts — a child the size of a doll over the head of a towering form, taut biceps straining against his uniform short sleeves to hold her fragile body with just enough force to keep her safe in his hands, the dark masculine line of his uniform against her light purple princess tulle dress — but their beaming smiles are matched perfectly.

And Eddie wants. He wants to the point of breathlessness and he doesn’t know what to do with that. He just knows he wants to be looking at this exact image again a couple of years down the road, but when it happens next he wants the little girl in Buck's hands to be his, and that is some fucking news to him. He’s never thought of having more kids. Well, he has, but in the same abstract way he thinks he might someday get a dog. It would be nice, but not in the cards for now, not something to spend time thinking about in realistic terms.

But maybe that’s what his brain is straining to catch him up on. That he wants more kids. Like a biological alarm clock coming to life. He could deal with that. He could.

Only Buck is putting the little girl down and she’s walking away with her parents and Eddie can’t pull his eyes away from Buck’s deep dimples and the whites of his teeth, and that warm pressure in Eddie’s chest sinks down into his abdomen and curls into something hot and he can hear the blood rushing in his ears, and he thinks wildly that it may not be about the little girl at all. But it may be that if there is a little girl in his future, he’d want her to be theirs, like —

Like Christopher is.

His mind supplies him with the image of Buck carrying Christopher to bed last night — in those same strong arms, tenderly removing his glasses and tucking him in — and just like that this kernel of panic that had been building in his sternum bursts like an overfilled balloon whose contents are unexpectedly soft because they rain down over all the fear and anxiety until all he can feel is a bone-deep calm.

Eddie wants that. And maybe that’s okay.

“You okay, Eddie?” Asks Bobby, coming to stand next to him.

Time is winding back up to normal speeds, and the sun framing Buck is slowly lowering back down to the brightness of a regular sunny day, but Eddie is still staring.

“Yeah,” he says in a voice he barely recognizes as his own.

“You sure?”

Buck is saying something to a parent, then asks them to wait, running behind a truck for something and finally releasing Eddie’s gaze.

He takes a deep breath and sits with the feelings pulsing through his veins before turning to Bobby, his eyes maybe a touch wide if the captain’s concern is anything to go by. He wants to say something, wants to blurt it all out, wants to be that person who wears their whole heart on his sleeve...but he’s not that person yet.

“We had a conversation not long ago,” Eddie begins, sounding as shell shocked as he feels, “about focussing on the wrong thing. Missing out on something.”

Bobby is quiet and when Eddie finally turns his head he finds the man looking past him, to where Buck has returned.

Bobby’s lips into a small, satisfied smile. “Yes, we did. Found something to focus on?”

“Yeah,” Eddie admits. “I think so.”

Bobby claps him on the back, and leaves his hand just long enough to feel like a blessing.

Eddie’s breathing is different after the shooting.

He wishes he could blame the bullet but the same kind of luck that had gotten him out of the well had somehow seen him come out of a sniper attack with mostly muscle damage and a cleanly fractured scapula that should heal if it's kept immobile. His ribs, collarbone, and lungs have all gotten off without injury.

And blaming the bullet was always going to be a hard sell when his breath only hitches and constricts when Buck lets himself into his house at the end of his shifts. When he toes his boots off and hangs his jacket up in the closet like he means to stay. When his socked feet bump into Eddie’s under the breakfast table because they’re both too damn long in the legs to be sitting across from each other. When their shoulders brush when putting the leftovers away. When Buck is the one to let Abuela into the house and chats with her easily as Christopher gets ready to leave. When —

Suffice it to say proximity may be more a factor than the bullet. Though Eddie can understand how Buck’s gotten it wrong.

“Don’t tell me you’re not hurting, tough guy” Buck chastises him later that night with a knowing glimmer in his eyes as his fingers reach out for his shoulder, “I’ve been listening to you flinch for three days straight.”

It has been three days since the open house. He doesn’t know if he should be grateful Buck waited until Christopher was at Abuela’s to bring this up or terrified he’s lost his child-buffer.

“Buck, it’s fine,” Eddie protests even as he holds still for Buck to palpate the area gently. “I am a medic, in case you forgot. I know what to look out for in healing wounds.” The warmth leaves his shoulder and he misses it instantly.

“I don’t know if you’ve heard, but apparently doctors make the worst patients,” Buck informs him, hands on his hips which pitch forward in a way Eddie desperately tries not to interpret as suggestive. This is just Buck peacocking to drop some knowledge. “There’s a reason docs aren’t allowed to diagnose or prescribe themselves anything. Meds and beds, Eds!” he decrees sunnily like the dork he is.

Buck slides one of the pain pills out of the child-and-shoulder-injury-proof bottle and Eddie takes it because breathing issues aside, he did overextend himself in physical therapy today and he’s not going to get any sleep without it.

“Come on, let’s go.” Buck tips his chin imperiously towards the hallway, expecting Eddie to lead the way to his bedroom where he’ll take off his shirt for Buck to inspect both sides of the wound, clean it, and redress it, like they’ve done nearly a dozen times before. He’s dodged it for the past few days in deference to his sanity but he’s not getting out of it tonight.

Eddie gets up and leads the way, telling himself he’s only doing it as a pretense to turn away so the heat crawling up his neck isn’t be on full display but as he gets closer to his bedroom, his mind lifts the image of Buck’s large hands from the little girl’s waist, and the electric warmth of his touch on the couch, and drops it onto the image of Eddie’s bare, shirt-and-bandage-off skin and now his feet are just following orders from higher up the chain.

Eddie sits gingerly on the edge of his bed and forces himself to breathe normally as his eyes track Buck’s easy familiarity with the inside of his bedroom. Buck turns the bedside lamp on, then crosses to the dresser to pull a fresh shirt for bed which he chucks at Eddie’s head (only once he’s sure Eddie’s aware it’s coming), then ducks into the bathroom quickly to grab the dollar store basket with everything he’ll need.

Then Buck is helping him out of his sling and shirt and stepping closer until Eddie’s field of view narrows to a broad chest and flat stomach covered only by a thin, soft-looking dark red henley. Buck inches closer still as he concentrates on carefully pulling off the old gauze and his thighs press into the inside of Eddie’s knees.

His breath hitches.

“Sorry, sorry,” Buck mumbles.

Eddie doesn’t correct him.

This close, the heat from Buck’s body is slowly seeping into Eddie’s space, the skin on the inside of his knees already past the point of overheating, much like his face, neck and chest are.

Buck’s hands are light as the pads of two fingers press around the skin around the stitching. “It’s...actually looking really good,” he says, puzzled but pleased. “Not red, no sign of infection. You do feel a little warm though.”

No shit.

Buck shifts, moving one leg outside of Eddie’s knees to better look at the back of the wound and he says something but all Eddie can focus on is the 5 inches keeping Buck from essentially riding his thigh.

“Eds? Hey.” Buck calls for what sounds like the second or third time. “What’s hurting? Where are you feeli—”

Buck is leaning back to better look at him and Eddie doesn’t know what his face is saying but no part of his body is less than overheating and thinks his eyes may be communicating this.

“It doesn’t hurt,” Eddie manages to get out.

“But…” Buck looks down, his body becoming tense with uncertainty. “You keep—”

“Yeah,” Eddie interrupts and he wants to blame the pain pill like he wanted to blame the bullet but Tylenol 3 barely makes people drowsy, it sure as hell isn’t responsible for people feeling up their best friends. And yet that’s what’s happening, apparently.

They both look down and watch as Eddie’s good hand slowly reaches out and settles on Buck’s hip, under his henley, fingers curling too naturally around his leather belt, the backs of his fingers pressing into Buck’s warm skin. Not only does Buck not reject the touch but he leans forward into it, his hands rising towards him but not landing. Eddie’s heart aches at the aborted motion and recognizes it for uncertainty. Buck’s not fully sure what’s happening but he’s willing to go along with whatever Eddie wants to do.

Eddie doesn’t want that.

He uses the hand on Buck’s hip to move him back just far enough to leverage himself up so they’re on equal footing, though only one of them is half-naked.

“Eddie,” Buck begins, though it’s obvious he doesn’t know what words were meant to follow. He swallows convulsively and narrows his wide blue eyes to roam over his face. Eddie doesn’t miss the naked hope filtering into his expression, nor does he miss the anxious self-doubt behind it.

“Buck,” Eddie murmurs so reverently he’ll be embarrassed about it later. He lets go of Buck’s belt, and lays his hand flat on his ribs before slowly sliding it up to the crook of Buck’s neck in a move that leaves nothing to interpretation. Buck breaks out in a full-body shiver and he laughs breathlessly, embarrassed.

Eddie keeps his hand soft, careful, on Buck’s shoulder, his thumb brushing against his collarbone and Buck’s eyes are glued to its motion, his mouth parted slightly.

“Are—” Eddie clears his throat quietly. He doesn’t think he’s misreading but he has to know. “Are you into this?”

Instantly, Buck’s eyes snap up to his, vulnerable until he properly processes the question, then all traces of doubt clear in a blink and he’s treated to the laser focus of Buck’s hyperfixation dragging down his face to his mouth and Eddie’s breath hitches again. This time, Buck looks up with a cocksure grin tugging at his lips as he comes to understand what Eddie’s problem’s been these past few days.

Then the statue of Evan Buckley explodes into motion — his hands split their focus, one gliding across the bare skin of Eddie’s waist and gripping, the other carefully cupping his head a moment before his lips follow, landing just in front of his thumb on Eddie’s cheekbone and for a moment Eddie’s upset to have gotten this far and not have Buck’s lips on his. But then he realizes Buck is just as wound up as he is, and a wound up Buck is an aggressive force of passion looking for safe outlets who probably needs a moment and Eddie’s heart constricts tightly in his chest.

Finally, the wet drag of lips against his cheek veers downward and across, and Eddie’s mouth is engulfed in softness and heat. He’s pressing up into it, pushing up from the balls of his feet with his hand on Buck as leverage, pressing up and forward into Buck who takes it without moving an inch. He’s never had to reach up to kiss someone before, never felt evening stubble brushing against his and he’s keenly grateful to have this with Buck, something so different to mark this as not just another kiss, but a kiss with Buck. No ordinary thing.

One of them is making a noise but he can’t focus on that when he needs to get closer, needs to press in and through, needs to turn them and get Buck on the bed so he can—

“Ah!” Eddie gasps.

Buck’s lips are wrenched away, though his hands remain like hot brands on his skin. His eyes are wild and unfocused, his lips red and bruised and he’s panting, but his face is puckered with concern.

“Okay, that one was definitely pain,” Buck gasps, blinking back to some kind of lucidity.

Eddie winces, unable to deny the agony tearing through his shoulder. “My fault,” he hisses.

Buck frowns and only then realizes that the arm that should be in a sling is out of place because Eddie’s hand has gone rogue and reached out to hook into Buck’s pants pocket to pull him closer.

Buck winces in sympathy, though he’s not able to fully erase the laughter from his eyes or from the corner of his lips. He takes pity on Eddie though, and drops his hands to gently untangle Eddie’s clamped fingers and guide it back across Eddie’s body where the sling would be keeping it.

Once it’s back in its healing position, Eddie releases the breath he’d been holding and settles back into the familiar ache. Instead of releasing him, however, Buck covers the hand laying on Eddie’s ribs with his own, pressing enough to convey the command: don’t move, before leaning back in slowly to capture Eddie’s lips in a kiss achingly sweeter than before. It’s little more than their lips resting against each other but Eddie’s heart goes wild in his chest, matching whatever the hell butterflies are wreaking havoc in his stomach.

Buck leans back for a split second, just long enough for them to open their eyes and check in before he’s swaying back in for a short kiss once, twice, and one final time before properly moving away and leaving Eddie cold.

“Meds and beds, Eds,” Buck orders with finality, softened by a rueful smile.

And Eddie, who’s never had a single positive thought about Abby Clark, thinks of her fleetingly as some kind of saint because somehow she resisted Buck — kissing him, touching him, even seeing him — for months on end and if Eddie wasn’t suddenly struck with a physically deep fatigue borne of pain and emotional epiphanies, he thinks he would be on his knees begging for Buck to come back into his arms right now.

As it is, he studies Buck’s boyish grin and the fear in his eyes that his stopping this is a problem, and Eddie is filled with a helpless love that steals his breath again. Buck catches the hitch, understands it for what it is, and the tension leaks out of his shoulders.

He lets Buck help him put the night shirt and sling back on, his mouth curling into a smile with every gratuitous touch Buck allows himself, and catches that errant hand as it leaves his body, squeezing once before dropping into his pillows and giving in to sleep.

Eddie’s heart is definitely not working the same after the shooting.

He had a heart scare in high school that freaked him and his parents out. It benched him from the football team for nearly half a season until the doctors said it was something called premature ventricular contractions. It was supposedly benign and something most people will have at least once in their lives. It didn’t feel benign. It felt like his heart was stopping suddenly, then pressure building up in his chest before the next beat came and overcompensated by beating three times as hard as normal like a goddamn punch in the chest. It had kept him up at night, not from anxiety or anything, just because it was so disruptive, as if your head jerked on its own just as you were falling asleep.

But he’d grown out of it after a few months and never really thought of it again until he got shot, realized he was in love with his best friend, and his heart started going out of whack again.

He was fairly sure it wasn’t PVC. Much like the breathing, there seemed to be a clear and defined trigger.

Such as Buck pressing a kiss to Christopher’s curls at the dining table as he geared up to leave for a Saturday shift. Then turning to Eddie waiting at the door, his eyes a lot darker than they’d been a moment ago, and pressing a lingering kiss to his cheekbone, in the very same spot as he had two days ago in his bedroom.

“Be good,” Buck murmurs, tugging lightly on Eddie’s sling strap before straightening out to pick up his bag.

Eddie wants nothing more than to catch his hand and pull him back in, hold him close so he can’t leave, and he’s pretty sure all that is painted clear as day on his face if the regret and longing that washes over Buck’s face is anything to go by.

It’s a problem.

Eddie’s been trying to reign himself back in. Trying to find that stillness so he stops feeling like he’s going to buzz out of his damn skin.

But then Buck is back from his shift and locking the door to Eddie’s bedroom, assuring him it’s “just so we have time to get some clothes back on if he needs us,” with a rakish grin and fuck if it doesn’t feel exactly like PVC - a sudden pausing of his heart as he tries to deal with all these emotions before they crash into him on the next beat.

And he’d worry about it but Buck’s laying him out, pressing his hot mouth on every inch of skin he can uncover, setting his nerves off like electric pulses until all Eddie can hear is their panting and the rushing of blood in his ears. His heart is trying to beat its way out of his chest by the time Buck’s divested him of his sweats and boxers. But then Buck pauses and looks up for permission before continuing, and Eddie gets to look down and take in his best friend’s darkened blue eyes and ruddy cheeks and what his heart does is definitely not sex-related. Not only sex-related.

He nods helplessly and Buck grins with delight before taking Eddie’s dick into his mouth and if he thought his body felt different before, it’s nothing compared to being suddenly engulfed in the velvet heat of Buck’s mouth. Eddie’s good hand slaps down on the mattress and grips the sheets tightly. He’s about to bring up his fist to his mouth to do something, he doesn’t know what, when Buck anticipates danger and his strong fingers are gripping his other hand, forcing it to stay in place on his ribs. Eddie laughs breathlessly — the man can multitask.

Eddie twists his fingers until they’re threading between Buck’s, who catches on and properly holds his hand as he takes Eddie apart.

And Eddie...Eddie hasn’t had sex in a really long time, and he hasn’t been so fucking in love during sex in an even longer time so he’s not surprised when it’s only minutes later that he’s squeezing at Buck’s hand and gasping. “Buck...I’m gonna—” and he’s somehow not surprised when Buck hums his acknowledgement and presses himself closer and closer in until Eddie’s toes curl and his back bends and he’s shooting down Buck’s throat who stays in place until Eddie’s hissing from overstimulation.

“Oh fuck,” Eddie says helplessly, his heart galloping, and another small laugh escaping him as he brings his good hand up to his forehead.

Buck climbs his way back up his body, sitting lightly right over his spent dick and he knows he shouldn’t torture himself but Eddie looks down and lets himself commit the image to memory until they can do that properly. Then he drags his eyes up and over Buck’s straining erection, his panting chest and up to that pleased goddamn smile.

“Good?” Buck asks, cocky as he’s ever been.

“Good,” he laughs sarcastically. “I think you broke me. Dios, I think I need an ECG.”

Buck actually looks mildly concerned so Eddie reaches for him and Buck lets himself be pulled down by the nape until Eddie can lick into his mouth, going a little nuts over the taste of himself on Buck’s tongue.

Eddie pulls his hand away from his nape to reach down for Buck’s dick, but Buck takes that as direction to sit up so Eddie pulls him back in until their lips are barely touching. He squeezes Buck’s nape, says firmly, “Stay,” and marvels when Buck’s eyes go wide, his face slackening, and a shiver running down his back. Fuck.

When Eddie pulls his hand away again, Buck stays, pressing his elbows on either side of Eddie’s head to keep himself in place until he catches onto Eddie’s plan.

“You don’t ha—”

“I still have one good arm,” Eddie retorts. “As it happens, I’ve gotten a lot of practice out of this one.”

Then his fingers curl around hot flesh and Buck jerks like he’s been struck.

“Easy,” Eddie soothes, craning up to remind Buck what he’s supposed to be doing. To his credit, it only takes the soft press of their lips to get him refocused, then Buck’s tongue is in his mouth while he pushes helplessly into Eddie’s hand. It’s dry because they didn’t plan this out beyond a heated look in the living room, but Buck’s leaking enough to provide at least some lubrication. In the end, he’s got about as much stamina as Eddie did and a few minutes of rutting into Eddie’s fist and attacking Eddie’s mouth is enough to set him off, his cum spilling over Eddie’s stomach in long pulses.

Eddie’s hand uncurls and smooths over the skin of Buck’s side, making long passes from hip to shoulder as Buck comes down from his high. On the fourth sweep, he trails his hand inward, over Buck’s waist and back up his ribs and chest in a move reminiscent of the night of their first kiss, but this time he stops in the middle, in the dip between his pecs.

“Looks like I’m not the only one who needs an ECG,” he grins.

Buck huffs with a grin that grows to overtake his face. “Less of a concern for young guys like me. You should probably get checked out though.” He leans back in to occupy Eddie’s mouth before he can think of a retort, but as the kiss devolves from heat and passion into sweet and lazy explorations, Eddie feels a distinctive disruption of rhythm in Buck’s chest and smiles.

Later, Buck gets up and gets them cleaned up with kleenex, except for the drops of cum caught on Eddie’s fingers. Those he takes into his mouth to clean thoroughly until Eddie feels himself getting hard again and has to call uncle. Buck dresses himself perfunctorily and helps Eddie back into his boxers before reaching for the sling and carefully threading it over Eddie’s arm and neck, squeezing his fingers before pausing and looking unsure.

“Should I—” He looks towards the door, beyond which is the hallway and living room where he’s been bunking down because Christopher’s in the house and they haven’t had time to talk about all this yet.

Instinctively, Eddie’s good hand reaches for his hip and grips gently but firmly.

“Stay,” he says again, watching with clear eyes now how Buck’s eyes grow wider and his throat convulse. They’re definitely going to be exploring that in the future.

For now, Buck nods absently before smiling. He moves to the door only to unlock it and crack it open before returning to the bed and the domesticity of it twists Eddie’s heart one last time before he’s folded into Buck’s arms and succumbing to the darkness more easily than he can ever remember doing so before.

Eddie suffered a near-death experience on the job. Christopher almost lost his father. Buck almost lost his best friend. Getting shot again aggravated his PTSD. The bullet created cracks not only in his bones but in the shell casing he built around himself, the effects of which he’ll probably carry his entire life.

But he survived, he came home to his son. He’ll learn to be okay with loud, sudden noises again. He’ll learn to deal with the nightmares if they come back. He’s in physical therapy for the pain. And in the end, he can’t find it in himself to wish it had never happened.

Not when he wakes up to Buck’s arms pressed against his bare skin, sharing his heat and feeling that electricity coursing softly just under his skin.

Not when he hears Christopher inching the door open in the morning and Buck beckoning him in while whispering, “We gotta be quiet, your dad’s still sleeping.”

Not when he loses his breath at Buck’s casual parental love as he twists to grab Christopher by the waist and heave him into the bed between them, causing the boy to giggle way too loud.

Not when he paints an unimpressed smile on his face before rolling over dramatically, finding two too-innocent faces smiling back at him and he's struck dumb for just a second at the picture they paint, eyes wide and curls askew.

Not when Christopher throws Buck under the bus, giggling “it was him!” and Buck takes his revenge in the form of tickles until they’re both pink-cheeked and laughing and the bed is shaking like it may not support them, and Eddie’s heart is so fucking full it may not even be able to beat anymore.

Eventually, Eddie does feel a stillness rebuilding within him after the shooting, but it doesn’t feel like walls, it feels like love. It feels like peace.

#buddie #buddie fic #evan buckley #eddie diaz #buck x eddie #9-1-1 #my fics #my first smut in 15 years I'm so proud lol #with a side of 7k words of feelings realizations

140 notes · View notes

tabbytabbytabby · 3 years

Note

Buddie 6: you make every day worth living

Also on AO3

Eddie knows Buck well enough by now to know when he's having a bad day. Even when he smiles and puts on a show when he shows up at his door, Eddie can tell there's something not quite right. He can tell in the way his shoulders never quite relax, always tense even as they sit pressed together on the couch. In the way he remains quiet all through the movie, never offering his usual running commentary.

Eddie waits until Christopher is in bed before he decides to question him. Because he needs to. He knows what it’s like to keep his feelings buried down until they boil over. He doesn't want that for Buck.

Before he can even ask the question, though, Buck speaks. "My parents called earlier."

Of course that's what it is. Leave it to the Buckley's to leave their son in a sour mood with a simple phone call.

"Oh?" Eddie prompts.

Buck nods and runs a hand through his hair. "You know my birthday was last week." Eddie does know. Christopher had orchestrated a whole surprise party for him here at the house. "They never called," Buck continues. "Not on my birthday or the day after. They just… So I thought when they called it was because they finally remembered."

"I'm guessing it wasn't," Eddie says, an edge to his voice.

Buck doesn't miss the edge to his voice if the small, sad smile he sends his way is anything to go by. "No. They wanted to send Maddie something and wanted to make sure she didn't already have it, which is nice. It is. But I… I guess I just wish that for once they'd remember me. That I wasn't just a passing thought. That I could matter."

"You do matter, Buck," Eddie says.

"Yeah, well, not to them."

What Eddie wants to say is screw them. But he knows that's not what Buck needs to hear right now.

"Imagine the moon up in the sky, shining brightly. It looks down on the earth and sees all the colors and light and dreams of being something that breathtaking. What it doesn't realize is people are looking up at it at that moment, in awe of its beauty and dreaming of being close to it."

"Why are you telling me this?"

Eddie smiles and cups his cheek. "You're my moon, Buck. You're this bright light in the darkness. There's not a day that goes by that I'm not in awe of you. That I don't consider myself lucky to be in your orbit."

And it's true. He's heard people compare Buck to sunshine, and while Eddie can't deny the truth of, especially when he sees him smile, he knows that's not the whole of it. Buck essence is so much bigger and more complex. He's been hurt and faced far too much darkness, but he still shines brightly. Sometimes he just needs a reminder of that.

"Eddie," Buck whispers, his eyes shining with tears.

"You make every day worth living," Eddie tells him. "You matter. And I don't ever want you to doubt how much you mean to me, and to Christopher. How important you are. How much we care about you. How much we, I love you."

Buck gasps, the tears now falling freely down his cheeks. Eddie brushes them away with his thumbs and smiles. "You've always been enough for us, Buck."

"You mean it," Buck says softly.

It's not a question, but Eddie still nods, wanting to leave no doubt in Buck’s mind. "I do."

Eddie sways slightly when Buck throws himself into his arms. His hands first into the back of Eddie's shirt, and he buries his face in his neck. He doesn’t say anything. Not for a while. But Eddie doesn't need him to. He just needs him to know he's not alone, and that he has someone that will always be there for him.

He's not sure how long they sit there before Buck pulls back. His face is red and blotchy, and his eyes red from crying, but he's still the most beautiful thing Eddie has ever seen. Especially when he smiles and takes Eddie's face in his hands.

"I love you."

Eddie turns his head and kisses Buck’s palm then his wrist. He lets his lips linger there, feeling the steady rhythm of his pulse.

Buck's other hand moves to Eddie’s hair, his nails raking lightly against his scalp, and Eddie closes his eyes. They open again when he feels a ghost of a touch on the corner of his mouth, and Buck is there, so much closer and yet still not close enough.

When their lips meet, there aren't fireworks dancing behind his eyes. No sparks. It's like the final puzzle piece clicking into place. It's the comfort and warmth of home. Of love. Of belonging.

Send me a prompt

#buddie #buddie fanfic #buck x eddie #filled prompt #my fanfiction #lilacsandorangeblossoms #thanks for the prompt!#💜💜💜

55 notes · View notes

diazboys · 3 years

Text

i like watching the days go by with you | 2k words | buddie | pre-relationship, domestic fluff | ao3

written for Eddie Diaz Week 2021 | Day 2: “This is nice.” + soft

A quiet but persistent buzzing noise coming from somewhere behind his head is what startles Eddie awake. He peaks one eye open but his vision is still fuzzy from sleep so he almost knocks over the lamp as he tries to locate his phone. Eventually, he manages to silence the alarm. With a sigh, he falls back onto the pillow, blinking and waiting until he feels awake enough to roll out of bed. The curtains are slightly parted and the already bright L.A. sun is creeping up the floorboards, painting a narrow path across the bed and widening up on the wall behind Eddie. He smiles to himself.

At the beginning of their group sleepover — or quarantine, if you wish — in Buck’s apartment Eddie made a small comment that getting blinded by the sun first thing in the morning wasn’t really his favourite thing to do. Since then, the curtains were kept shut every morning. Sometimes, when Eddie stirred awake as Buck was getting up, he saw his friend walk towards the window to peek outside. And every single time he parted the curtains just the tiniest bit, mindful of Eddie’s half-serious comment. The thoughtfulness made Eddie’s heart soar.

This whole living at Buck’s place thing has been… interesting so far. The sleeping arrangements seemed like a challenge at first but they’ve dealt with it pretty quickly. On the first day when they showed up on Buck’s doorstep, he had an argument with Hen about giving her the bed. Unsurprisingly, Buck lost and Hen happily took the couch. Chim, only slightly less happily took the mattress they've placed downstairs. There was a perfectly good mattress waiting for Eddie in the loft as well.

But the problem was that… he never really used it. That first night they were all tired after their shift, Chim and Hen already snoring quietly downstairs. Eddie moved over to the corner of the room, with every intention of crashing there for the night. But then Buck made a casual comment about the bed being big enough and that they could share if Eddie wanted.

And Eddie wanted. For a lot of reasons. Though the one that sounded the most reasonable at that moment was the fact that the bed was way more comfortable and required much less preparation than the mattress. And Eddie’s brain was too tired to tell him why sharing a bed with Buck was a dumb idea. ‘Having some kind of not-strictly-platonic feelings for Buck’ would definitely make it to the top of the list. But there was no list at the time, so Eddie just snuck under the covers on the left side of the bed that Buck left for him. They were both out within minutes.

And then Eddie just… didn’t bother with the mattress. Even though — or maybe because — on that first morning he woke up well rested and content, with Buck’s arm thrown loosely across his waist. It was nice. It took all of Eddie’s willpower not to roll over, closer into the warm embrace. Neither he, nor Buck commented on it and they let it be. Eddie was more than sure that Hen and Chim noticed — they noticed everything — but except a curious glance or five every now and then, they didn’t say anything. They kept up the whole thing even when Hen decided to go back home to Karen and the kids. Chim took the couch instead, his mattress had been put away. And Eddie stayed in Buck’s bed.

So here Eddie is now, sprawled on said bed with a stupid smile on his face, staring at the curtains like it’s the best thing ever. It certainly is great and lets him wake up without feeling like someone’s flashing a torch into his eyes. But it’s not directly responsible for the stupid smile, he must admit.

It takes him another minute before he finally wills his body to move. The right side of the bed is already vacant when he rolls over onto his stomach. He sends a glance downstairs. Buck is bustling around the kitchen, earphones in so he won’t disturb anyone. Eddie is pretty sure that he’s listening to this science slash comedy podcast he’s been obsessed with lately. He can’t really remember the name but he’s pretty sure there was a “fish” in it.

With one more content sigh, Eddie rolls out of bed and makes his way downstairs barefoot. As he walks closer, his brain recognises the scents coming from the kitchen. Coffee and something delicious that smells of tomatoes and fresh basil. His smile grows even bigger. He’s spent enough mornings here to hope that there’s a cup of freshly brewed coffee waiting for him as well.

Before Eddie can make a beeline for the coffee machine and check, Buck turns to take something from the kitchen island. His eyes skip to Eddie and his whole face lights up in a smile. Eddie’s breath hitches but he reciprocates the gesture. How can he not when Buck is looking like that, all happiness and soft curls? Eddie’s right hand twitches by his side. There’s a sudden need in him to run his fingers through Buck’s hair, to see if it’s as soft as it looks like. To stop himself from doing something stupid, Eddie grabs the barstool and sits down. He stuffs his hands under his tights, for good measure.

“Morning,” Buck greets, taking his earphones out and putting them in his pocket.

Before Eddie can say anything, a cup of coffee is placed right in front of him. He inhales the scent and lets out a happy little hum that makes Buck laugh.

“Hildy sends her regards,” Buck jokes, laughing even harder at the unimpressed look on Eddie’s face.

Really, it’s about time Buck let that go. It wasn’t Eddie’s fault that he had been startled, hearing a strange voice saying “Hello, Eddie” as he walked into the kitchen that first morning. And he already apologised for the mug he dropped. To Buck’s credit, he did disable the voice greetings after that. Now the cursed machine was just… quietly lurking from its place on the counter.

“Thanks, Buck,” he says sincerely after all, deciding to ignore the comment.

Buck only shrugs with a smile and turns back to whatever is sizzling on the pan. Eddie wraps his hands around the mug and takes a sip. Another content hum escapes his lips before he can stop it.

“This is nice,” Eddie says.

He’s not even sure what exactly he’s referring to. The coffee, the slow and calm atmosphere of the morning, the sight of Buck in a soft hoodie, pushing an omelette towards Eddie? The domesticity of it all that makes Eddie’s heart ache? It’s all of it and probably more. If only Christopher was around to join them in the kitchen right now, to ask for pancakes for breakfast and complain about his online classes or tell them about the dream he’s had. Then, Eddie would be completely and thoroughly happy.

And this is a thought that both excites and terrifies him at the same time.

But it’s a bit less scary when Buck is standing right in front of him, his big arms resting against the counter as he leans forward. He’s looking at Eddie with those soft eyes and a beautiful smile on his lips. The only thing Eddie can do is to stare back and hope that his face is better at controlling his emotions than his heart is.

It would be so easy to just lean forward a little and—

“God, you two make me miss Maddie even more,” Chimney says from somewhere behind Eddie’s back.

His sudden appearance startles Eddie enough that he pushes a fork off the counter. It falls to the floor with a loud clatter and he quickly ducks to retrieve it.

“I’ll start giving you plastic utensils at some point, I swear,” Buck says, shaking his head at Eddie. His eyes are laughing, though, so Eddie knows he’s not being serious.

“Oh fuck off, I apologised for that mug already. And it was just a fork this time, don’t be dramatic,” Eddie rolls his eyes at him but he’s smiling as well. Then he turns and adds, “Morning, Chim.”

Chimney is freshly showered and pours himself a cup of coffee. He’s also watching them with a raised eyebrow and an amused smile on his face. Eddie tries his best to ignore that, just like he ignored Chim’s comment.

“Um, so,” Eddie starts, wanting to steer the conversation onto a different track. “What facts did they have today?” he asks, pointing his chin at Buck’s phone laying on the counter. Just like he expected, there’s a paused episode of that No Such Thing as a Fish podcast.

“Oh, did you know that there is a type of pasta that only 3 women in the world can make?” Buck’s eyes light up in excitement. “It’s some fancy one they make in Sardinia and it’s called threads of God. The recipe has been passed from mother to daughter for ages.”

“What if they run out of daughters and have a son?” Eddie asks.

“It’s fine, cause the recipe isn’t even secret or anything,” Buck says, pointing the spatula at him. “It’s just a pain in the ass to make. They’ve been trying to teach people how to do it but it’s just hard enough that most of them just give up.”

Chimney chuckles at that around a mouthful of omelette. "You should totally try. I wouldn't be surprised if you'd manage to do it, out of sheer stubbornness."

And Buck — both because he's interested and because he rarely steps down from a challenge — reaches for his phone and starts googling for the recipe and reads out whatever he finds.

It sounds really interesting. And not only because Eddie has a soft spot for Buck and the little tidbits of information he gathers and then excitedly shares with everyone who wants to listen. Eddie always does. Some people just shrug or roll their eyes at Buck, but Eddie really admires his interest, the childlike curiosity about the world that Buck has. There are so many things Eddie admires about him.

All things considered, Eddie shouldn’t be surprised that somewhere along the way he has fallen in love with his best friend.

It catches him a bit off guard, being able to put a name to the feeling that has been blooming in his heart for so long. But it doesn’t make him panic, at least no more than having feelings for his best friend already did. It’s more of a relief, really. It all makes sense now.

Eddie doesn’t even realise that he’s been smiling and staring at the half-eaten omelette in front of him until his phone buzzes with a new text message. It shakes him out of his thoughts and he opens it to find a photo from Christopher.

"Everything okay, Eddie?" he hears Buck ask.

Raising his head, Eddie is met with a slightly worried gaze. He smiles, showing Buck the text he's just gotten.

"Yeah, Christopher's just complaining about his history assignment," he explains.

Buck chuckles at the photo of Chris' pouting face as he holds a history textbook and 'There's too many dates!' with a row of angry emojis written underneath. "We should FaceTime him later. I miss that little rascal."

Eddie doesn't point out that they've done that barely two days ago. Instead, his smile grows bigger as he agrees. He knows for a fact that Chris misses his Buck just as much and that the two of them have been texting a lot.

For some reason, Chimney sighs, rolls his eyes as Eddie glances at him, and leaves the kitchen with his coffee cup still in hand. Eddie's not sure what that was about. He doesn't have time to dwell on it though, because Buck drops on the barstool next to him with his own breakfast, their knees knocking together as he makes himself comfortable. Sipping the last of his coffee, Eddie bites the inside of his cheek to stop a smile.

He really could get used to spending all of his mornings like this.

#eddiediazweek2021 #eddieweek2021 #eddie diaz #evan buckley #buddie fic #buddie #my writing

65 notes · View notes

something-fanfiction-ie · 4 years

Text

I Thought I Dreamed

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Warnings: Dismembered body parts, mentions of blood, and that’s about it??

A/N: HOLY SHIT GUYS ITS FINISHED. Oh my goodness that was hard, I don’t understand why. I still hardcore hate it, but I love you guys too much to leave you hanging. So here is part two to Dreams. I hope you enjoy, and thank you for sticking around through my terrible writer blocks.

...

[ Part One ]

“You’re sure it isn’t just a concussion?” Your fiancé says, his voice cracking with nerves. The bathroom tile of your hotel room is cool beneath your legs, Spencer sits directly across from you with your feet in his lap and his fingers tracing worried patterns across your shins.

Above your head on the bathroom counter, is a pregnancy test that still has three more minutes to come up with a yes or no answer to the question you were pretty sure you already knew the answer to. Balanced in your lap is a book about dream analysis that you’d picked up on the way to the hotel tonight.

“I had a dream, Spence. This books says that nearly everything about my dream pointed to me being pregnant.” His eyes narrow, one hand reaching out to flip through the pages you’ve tagged with sticky bookmarks. Your soon to be husband is a book fanatic, you’d learned early on that dog-eared pages were the antichrist of all book lovers everywhere.

“If you are pregnant, I can assure you that the dream was just your subconscious telling you what it had already pieced together before your conscious mind.” The clock outside the bathroom door ticks slowly. You think back to the little boy in your dream, and as scary as having two children so close together in age may be, you can’t help but be a little excited at the thought of a baby Spencer in the world.

“You don’t believe in dream analysis, so your opinion on the matter is biased.”

“Arguably, every opinion is biased. No one person can be one-hundred percent objective no matter the circumstances.” He’d have Spencer’s eyes, Graeson does already and she’s not even half a year old. Was it wrong of you to hope that all your children with Spencer would look and be exactly like him? Hopefully, in terms of intelligence, they would both be carbon copies of their father.

The tears that come to your eyes surprise you when you think about him taking the kids to a museum, holding your son in his arms and one of his fingers wrapped in your daughter’s grasp as he explains every artifact and display. Hastily, you reach up to wipe at the streams of water that wet your cheeks. Spencer sets the book aside, leaning forward worriedly.

Ashamed of your sudden mood swing, another blatant sign that you could be pregnant, you avoid eye contact by staring at the clock.

“Hey,” his voice is gentle, his hands reaching out to smooth down the sides of your arms, “Why are you crying? What’s wrong?” Your nose crinkles as you try to bite back the next onslaught of tears, hoping the last minute will go by fast. When you finally meet his gaze, the puddles of emotion that collected in your eyes spill over once again.

“You’ll take them to museums, right? You’ll make sure our kids aren’t dumb, right?” You don’t know why it’s so important to you, but the helplessness you feel is all too familiar as you recall a similar moment from your previous pregnancy.

“(Y/N). Breathe. Calm down.” You look up at your boyfriend from the bathtub, feeling not unlike a beached whale with your oversized stomach poking over the surface of the water surrounding you. The sides of the tub dig into your fingers as you grip the edges so tightly that your knuckles turn white.

“I can’t calm down, Spencer! I don’t have enough time. I’m not prepared. If I’m not prepared now then who is to say I’m even supposed to be a mother? What if I completely screw our kid up? I don’t-” The air in your lungs doesn’t feel like enough and it feels like all too much at the same time. You’ve never felt like this before, especially not in the middle of a relaxing bath.

Slowly, Spencer reaches into the tub and pulls the stopper out of the bottom. With his other hand, he helps to pull you to your feet and wrap you in a soft, pink towel. He keeps making shushing noises like it’s going to help the overwhelming anxiety of becoming a new parent and, as much as you love him, it makes you want to scream.

But just before you give into your urges, he steps in front of you and lowers himself so that you don’t have to look up to meet his eyes. Either one of his hands come up to cradle your cheeks, you wonder if he notices the weight you’ve gained there since you started nearing your due date.

“You won’t screw our kid up. We will, together.” And you can’t help but let the laughter bubble out of your chest as you lean into him, letting his arms wrap around you as you lay your soaking wet head over his heart.

“We will, together.” He says again, reaching up to wipe a tear from your cheek with the pad of his thumb. When he closes the distance to press a kiss to your forehead, causing you to close your eyes and force a deep breathe in through your nose, he plucks the test from the counter.

“Spencer! I thought this was a together thing!” You jump to your feet, reaching for the test that he has hanging over your head just out of reach.

“It is babe, but you have the advantage of knowing before me when it comes to these things and I just really want to know first one time.” You whine in protest, trying to determine the results on the small pink stick by profiling his body language.

His hand still up in the air, he tilts the small window toward his face. Both eyebrows go up, but his expression stays emotionless otherwise. Not even a muscle in his cheeks twitch. He’s way too good at hiding things when he wants to.

“Spencer.” You warn in your best imitation of Hotch’s commanding voice, stretching back up on your toes, your fingertips brush the plastic siding before he wraps his free arm around your back and pulls you to his chest. His kisses are like soft butterfly wings against your cheeks, eyelids, chin, forehead, and eventually lips.

In the two years you’ve been with Spencer, there have been all kinds of kisses. Kisses of burning passion and simmering anger, kisses of a deep and slow love, kisses of overwhelming joy and uncontrollable relief, but it’s this kind of kiss you’ve only ever felt once before.

The hand holding the test comes down to cradle your face, a thumb brushing over the apple of your cheek. It reminds you of the way an art enthusiast might reach out to touch a painting or sculpture in awe, his lips moving against your own like you were a Goddess that he was praying to with complete faith and devotion.

When he finally broke away, his eyelashes damp with happy tears (and maybe a few scared tears), the facade is shattered and you can read his face like an open book.

“You’re getting really good at that mom voice for someone with a five month old.” He teased.

“And one on the way?” You have to make sure, you want to hear it come from his lips. Screw the test.

“Did you dream it was a boy, because I think it would be really cool if we had a boy this time.” You laugh into his lips, throwing both arms around his neck and bringing him down to your level. The curls that sway at his shoulder brush against the crooks of your elbows before you tangle your fingers into his hair.

And then, just like the horny teenagers you two definitely were around each other, he bends down and swoops you into his arms. The high pitched squealing laugh that bubbled between both of your lips came from you as he started to turn back to the hotel room.

“Now I’m really gonna have to make up for lost time while I can.” He teases, turning sideways so your feet and head don’t hit the doorframe.

The next day, back on the case of the dead girls with missing hands, the team notices the different energy between you. Like the way Spencer’s mouth opens in protest when Hotch suggests you accompany Morgan to the house of a possible suspect. You glare daggers at him from the door, a silent conversation flying between you before he finally closes his mouth and sinks into his seat. It did not go unnoticed by every other person in the room.

Or the day after that, when you offer to go get coffee for everyone instead of letting them drink nasty precinct coffee. (Something you used to do a lot when you’d been pregnant with Graeson and the places you went didn’t have decaf.)

The biggest tip off is the passing of peppermints between you and Spencer, the young doctor having somehow found the time to go to a convenience store and buy a bulk sized bag of the red and white candies to help with your nausea. The bag crinkles when he reaches into his satchel every so often.

Despite the fact that they all catch on pretty quickly, nobody says anything. They figure that you’ll tell them when you’re ready. Instead they focus on the case, which had been your hope the whole time.

You’re near the end of the investigation at this point, sucking on a peppermint and racing for one of the two addresses that Garcia had sent to your phones. Just this morning, another body had been found. His fuse was getting smaller as the days had passed and the investigation crawled at an unusually slow pace, meaning you were cutting it close to the wire if you wanted to save whatever poor girl had unknowingly incurred this man’s wrath.

With you, on the way to the workplace of a Ryan Christopher, is JJ, Hotch, and Prentiss. Rossi, Morgan, and Reid have their own car headed for his home. You’re in the backseat, holding onto your stomach and the edge of the leather bench seat as Hotch races through traffic. Garcia is explaining her findings over the speakerphone, you can hear Morgan and Reid interjecting every so often with their own thoughts and comments.

It isn’t until the SUV that you’ve been sliding around in finally bumps into the parking lot outside of a carpentry workshop that Hotch ends the call. The boys on one of the other two ends of the line say their own salutations, also approaching the unsub’s home.

“Be careful!” Spencer shouts to you over everyone. It’s really cute. You would dwell on it more, but given the fact that you were about to walk into a possible altercation with an unsub, you decided that staying sharp and focused was the way to go.

Quickly, all three FBI Agents slip out of the car, clustering together long enough to come up with a game plan. You rush for the back door, JJ gets the side, and Hotch readies himself at the front. It isn’t until every room in the workshop is clear that a little tension leaves your shoulders.

It’s obvious that he’s been here though, with giant pools of blood dried onto a workbench in one of the rooms. And if you weren’t sure of this man’s guilt before, then the small freezer full of hands that is bolted shut is enough to convince you otherwise.

“What is the point in bolting something shut if you have bolt cutters lying in the same room?” JJ comments, tossing her pale gold pony over her shoulder before letting the tool settle against the strap of her Kevlar.

You turn away from the freezer to try and quell the rolling in your stomach.

“I’m going to call Morgan to see if they have anything.” At this point, they should have cleared the house or arrested him, making you feel comfortable enough to pull out your phone and dial Derek’s number. He answers on the second ring, his tone of voice telling you everything that you need to know.

“Hey Mamacita, I’m gonna go ahead and assume he’s not over there?” The rest of the tension that you had been unconsciously holding in your chest leaves with the breath of relief that deflates your lungs. You shake your head, walking away from the freezer of hands to tell him everything you’d found in the ten minutes you’d been inside the workshop.

“That’s just a little gross,” Morgan comments. “Hey Spencer- Spencer!” His voice goes up an octave, booming through the speaker and reverberating in your ear.

“Morgan?! Morgan, what’s wrong?!” The sound of the phone clattering to the floor and a single gunshot is the only response you receive before you’re racing back outside.

The tires of the SUV screech against the asphalt outside Ryan Christopher’s home. Your heart leaped out of your chest with the wild swing of the vehicle underneath you. Ambulances, SUVs, and police cruisers scatter the road and lawn in front of you, several faces lifting to find the source of the sound.

“(Y/N)!” JJ cried, white knuckling the arm of her seat and the ‘Oh Shit’ handle above her head. The car was barely in park when you fumbled for the latch of your seatbelt, kicking the door open and rushing into the hordes of first responders.

You should have never agreed to let them separate you from each other. That was the only thing you could think the moment you heard Morgan cry your fiancé’s name over the phone.

“Spencer?!” You pushed past a couple of local cops who shot you dirty looks when you shoved your way between them. Your eyes couldn’t take in all the details around you fast enough, all you could focus on was finding the top of a curly brown head of hair. Rossi was the first to come up to you, grabbing you by the shoulders and meeting your eyes with a steady gaze.

“Don’t panic.” He said in the least reassuring manner humanly possible. You didn’t give him time to explain before you tore from his arms and ducked around him.

Ambulance. He would be in an ambulance. If he’s hurt that bad, you hope the ambulance has already left, but at the same time you need to see him. If you don’t you might actually vomit right here in the middle of everyone.

“SPENCER REID!” The sound came from your chest, booming over the clamor and bustle of everyone around you. More people stopped and stared as you stumbled toward the emergency vehicles parked at the other side of the mass of people. You didn’t care. The lack of response was setting you on edge.

Just before you could yell his name again, he suddenly appeared like a ghost might appear out of thin air. He certainly was as pale as a ghost, sitting at the end of an open ambulance with an ice pack gingerly held against the back of his head. One of his lanky arms was raised into the air, waving you over.

When you flew into his arms, burying your face into his chest and inhaling his familiar scent of coffee and laundry soap, he grunted a little in pain.

“Careful, I’m not broke but I’m definitely sore.” You loosened your grip from around his ribs, leaning back and beginning an assessment of his limbs and appendages. Everything was, thankfully, in its rightful place, but cuts and freshly forming bruises were littered all over his arms and face.

“We weren’t even separated an hour and this is how I come back to find you? Do you have no concern for my nerves? My sanity?!” Your voice is shrill with residual panic, your fingers gripping onto the back of his shirt so that they wouldn’t shake. Slowly, Spencer lowers the ice pack to the ambulance flooring before looping his arm around the tops of your shoulders. He doesn’t say anything, letting you ramble away the hysteria as he presses his lips to the crown of your head.

“You can’t ever get hurt, Spencer. We have a baby. We have two babies, actually. Stress is bad for pregnant women, you can’t put me under this kind of stress, I just, how could you be so careless? What even happened? You know what, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. I’m so mad at you right now, Spencer Reid. Just you wait until I’m not consumed with relief that you’re not dead, I might kill you myself.”

The tears wetting your cheeks betray your words, the rant loosing any of its sting as your voice cracks through it.

Putting his hands on either side of your face, he lifts your head up until you’re staring into those eyes you love so much that it actually rips your heart into a thousand tiny pieces every time you think about it.

“Breathe. Didn’t you just say stress isn’t good for the baby?” You want to punch him in the mouth and kiss him senseless at the same time, narrowing your eyes and fighting the smile that Spencer can already see twisting the edges of your lips.

“If you ever do that again-” You start to say, trying and failing to shake away the nightmarish possibilities you’d conjured up in your head on the twenty minute drive from Ryan’s workshop. Spencer smothers your rant into his chest when he folds you back into his arms, cradling the back of your head in one of his large hands.

“I will be more considerate of your nerves going forward, Mrs. Bennet.” He teases. You playfully swat at his back before finally letting his embrace settle over you with it’s usual calming affect.

…

“So are we allowed to talk about how you’re pregnant again?” JJ teases from the front of the elevator, unable to contain her own excitement when she notices the way you and Spencer have your heads leaned together in secret near the back.

Your head pops up, nearly bumping against your fiancée’s with the speed in which move to look at JJ. A cursory sweep across the faces of the rest of the team tells you that JJ isn’t the only one who had connected the dots.

“I hate working with profilers.” You groan, thankful for the ding that signals the opening doors. The sight of the BAU is very much welcome, calling to your fatigued limbs the way a siren might call to a pirate ship. This is your last stop before your bed. Your mother always babysat Graeson in your own home, which made it so much easier when you came back late and you weren’t in the mood to stop by her house at one or two o’clock in the morning to pick up your daughter.

“Hey, don’t get mad at us because you and pretty boy are terrible at keeping secrets.” Morgan teases, elbowing Spencer on his way out of the cramped elevator.

“And using contraceptive, apparently.” Prentiss comments as she goes about shuffling papers and files between bags on her desk. You send her a teasing glare, only letting her slide when she pulls you in for a congratulatory hug.

After she lets go, everyone files in one by one for their own congratulations, patting Spencer on the back (lightly, he has a minor concussion and some serious bruises) and squeezing you into excited hugs. Once Rossi pulls away with a teasing remark about how you find the time for sex between cases and a five month old baby, you pick up your things.

“Ready to go home?” Spencer smiles from his desk, gathering his own things into his arms before making his way over to you.

“I’ve been ready for hours.” You sigh, making your way back to the elevator. Someone shouts a last minute congratulations to you before you get to the clear doors. The sound of hurried heels clicking against the floor stops you in your tracks.

Somehow, in all the exhaustion and all the chaos, you’d forgotten Garcia.

“YOU’RE WHAT?”

#criminal minds #dr spencer reid #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid x reader #criminal mind imagine #spencer reid angst #spence reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid self insert

574 notes · View notes

the-other-art-blog · 3 years

Text

My thoughts on Little Men Part 1: Jo and Frizt

I started this book with a bit of discouragement because I knew Amy wasn’t going to be in it. May had asked her sister not to write about her because of all the mail that distracted her. I’m sure she had her fans, but also there must have been tons of stupid people blaming her splitting Jo and Laurie. So, I was sad about it. However, I was pleasantly surprised by this sequel. I loved it!

I won’t go chapter by chapter, but by theme/characters this time.

The Bhaers

The image of Jo walking while reading, with little Ted following her is so sweet. And Fritz is also very affectionate to his kids. And I love how Jo treats Franz and Emil as her own.

Also, I’m developing this in another post, but I just have to say that I like Jo this time much more. She’s grown!

And it’s great that she had sons. Poor Demi, without Ted, Rob, Franz and Emil, he would have been the only boy. So I guess that is a big thanks to Friedrich.

She also knows that liberty is not doing whatever you want not minding others. Liberty is an act of responsibility and Dan needs to learn that. I love how she identifies herself to Dan and Nan and decides to help them.

She’s really in her element here. Her dream is actually coming true. She has a school full of boys, which she always felt more comfortable with. She has a chance to educate them as best as she can. Plus, she built a beautiful family with Friedrich.

The marriage is a very happy one and I just love this quote for when Jo wanted to bring Nan to the school:

Now, if you make fun of my plan I'll give you bad coffee for a week, and then where are you, sir?" cried Mrs. Jo, tweaking him by the ear just as if he was one of the boys.

He was very sweet in getting the girls kites to make up for Daisy’s ball.

Also, I think it was great that even though Ted and Rob are their kids, they are treated with the equal firmness. And that makes them great parents. When Rob didn’t pick up the nuts in time, Fritz didn’t let him skip school. Ted is still very little, but Rob was made accountable for his laziness.

Little Ted killed with his cuteness so many times:

My Danny's tummin' soon.

Clapping his hands at the end, he made another double salutation, and then ran to hide his head in his mother's lap, quite overcome by the success of his "piece," for the applause was tremendous.

Plumfield

That school is amazing! We already knew the Marches reproved corporal punishment when Amy gets whipped by her teacher. In fact, Jo tells a story about how one day she ran away and Marmee whipped her. Her mother felt absolutely ashamed and never did it again.

She never whipped me but once, and then she begged my pardon, or I don't think I ever should have forgiven her, it hurt my feelings so much.

Why did she beg your pardon?–my father don't.

Because, when she had done it, I turned round and said, 'Well, you are mad yourself, and ought to be whipped as much as me.' She looked at me a minute, then her anger all died out, and she said, as if ashamed, 'You are right, Jo, I am angry; and why should I punish you for being in a passion when I set you such a bad example? Forgive me, dear, and let us try to help one another in a better way.'

Knowing this, it is understandable why she preferred to talk to Amy rather than doing something more drastic when she burned the book. She made Amy understand her wrong and tried to make peace between the sisters:

My dear, don’t let the sun go down upon your anger. Forgive each other, help each other, and begin again tomorrow.’

But back to this book, Plumfield is quite unique. The boys are there to learn about philosophy, math, science, literature, etc. All the things a regular school would teach. But Jo and Fritz go beyond that. The kids live there, so they are also responsible of teaching them about life. They have a garden, pets (one of which is called Christopher Columbus!!!!) and thanks to Laurie, a museum. Plus they can go into business! Which teaches them responsibility for their own money rightfully earned.

They’re firm but fair.

I absolutely love the idea of a weekly pillow-fight. The Bhaers invest a lot of time making sure moral lessons stick as much as the intellectual ones. And they have learned that kids should be kids and therefore they can’t just order them around. Part of educating a child is also letting them learn the limits and make decisions for themselves.

The school must have a good reputation in town. Although the school accepts poor kids, they also have wealthy ones. Laurie and Amy already plan in sending Bess there too. I wonder if it transcended to other parts of Massachusetts, maybe Boston??? Nan’s father certainly liked it enough to sent her there, even though it only had a girl in it. The nineteenth century was opening to the idea of mixed schools, but it still something new and not everyone liked it. In 1862, Amy’s school was exclusive for girls. Boys need to learn to be kind to girls. And they all help each other be better people. More on the girls in another post.

They let each child develop its personality and help them transform their hobbies into things that can be useful for everyone.

#little women #little men #jo march #friedrich bhaer #jo bhaer #plumfield #louisa may alcott #jo x friedrich #jo x fritz

35 notes · View notes

katefiction · 3 years

Text

Chapter 2: she would’ve made such a lovely bride

Hi again and thank you for your comments on Chapter 1. As with that one, Chapter 2 doesn't use her name, but actually I was imagining a Kate-like character for this. We meet her again a few years after the 'weekend' in Chapter 1 and find out what happened because she didn't ask him to stay. I'm enjoying this format because it's nice to go back and forth. We'll meet some of these characters again in future chapters and fill in the gaps in the story. As always, I hope you enjoy! Based on champagne problems.

Love, Maria x

They thought she was strange. She always knew that. They tolerated her because she was his girlfriend, but there was an unspoken acknowledgement that she wasn’t their usual type of person.

As they drove up to the house, he sensed her discomfort.

‘You ok babe?’ he said, taking her hand.

‘Yeah of course’, she said with a tight smile.

‘You look nervous’ he said as they parked outside the house. His dark brown eyes could make any woman melt, and they did regularly. Everyone they met told her how lucky she was to have him.

‘Oh you know, all your friends and family in one place is a bit intimidating’. She left out the part where she felt they all hated her, that she wasn’t good enough.

He picked up her hand and kissed it gently, ‘don’t be silly, besides you have me’.

He gave her one of those smiles that lifted her spirits when she was doubting herself.

They got out of the car and he handed his keys to the valet. She thought it unnecessary to have a valet for a family party, but would never say that of course. She wasn’t one of their people.

The frontage of the house was imposing. Five steps lead up to the entrance, stone pillars framing the large oak double doors. The noise from the back garden rose and fell, reaching them at the front of the house.

At least she looked presentable, she thought. Even if she didn’t feel it on the inside. She wore a champagne coloured sparkling cocktail dress. The way it folded and wrapped around her body was reminiscent of the Greek statues they had all around the acres of their property. Her long brown hair was styled with half of it up, and the rest falling in waves around her shoulders.

He looked even better. His light brown hair was such that you could run your hand through it as many times as possible and it would still maintain its perfect mix of roguish and smart. His cropped beard was a new addition, making him seem more mature.

The doors opened and they walked in, hand in hand. The perfect couple.

‘Oh you’re here at last!’ a woman came rushing towards them, champagne in hand. Her hair was coiffed neatly in a formal bun and she wore a dress smart enough for a wedding.

‘Hello mum’ he said, kissing her on both cheeks.

She took her cues from him and did the same to his mother. She smelt of expensive perfume and hairspray. ‘Hello Dorothea’ she said, ‘happy anniversary’.

‘Thank you dear, you look lovely’, Dorothea said with a slight purse of her lips, only noticeable to her. ‘Now come come, the speeches are just about to start’.

Above them, hanging from the landing was a sign with the words Happy 30th Anniversary Dorothea and Christopher painted on cloth.

Dorothea led them through the entrance hall, the parlour and the second kitchen to reach the back garden. The garden was lit up beautifully, lanterns hanging from trees and stuck in the ground. A string quartet played under a pergola as the guests milled around.

A clink of a glass signified that it was time for the speeches. Christopher went first, showering his wife with praise and thanking the guests for coming. Next was the friend who introduced them, followed by Dorothea who only spoke to introduce her son.

All eyes were on him as he began his speech. ‘Thank you all for coming today. If you didn’t know, I’m Josh, their favourite and only son’.

Josh spoke glowingly of his parents, their love for each other, and the happy life he’d lived as their child. Looking lovingly at her now in a way any woman would dream to be looked at, he told the enraptured crowd how their example had taught him how to love.

She was touched at his words, knowing they were genuine. But there was a numbness in her, one that had managed to push further and further down since she had met him. Tonight though, it was different. Something had changed.

‘I’ve been looking for you’ Dorothea said, appearing through the French doors from the garden.

After the speeches, the guests had rounded on her and Josh, some surveying her like she was the prized calf. She couldn’t stand being the centre of attention. She had been desperate to get away from everyone for a few minutes, so had hidden in the kitchen.

‘Sorry, did you need me for something?’ she said, startled.

‘Yes’ Dorothea said, taking her by the wrist and leading her out of the kitchen, ‘I want to show you something’.

They followed the grand staircase up to one of the many bedrooms. There hanging on the curtain rail was a white satin gown with pearls running down the sleeves.

‘This is the dress I wore 30 years ago today, it looks like new doesn't it?’ Dorothea said proudly.

‘It’s beautiful’ she replied. She wasn’t lying, it was a beautiful and opulent dress.

‘I’m glad you like it’ Dorothea’s eyes twinkled with delight - and with the many glasses of champagne she’d drunk. ‘Because you’re going to look lovely in it’.

Her heart stopped, ‘I-I’m sorry?’

‘It’s a family tradition, and as I have no daughters, you’ll be wearing it’.

She didn’t know what to say. All she knew was that she wanted to run.

‘That’s very kind’ she said eventually, ‘but Josh and I aren’t engaged and - ‘

‘No not yet’ Dorothea blustered, ‘but one day soon I’m sure, now I must go see Joshua about something’.

Dorothea rushed out of the room, leaving her alone with the dress.

She stroked the fabric and turned it to see pearls buttons all the way down the back. Taking it off the rail carefully she held it up to herself, looking in the mirror. It was what she’d dreamed of as a child, so why did that fabric seem more like a vice, those shining buttons like clasps that would suffocate her?

All she wanted at that moment was to be out of there. Back safe under the covers with someone who didn’t have any expectations of her. Back to three years ago when she hadn’t even met Josh. Back to when the weight of other people’s opinions didn’t crush her.

She felt guilty for even thinking about it. Josh was a wonderful, kind man who she didn’t deserve. She hated herself that he could never live up to him.

The party had moved inside as the air outside became cooler. She tried her hardest to speak to everyone, but their judgemental looks weren’t lost on her as they were on Josh. He was on the landing, when he tapped his glass to announce another speech. Her heart sank, please don’t do this. He gestured to her to come up as the guests congregated in the entrance hall.

His friends were grinning ear to ear, the same friends who sniggered when she told them that she lived in a one bedroom cottage in the middle of the woods.

‘Quiet please’ Josh shouted, commanding the attention of those in the hall beneath them. He placed an arm proudly around her waist.

‘We’re here to celebrate mum and dad’s anniversary, so I want to thank them for letting me share their special night. As you may know I met this wonderful woman three years ago. I knew immediately that she was special…’

Her heart started beating out of her chest, her eyes silently pleading with him to stop.

‘In 30 years time, I know that we’ll be just like them, celebrating our anniversary’, he beamed and turned to her, getting down on one knee. The crowd gasped in delight beneath them.

She froze, unable to express how much she didn't want this.

Out of his pocket, he pulled a ring, a large round diamond with smaller diamonds surrounding it. ‘My love, this ring belonged to my mother and now I want it to belong to you…’ he began.

She couldn’t hear anymore of it, it was as if the edges were blurring around her. She noticed he was holding her hand, ready to slip on that ring and she pulled it away slowly.

‘Please...stop’ she whispered. But he clearly hadn’t heard her as he was still talking. She said it louder this time ‘I can't, please stop!’.

It was as if the air had been sucked from the room.

He looked up at her like a deer in the headlights, ‘what do you mean?’

‘I can’t do this’ she repeated. ‘It’s too much’.

He stood up, and speaking quietly he said ‘I’m sorry, maybe I shouldn’t have done it in front of everyone’.

‘You shouldn’t have done it...at all’ she said, tears brimming in her eyes now.

‘What are you talking about?’ he said with the pain of a wounded animal.

‘You’ll find someone else and she’ll make everything better’ she assured him, even though she didn’t believe it. She thought finding someone else would patch up her torn heart too, but it hadn’t worked.

‘You’re not making any sense, this is what we wanted’ he said, confusion etched all over his face.

‘I’m so sorry’, she took his hand and squeezed it, knowing it was the last time she’d do that.

Without looking back, she turned and ran down the stairs, leaving him crestfallen on the landing.

She heard him calling her name, begging for her to wait. She heard the murmurs of his family, mortified at his expense.

‘She would’ve made such a lovely bride…’

And she heard one last thing from his friends as threw herself out into the air.

‘What a shame she’s fucked in the head’, they said.

The end.

#royal fanfiction #cambridge fanfiction #folkloreseries #katefiction #folklore #evermore

12 notes · View notes

septiembrre · 3 years

Note

Brio #4 a hug after not seeing someone for a long time pls

Ruby & Beth come back from a well-deserved vacation, at least 15 years overdue.

I really thought this was the easy prompt out of the bunch. I thought for sure this one would be just 500 words, a neat and contained ficlet. Oh well, it’s 3k.

I tagged some folks at the bottom, but just because I tagged you doesn’t mean you have to read it, but there’s a note for you down there in case you get around to it. I’m being a brat and posting too much and I know everyone’s busy with their week. Also, what is this hellish October?

Also here on AO3

-----

So I Come To You, My Love

Beth is itchy, impatient ever since they boarded the plane to go home. Or maybe since they made it to the airport… or rather, since she woke up before dawn, her mind racing with anticipation of her 11 am flight.

Ruby had gotten up, wandered somnolent into the kitchen for coffee, and promptly been accosted with the sight of Beth sitting at the kitchen table of their rental with her pile of suitcases fully packed and ready to go. Ruby had rolled her eyes to high heaven and asked aloud for patience.

At this point, Beth was too twitchy to be apologetic, the airport calling to her like a beacon from afar.

Ruby had known that it was only the beginning.

She had shaken her head as they flew along in their rideshare to the airport, Beth silent, taciturn, and unable to make any small talk with their cheerful driver asking them indulgent questions about their trip. She had rubbed Beth’s shoulder as Beth sighed, loudly, multiple times in the line for security, in line for boarding. She had watched as Beth’s eyes had darted to the time on her cell and tracked the clocks ticking on the airport walls.

Again, Ruby had prayed, Heavenly Father, please give me the patience and understanding to not harm Elizabeth Marks, my aforementioned best friend, on this eight-hour flight. Please bring us safely to our journey’s end.

Eventually, they settled on the plane and Ruby… Ruby needed a break. Beth and all of her fidgeting were giving her friend nervousness by osmosis. They should have anticipated it, of course. That this is how their fabulous, three-week, best-friend vacation was doomed to end -- in an anxious fizzle.

So, Ruby went about her process. She popped her ZzzQuil and put on her Nidra eye mask (or as Annie would say, “her eye bra”). Then, she wrapped herself up the plush blanket she had purchased for maximum airplane luxury, fully reclined her first-class seat, and adamantly went to sleep.

It’s in this purgatory that Beth finds herself waiting.

Waiting.

And still waiting.

At first, she tries to watch a movie, and it plays as told on the screen in front of her for two hours. She barely hears a word. Then, she tries to sleep, too.

But, no dice.

And she can’t exactly complain and blame it on the flying experience when she’s sitting in first class. The trip, an international vacation to France, had already been the fanciest thing Beth and Ruby had ever done. They had taken three weeks off from work to do it and that time was a luxury in itself. So, when Stan and Rio had combined husband-partner powers (HPP as Ruby and Beth had toasted to, giggling on the first flight across the ocean) and surprised them, upgrading their seats to first-class… It had been the cherry on top of the icing on the cake.

But, despite all the makings for premium comfort, Beth ends up bringing her seatback upright.

Instead, she passes the time, tapping her heel and staring off into space.

While she knows rationally it’s not true, it feels like the longest eight hours of her life. The last half of the flight stretches out before her but this experience certainly wasn’t as long as any of her births, or as stressful as even half of the situations they had gotten themselves into while criming these past four years.

But, Beth doesn’t ever really do well with prolonged absences from Rio. The anxiety of what it meant before -- ghosting, getting cleaved from the business -- is still something they are working to break from the patterns of their relationship, something Rio is still trying to unlearn as being his go-to answer to emotional conflict.

But, historically it had unfolded the other way around. There had never been a precedent of Beth being the one to smoke bomb out for a few weeks...

Of course, she wasn’t smoke bombing anywhere, slipping away into the ether. This was a long-planned vacation, months in the making, decades in the dreaming. There had been careful plotting to adjust the slack in the printing schedule and there had been deliberate calendering with the children’s summer activities. And well, Rio knew where to find her -- both where her rental was in Paris and where she more permanently lived (with him).

And it’s not like they hadn’t talked every morning and every night and sometimes in between of these past three weeks

God, she feels clingy and codependent and too much like her teenagers. Ruby had called Stan half as much.

And she’s still itchy.

…And kind of oily now?

She keeps scratching at a spot on one of her shoulders, at her palms, blotting at her face.

The people around her are going to think she has some sort of disease.

Except for Ruby, who knows.

So, Beth sits there, tapping, scratching, sighing into the void of time.

And it shouldn’t be so much of a surprise when a little more than halfway through the flight, Ruby’s hand emerges from its blanket cocoon to clamp down on Beth’s jiggling leg. Regardless, Beth all but levitates a foot into the air, gasping.

“Chill out.”

Beth takes a deep breath and tries her best.

Then, she blows out a raspberry. “I can’t.”

Ruby rips off her eye mask, sighing loudly. “You’re such a newlywed.”

“That’s the thing,” Beth says glumly. “We’re not even married.”

“Do you want to be?” Ruby looks over at her best friend, brow furrowed. And she wonders for the millionth time the question she won’t actually voice out loud, What did Rio’s dick do to her friend?

Beth looks back at Ruby, then her gaze shifts away, “No--” It comes out in upspeak, like a question and unsure. She swallows, and tries again, “No.”

Ruby widens her eyes at Beth who cringes, folding into herself. Then, Beth shifts anxiously in her seat, avoiding Ruby’s gaze. “No, I don’t really… care.” Then, Beth grimaces, realizing it obviously sounds like she cares.

“Oh-kay.”

“I just--” Beth starts defensively, “Three weeks has been a long time to be away from home.”

The trip was wonderful, a literal dream -- one they’ve dreamt of since high school. But, the three weeks have been a long time, for both of them.

Beth continues, “I’d do it again in a heartbeat but now that we’ve been, maybe two weeks next time.”

Ruby nods. “I can’t wait to see Stanley. Ugh, to hug Harry.” She hugs her own arms around herself picturing embracing her son. “Sara…” Ruby purses her lips. “Can stay at her photography camp.”

Beth rocks in to nudge her shoulder against Ruby’s, chiding. “You missed her.”

“Let’s just say that I’m glad I took the higher road and got her those damn macarons she wanted.”

“I’m glad we ended up doing that, too. The kids are going to be thrilled, especially Emma.”

Ruby shakes her head fondly. “I love that child. Forever my favorite nibling.”

“Yeah, well Sara is my favorite niece, so don’t be too hard on her.”

Ruby scoffs. “She’s your only niece.”

“And you know, she’s had weeks now to think about it. She’s probably feeling very sorry she said all those things before you left.” Beth consoles, reaching over to hold Ruby’s hand. “Knowing Stan, he’s probably worked his magic on her and you’ll go back and be a perfect family again.”

Ruby shakes her head, then turns against the seat to look at Beth, all charm, “So, who’s your favorite nephew?”

Now it’s Beth’s turn to scoff, “You know Annie would kill me if I didn’t say Ben.”

“Well, she’s not here.”

Beth rolls her eyes. “You know Benjamin is as perfect a child as they come. But, I never see him anymore. He’s always off with his friends and suddenly too old to hang out with his younger cousins, too cool to hang out with his favorite aunt-- and you know I’m not good with teenagers.” Beth shrugs. “And Harry’s eight and a mini version of Stan. It’s just not a fair fight.”

Ruby smiles, pleased, “I’m going to tell Annie.”

“You can’t tell Annie. I told you that under the assurance of secrecy.”

“Bitch, I didn’t give you no assurance.”

Beth sticks her tongue out at Ruby. Ruby scowls at her back. Then, they settle again.

“You have plans with gang boo? Oh, excuse me-- Christopher…” Ruby trills. “--Since you’re anxious as all get out.”

Beth arches back against the seat, fidgeting again. “I’m not anxious.”

Ruby levels her with a look.

“I’m not.”

There’s a beat where Ruby continues to stare at Beth, waiting. Beth rocks her jaw and looks away.

“Why don’t you just text him?”

“I already did when we got on the plane.”

“So… message him again?”

Beth cants her head low, letting her hair fall to obscure her face.

“He’s being… you know how he is.”

“I… do but I’m not sure I want to know what that means.” Ruby pauses, sitting with it. “Oh my god.” She clamps her hand down again, this time on Beth’s wrist. “Does he want you to take naked pictures in the bathroom?”

Beth tries to snatch her arm away, flailing in the seat.

“What if Delta sees your nudes?! Please, tell me you did not do that in that sardine box ten feet away from me, Elizabeth. Marks.”

“I didn’t. I would never.”

Someone a row over shushes them.

Ruby relinquishes her grip to press at her eyebrows. “Y’all are too much.”

Beth shrugs. “He really liked those caftans we bought at that boutique.”

Ruby considers that, thinking about how much she underestimated Christopher Aguilar’s capacity to love her friend. Sometimes it just really is too much to think about. “You got a special night planned?”

“No,” Beth says shortly.

“Mm.” Ruby nods along. “You know that man’s not going to let you out of bed, right?”

Beth flushes, squirming again in her seat. And she feels awkward talking about it, but, God, she hopes so?

“When are you picking up your kids again?”

“Tomorrow night.”

Ruby tsks and looks at Beth knowingly.

“You really don’t want to try to get some sleep? You’re gonna need it. Hell, I’m gonna need it and here you are keeping me up.”

Beth laughs shortly. “You’re one to talk about not getting out of bed. Stan literally wrote you an ode last week.”

Ruby smiles, something soft, small, and happy. “He was trying to compete with Paris.” Then she says, playful. “Almost twenty-five years of marriage and I still got it.”

Beth looks at her friend and opens her mouth looking for the words. She turns to search Ruby’s face and tries to be vulnerable.

Her voice comes out small and a little desperate, “Do you really think he missed me?”

Ruby snorts. “I’m honestly surprised he didn’t show up in Paris to crash our trip. The man’s a genie. A genie with a lot of dinero.”

And it’s flattering, the image of Rio flying across the world to find her. Of course, he had stayed right where she left him -- in Detroit, in the middle of nailing down some business with one of his bars -- while she and Ruby fulfilled the dream they had for twenty years now.

It was... something, really something to be flush with cash, for all of the people she loved to be rolling in the riches, to have enough to afford anything she wanted. Security -- what a concept.

But, quickly enough she is so greedy. Beth is already calculating when it would be realistically feasible for her and Rio to take time off together for a trip of their own (maybe a beach this time).

Beth lets out a long, deep sigh.

“B, that man was glued to his phone for any and every picture or text you would send him about what you were doing. He woke up at some god awful time to tell you ‘Good Morning’ and cleared his schedule every day at 5 pm to call you at the end of ours. He missed you.”

She whispers. “I missed him, too.”

“I know,” Ruby says dryly. Suddenly, her hand flies up to push the button for the attendant.

Beth looks at Ruby nonplussed, as the attendant makes their way down the aisle to their seats.

Ruby eyes Beth sternly. “We still have two hours on this airplane and we are going to make the most of it. It’s still our vacation and you need to hold your shit together.”

Pep talk over, she smiles wide at the flight attendant and requests, “Two mimosas, please!”

----

It’s more than two mimosas. When their flight finally lands, Beth and Ruby don’t walk in the straightest line up the jet bridge.

They pause just out of their gate, a big sense of feeling bringing both of them to a standstill. Tipsy, relieved to be off the plane, and home again, vibrant in this feeling of togetherness with each other, they embrace.

“Thank you, friend.”

“I hate your face.”

“God, I never want to see your face again.”

They loosen their hold, dab at their wet eyes.

“Thank you for Paris.”

They tear up all over again.

-----

Once they make it out of their gate, Ruby and Beth stop to use the bathroom. Beth takes the opportunity to smooth out her hair, dab some cold water at her blotchy cheeks, and reapply some deodorant.

She thinks she’s going to jump out of her skin.

Ruby brushes her teeth, and Beth inspired does so, too. They apply lip balm on their chapped lips. Beth pinches color into her cheeks, as Ruby laughs, “He sees you on the daily first thing in the morning. Or do you pull a Midge Maisel on him?”

Beth sticks out her tongue.

As they get ready to move on and Ruby gets a call from Stan, who reports that they are there waiting outside of customs.

Beth all but runs to the international baggage claim, Ruby trailing behind her, watching her best friend with great amusement and a little secondhand embarrassment but she’s excited, too. They get in line at customs, and blessedly it isn’t long and they don’t have enough to declare. Quick enough, they’re buzzing through the doors that announce no return entry.

On the other side are escalators leading them up from the bottom-most level -- international arrivals only -- to the ground floor. Beth files in with her suitcases, behind Ruby.

And as they move further up the escalator, they can spot Stan and Rio waiting for them at the top.

Beth turns to Ruby, “Store on Monday?”

Who nods back, “Store on Monday.”

As they get closer, Beth drinks Rio in and something unsnarls in her soul. He’s in a black t-shirt, his jeans, and a pair of his typically sharp shoes -- dressed for Detroit in June. Her eye zero in on his ink, visible on his neck, the stretch of skin exposed on his arms, his hands clenched at his sides, the scruff on his face. Video has come a long way but, she’s relieved to see him in real detail. She’s relieved that in seconds she’ll be able to touch him, relieved to see that particular warm look in his eyes, the embers in person.

Beth can’t help it -- a smile stretches wide across her face. It really hasn’t been that long, she’s spent decades without him, but she feels giddy, goofy, effervescent. She could float right up to the top of the escalator, straight into his arms. But, gravity is real and she has to wait her turn.

Ruby walks off to greet her Stanley.

And Beth walks up to Rio. He reaches forward to pull her luggage to the side and she pauses in front of him. The magnetism of the inches between their bodies is electric, more dizzying than the champagne on the flight. He just looks so good.

He beams back at her, smiling wide. In the periphery of her vision, she can see his hands twitching.

And-- good.

Beth thinks she could fuck him now, drag him into a bathroom somewhere, but all she wants to do is kiss him.

So, she does.

She steps closer, brushing her nose with his (and doesn’t that feel new? And absurdly tender?). Her lips touch his. And God, it’s soft and she’s smiling into it, and he is, too. He tastes like the mint tea he probably had after lunch. And she has the brief thought that they’re so… dumb. He’s thirty-nine this year and she’s in her mid-forties and honestly, this is ridiculous for their age. It’s only been days and they had so much phone sex. But, this real-life thing, it feels so good.

It’s overwhelming. It’s perfect.

Rio curls his arms around her, smart hands sliding down to palm her ass as he brings her as close as possible. Her hands clutch the back of his neck, feeling the skin there, smelling the musky scent of his cologne, as they cling to each other. One of her hands wanders to trace the sharp prickliness of his buzz cut, and the other one of his twines along the nape of her neck. Heat curls deep in her core, flaring with the feel of him.

Eventually, they part for air. Beth nuzzles Rio’s scruff.

Rio laughs loud, head rolling back and shoulders shaking. Gorgeous.

“Baby,” he looks at her, biting his lip. “You taste like a bottle.”

Beth gasps, insulted. “I brushed my teeth!”

“Okay, champ.” He kisses her again, short this time. “You gonna be able to make it home?”

Then, she kisses him again, playfully pushing her tongue in his mouth. He’s panting when they part. And she can’t help it, she’s beaming.

“The question is, are you?”

-----

The fanfiction I read influences my writing so much. The intertextual winks that stood out to me in this one:

@sothischickshe -- genie word choice ;-)

@foxmagpie for the word ‘CANT’? Girl, were you the first person to wordsmith this? I think you were and it’s the perfect description for half the things Rio does with his jaw. This time I appropriated it for Beth.

#nbc good girls #beth x rio #brio #my writing

42 notes · View notes

lesbian-fabray · 3 years

Text

Quinn Fabray Sits In Her Parked Car

This is the first fanfiction I’ve written in years. It’s essentially my take on what would have happened if Quinn had never got in her accident and Finn and Rachel went through with the wedding. It’s a little long, I think. I hope it’s not awful.

Also, I’m surprisingly kind to Finn in this.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Quinn Fabray sat in her parked car, trying to discreetly change into that god-awful pink dress. She had no idea why she was about to subject herself to this.

Because Rachel’s happiness is more important that how you feel, Quinn.

She sighed and reached for her phone to text Rachel.

“Here. Am I too late?”

*Buzz*

“No. Hurry”

Quinn swallowed down the hopes that that two word answer provided, and exited her car, entering the Lima Justice of the Peace. as fast as she could without outright sprinting. She navigated the winding hallways, finding the room where Rachel stood with all their friends. It took Quinn a second to realize Finn was there.

She stood there, just watching the exchange. The couple seemed to be pleading with each other, both of them tugging on opposite ends of the metaphorical rope of whatever this was.

Quinn made eye contact with Santana, whose face was contorted into some sad, knowing look that Quinn couldn’t read. After glancing between Quinn and Rachel a couple times, Santana looked up at Finn.

She has a feeling that somehow, whether it be today or twenty years from now, the boy would get hurt because of that tragic unspoken thing between the two girls she was looking at. She briefly wondered who would be there for him when shit hit the fan. It was with a deep sadness that she realized that she realized she wouldn’t be able to be there for him, because she understood what existed between Quinn and Rachel and could never fault them for that.

Unable to handle the wave of empathy washing over, Santana cleared her throat.

It was that sound that broke Rachel out of her unspoken battle with Finn. She blinked and her eyes drifted over to Quinn.

The girl Rachel saw in front of her was not the Quinn she was familiar with. This was a Quinn she had only seem once before, when the two of them stood, dressed in bejeweled gowns and sporting intricate up-dos, in the bathroom on the night of their junior prom. This Quinn was small and pale. Her eyes, that often gave away exactly how she felt around Rachel, were now glassy and had quite obvious walls up behind them. Her shoulders were no longer pushed back to create that handcrafted elegance that followed the blonde. They were instead curled forward, giving the girl the appearance of a small kitten found in a drain pipe. This was a Quinn only reserved for Rachel.

Locking eyes, both girls fixed their expressions, Rachel being far more successful than Quinn. The ex-cheerleader gave a small nod and Rachel sprung into action, grabbing Finn’s hand and ushering the entirety of the wedding party to where the ceremony would take place.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

When Rachel drifted out of her sleep, she found tears on her face and her husband of six years sitting next to her, a concerned look on his face.

“Rach, what’s wrong?”

Rachel had no idea how to answer that. There were so many things wrong. There was the fact that Rachel had known for six years that she had made a mistake, There was the reality that she’d have the life she had dreamed of if she hadn’t said those two words all those years ago.

The thing that was wrong right now was her dream she had just had.

How was she supposed to tell her husband that, for years now, she’d had the same recurring dream, that was really more like a memory, of Quinn and that single tear that rolled down her face before she got up and left.

Rachel’s pretty sure Quinn didn’t even look at her for the rest of the year.

“Nothing, really. Just a dream. A nightmare.”

Finn relaxes a bit, placing a kiss on Rachel’s forehead, and takes a look at his phone to check the time. He gets up out of bed and turns around, catching her eyes, She raises her eyebrows slightly. “I should probably start getting ready for work. Burt is gonna kill me if I’m late again. Do you want to get Chris ready for school or do you want me to take care of it?” Rachel blinks and wipes at her eyes. “Uh, I’ll take care of it.” Finn flashes that grin that should fill her stomach with butterflies and remind her why she married him, but it doesn’t. It hasn’t for years.

As Rachel makes her way to her son’s room, she allows herself think about her life more than she has in years. She never wanted to stay in Lima. New York had been the plan, and maybe one day it could be again. She had meant to stay a year to sort out Finn’s future plans, but then they ended up having Christopher and moving into a small home, and by then, New York wasn’t reasonable. Now, Finn ran the tire shop with Burt and Rachel taught music to elementary schoolers.

It wasn’t all that bad though. Rachel loved her son more than anything, and her job was alright. It helped that Sam taught at the school too. Even though she felt so removed from who she thought she was, she wasn’t alone. She figured that could be good enough.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Quinn really had planned on being herself after she got out of Lima. The thing about promises like that is that, when you make them to yourself, there’s nothing to stop you from folding.

The intention had been to be true to herself, but once she got to New Haven, she got so scared. She tried so hard, but she relied on safety nets because she didn’t know what else to do.

That was how she ended up dating Noah again, and now, four years in, she couldn’t escape it.

She had allowed herself little moments over the years, but nothing more. There was the moment at Mr. Schue’s wedding with Santana five years ago, the moment with Tina all the way back in Lima three years ago, and the moment with Santana and Brittany when she visited last month. Those were just the moments that stood out to her. The past six years have been filled with little moments with any girl that seemed like she could make Quinn forget for a night. It didn’t matter if they were old friends, girls from her classes, or strangers she met in bars when Noah was away on business trips. All Quinn needed was a couple of drinks, skin to touch, and brown hair to get lost in.

It was then, when she risked falling into thoughts she’d rather not think, that Quinn sat up in the bed she hadn’t left all morning. Maybe that’s because she didn’t want to get up and risk searching for a moment like she always did when Noah wasn’t home.

The two of them lived in a small house in California, where Noah had been able to expand his pool cleaning business. Quinn had never seen herself in California, but she honestly had never thought of herself in a place where Rachel wasn’t.

There was that dangerous name again. Quinn couldn’t risk that one.

She reached for her phone and saw a single notification. A text from Noah.

“I mailed them, Q. Can’t believe we’re doing this. I love you. I’m so excited to take this step with you.”

Quinn felt the blood leave her face. She knew that she was marrying Noah soon. She felt she owed it to him, and figured that it was something she needed to do. But the invitations being sent out meant her friends would know.

Rachel would know.

That thought alone was enough for Quinn to want to remove her brain from here head and never put it back. But since she couldn’t do that, she flopped back down on her bed and pulled her covers up over her head, hoping to forget what her life was, even if just for a little while.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Rachel wishes she had been alone when she opened that envelope, but she wasn’t.

Her son watched with a confused look on his face as she dropped the piece of mail on the table and covered her mouth. With shaky hands, she opened it up and scanned its contents. As she takes a moment to breathe, she feels tears streaming down her face.

“Mommy, what’s wrong?”

It took a second for Rachel to realize her son asked a question. Temporarily wiping away her tears, she turns towards him and smiles as big as she can.

“Nothing, sweetie. I just got reminded of someone I haven’t talked to in a while. Do you want to go play in your room?”

Christopher smiles and runs off to his room, Rachel shouting a quick “Please don’t run!” after him.

She stares at the invitation on the kitchen table and gets lost in memories of the day that changed her life forever.

When Finn comes home, Rachel doesn’t know how long she’s been crying. All she registers is Finn picking up the invitation. She almost misses him saying “Are you okay? What’s wrong, babe?”

Almost.

She’s only able to choke out one syllable.

“Quinn.”

She sees a certain sadness on his face. A sadness that understands and doesn’t judge.

A sadness representative of what everyone who knows the girls understands.

Finn is not the angry, selfish boy he was in high school.

Instead of lashing out with words or attacking a chair, he simply kneels next to Rachel’s chair and wraps his arms around her, nuzzling his nose into her hair. His tears were silent and slow. More importantly, they weren’t tinged with rage. They were simply composed of the knowledge he couldn’t fill the Quinn shaped hole in her heart. But he’d known since he saw Rachel’s eyes meet Quinn’s when the blonde showed up at the Justice of the Peace. He knew he’d be okay eventually.

It’s so hard for him to hear the pained sobs Rachel makes as she seems to burrow into his chest.

“I know, Rachel. I know it’s hard.”

She shakes as she cries.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Quinn thinks it’s odd when Noah tells her that Finn and Rachel RSVPed separately.

Puck knows why. He knows he and Quinn would be going through what Finn and Rachel are if they were in their position.

Because of that, he makes the admittedly selfish choice of not telling Quinn. He fears he might run out of time with her soon, so he holds on.

He knows it’s wrong.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The divorce was hard.

They decided to try and explain the truth to Christopher to the extent that an almost-six-year-old could understand.

At the same time, the divorce was easy.

The first night back with her dad, Rachel sleeps through the night for the first time in months.

LeRoy Berry understands the divorce. He’s done it. He knows there’s something Rachel won’t tell him, but that is okay. She’ll take her time.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Quinn Fabray sits in her parked car. There’s a big Glee reunion going on inside because everyone’s here for the upcoming wedding.

Her upcoming wedding.

She knows Noah is waiting inside, and she knows it’s wrong to want to leave, but she’s terrified to see him and Rachel. And Finn.

Quinn looks down at her pink dress and everything feels a little too familiar.

She decides to go in.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

It’s the third time Rachel sees the Quinn that’s reserved just for her, but this time it’s different.

The first two times, it was momentary. But this doesn’t feel momentary. Rachel looks her over and sees the bags under Quinn’s eyes and the way she’s slouching more than Rachel’s ever seen her slouch.

It’s as if she never left this state after the wedding. Rachel never got the chance to patch her back up, so she never returned to normal.

In this moment, Rachel can only think back to the day everything got bad.

She thinks back, not to the wedding, but to the hallway. She was high off of the Regionals win and was so sure she was about to make the right choice. She felt that, if only one choice could ever be right, it would be that one.

She thinks of Quinn’s question and of how hopeful she looked. She thinks of how crushed Quinn looked the second after she answered. She thinks of how fast Quinn hid that.

She thinks of how her answer wasn’t true. How she wouldn’t know it wasn’t true until she saw Quinn walk out of the Justice of the Peace.

Rachel looks at the Quinn in front of her. The Quinn that’s almost unrecognizable now that that Fabray certainty is gone.

“I wasn’t.”

Rachel watches as, even in this hollow state, Quinn’s eyebrow raises in her signature gesture. A gesture that demands an answer.

“That day. The day things went wrong. I wasn’t just singing to Finn.”

Quinn’s features soften in front of her eyes. Rachel’s heart pounds as the blonde reaches out and grabs her hand for the first time in almost seven years.

“Thank you.”

In that moment, those two tell each other everything without saying a word.

That night, Rachel sleeps more peacefully that she ever has in her life. She knows there’s plenty of loose ends and unanswered questions, but she doesn’t care.

She knows and Quinn knows, so Rachel feels like it’s worth everything.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

That night after she goes home and talks with Noah, Quinn knows peace for the first time since she was seven. She knows there’s work to do, but now that she has a chance at a future where she can just be Quinn, she breathes.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Quinn Fabray sits in her parked car. As she looked out from the parking structure, she sees the apartment building she calls home.

It’s not much, but it’s enough for them.

She thinks about how Rachel is in New York, the city she is meant for, and how she’s there with her.

She thinks about how Beth, now twenty, comes to visit every couple of months.

She thinks about how Christopher probably has Rachel on the phone with Finn and about how they’re all probably arguing about him wanting to go to school somewhere in Europe.

She thinks about how Delilah is probably bouncing up and down because she can’t wait to tell her moms about her very first day of kindergarten, but she won’t talk about it until Quinn is home.

Most importantly, she thinks about how she’s finally happy and how she has a family. She needs a minute to privately feel what happiness means to her, so Quinn Fabray sits in her parked car.

#glee #glee fandom #quinn fabray #rachel berry #faberry #faberry fanfiction #quinn fabray fanfiction #rachel berry fanfiction #finn hudson #santana lopez #noah puckerman #i hope this is good

23 notes · View notes