#also first fic on tumblr !

[necrotic-nephilim]

as much as I love the common "Tim worships/stalks Jason" trope in TimJay fanfiction because it's Good and making Tim a weird little freak is Fun, I think the underutilized dynamic is where Jason is the one weirdly obsessed with Tim and makes it Tim's problem.

Like, the moment Jason is confronted with the information that a third Robin exists, the first thing he does is cover his wall with pictures of Tim so he can just obsess and torture himself over it. That is the behavior of a man who is Unwell over Tim's existence and I love it.

red hood: lost days #4

And as much as a shitshow as The Titans Tower Incident™ is characterization-wise (though I think it has far more merit in depicting Jason's character than people give it credit for but I digress-) there's something very fun about the fact that even after kicking his ass, Jason respects Tim and is impressed by him.

teen titans (2003) #29

And on top of that, Jason can't seem to stop trying to ask Jason to Tim to work with him in some capacity.

robin (1993) #177

batman: battle for the cowl #2

While Battle for the Cowl is an exceptionally bad comic, especially for its characterization of Jason and the "be my Robin" bit is taken deeply out of context, I do think it's interesting how obsessed Jason is with believing that Tim is extremely competent, only held back by being "brainwashed by Bruce". (hence him leaving Tim for dead later on in the comic.) Jason seeing a darker side of Tim and wanting to bring that out of Tim, wanting to see what Tim could be if he let go of his loyalty to Bruce is so fun to me, tbh.

And in Robin #177, Jason seems genuinely upset Tim doesn't want to work with him. Jason sees such a raw potential in Tim and is obsessed with it, constantly wanting Tim to work for him and see Tim be the type of person Jason is. And despite Tim rejecting him, Jason doesn't shoot to kill Tim. I just cannot get over the fanfic potential of Jason obsessing over Tim, tracking him and seeing what he's capable of and what he could be capable of. Wanting to make Tim see things the way he does. To Tim it's corruption, to Jason it's freedom. Tim trying to 'save' Jason is fun and all, but Jason trying to corrupt Tim? That's even more fun to me. Watching that power struggle between them, Tim unable to get Jason off his heels as Jason gets more and more possessive and bold with each attempt.

And when Jason sees Tim successfully get Gotham back under control after a gang war, he's impressed. He praises Tim, even. And then Tim just. Breaks him out of prison.

robin (1993) #182

The way they're constantly trying to see something in the other that isn't there, hoping the other will come around? That is the most fucked up hate/love dynamic ever. Jason keeps coming back to Tim, keeps trying to find ways to get Tim onto his side. They're always chasing each other. And I think Jason would be the one to confess love first, the one to do anything to make Tim his. And when you consider after all of this, Tim has his Red Robin arc and is at his lowest, getting the closest he ever gets to considering murder? I think it'd be so fun to see Jason take advantage of that and worm his way back into Tim's life and finally push Tim over the edge.

[ylangelegy]

aventus creed ꩜ seungcheol x reader.

🍒: 10 years, i’ve been using it since debut… the reason why i still keep using this perfume is that once i arrive in the company and go to the practice room, starting from the elevator, they’ll know i’m coming. it became my trademark. [S.COUPS and DINO exposing each other 🤣 Switching their bags to show what's inside 👜 by W Korea]

── .✦ 💌 includes: fem!reader, soft!dom seungcheol, idol!seungcheol, lewd language, making out, fingering, use of 'sweetheart', mentions of exhibitionism, semi-public sex, unprotected sex.

── .✦ 📟 wc: 1,000<

── .✦ 🚏 MDNI. 18+ CONTENT.

It's the black currant that hits you first. It lingers the most— the woody top note, rounded off with the complex blend of bergamot.

It's never quite as strong when you only catch it in passing, but it lingers. In the elevator. In the hallway. The clearest indicator that he's already here, somewhere. Always a step ahead of you.

The base notes of birch and cedarwood only really hit once you're within his vicinity. You have to be in the same room to catch a whiff of it. Earthy and raw; hints of smoke and leather. It's a cooling, prickly scent, which is a small grace.

At least it doesn't overwhelm your senses when he has your back pressed against the door of the recording studio.

If anything, it's the bite of citrus that always gets you. The bright, tangy scent of lemon that's meant to be clean and refreshing.

There is nothing clean about the way Seungcheol's tongue dips in to your mouth, the way he swallows up every pretty little sound that you make.

There is nothing refreshing about the almost lazy way he kneads your breasts over your shirt, the way he relishes at the feeling of your pebbled nipples underneath the calloused pads of his thumb.

When he pulls away, suddenly, leaving you whining about the loss, he lingers for only a moment. Seungcheol had the capacity to be cruel if he wanted to, but not today.

"I know the studio is soundproof," he coos in to the crook of your neck as he nips at your pulse point, as he leaves open-mouthed kisses down the column of your throat. His hands never leave your hips because he wants to keep you in your place. Wants you to remember where you belong.

"But let's still try to be quiet, hm? Can you do that for me?"

And how could you ever deny Seungcheol, really, when he spoke and looked and smelled like that? When he waits for you to nod and hums happily at your assent? When he rewards you, immediately, with his hands slipping lower, and lower, and lower?

When you bury your face in to his shoulder to hold back your moans, he hooks your thigh up his waist and pulls you flush against him. He holds you steady, holds you tight, as his fingers curl deep inside of you. As he whispers sweet nothings in to the side of your temple— litanies of you're so perfect and you're doing so well that contrast the relentless place he's set.

This close, you can pick up on the fresh scent of pineapple. Seungcheol is a big believer in applying cologne where it matters. Neck, chest, pulse points.

And so it's always the sweet, tropical fruit that's there as he coaxes you to finish, as he revels in the feeling of you tightening around his fingers and biting back your screams. Because he is also a big believer in having you finish first.

After that, though, he doesn't hesitate to take.

He'll guide you on to the too-small couch in seconds until you're sprawled out underneath him, where he promises to give you exactly what you want once he's had his fill. He'll take your clothes off for you, and if anything is in the way— a stubborn button, a stuck zipper— he'll just rip the damn thing off.

"Sorry, sweetheart, couldn't help it. I'll get you a new one, alright? I'll get you everything you want," he says hastily.

His attempts at appeasing you pale in comparison to the way he practically slams his aching cock inside of you, not even bothering, this time, to make you beg for it. Not when he wants it just as badly. He has half a mind to clamp one of his hands over your mouth, to muffle the shriek that rips out of you at the suddenness of it all.

It never seems to matter if he's opened you up, if he scissored his fingers in to you for God-knows-how-long. You're always so tight around him, taking him so well, that he can't help but let out a guttural groan himself.

Seungcheol is a busy man, so he makes good use of his time. He bullies in to your weeping cunt until you're writhing underneath him, until his palm is slick with your saliva and your teeth are catching on his fingers. He's a little better at keeping quiet than you are, but the occasional grunt will escape him— when your eyes roll back, when you flutter around him, when your pussy only seems to suck him in more.

At this point, the mossy, tropical notes of his cologne are a little harder to pick up, but he never fails to remind you of them as he angles himself to push in to you deeper, as he leans down to breathe the filthiest words in to your ear.

"How am I supposed to resist you when you look like that, sweetheart? How am I supposed to not lose my mind?"

"You're lucky I didn't spot you in the hallway. I would've taken you then and there. You would've liked that, hm? Want everybody in this whole goddamn company to know who fucks you stupid?"

"God, look at you. Getting all tight and wet at the thought. Maybe I should just let you scream, sweetheart. Maybe we can test just how good the soundproofing in this studio is—"

When all is said and done, once he's dragged you to finish another time— together, sweetheart, together with me, okay?— he takes care of you in the way that only he can. Promises of new clothes that he'll probably tear off again, if he had his way. Praises of you, you, you.

Seungcheol isn't the type to leave hickeys. He prefers to leave his mark in different ways.

All that really matters to him is that when the two of you walk out of that studio, he's not the only one who smells like Creed's Aventus.

[ash-and-starlight]

Sokka splashed a line of water through his path. The fire fizzled. Zuko’s eyebrow raised, then he forged on. The path zigzagged out of the constellation, hopped eastwards through the galaxy’s north. Hiss. Hiss. Sokka met him each time with a streak of water. Zuko pressed on, building rhythm with each star he joined up.

The Mercy of Magpies Chapter 4 out now!!

as always written by thee @ranilla-bean and betaed by @faux-fires

Chapter Post || Cover || Map and Characters || Ch2 || Ch 3.1 || Ch. 3.2

[gomzdrawfr]

content warning: blood

Loyal to a fault

bonus + other versions:

Bonus:

Alt:

the words on Ghost's body reads:

LOVE (level of violence)

it takes a monster to destroy a monster (poorly cropped i apologize)

Loyal Dog

Vēnor (Latin verb for hunt, chase)

this is something very different to what I usually do I hope yall don't mind....also this was me when I was sharing this with my friends...because priceghost/ghostprice dynamic really gets a grip on me

[ping-ski]

made a proper ref for my DCA AU!! (mainly for myself cause i was tired of digging for doodles and vague scribbles of their design)

will update and post the Y/N and sona design later if im not asleep by then lol

[suntails]

hijo de la luna

[sanjifucker42069]

OPLA!Sanji x Reader - Blowin'

Word Count: 4.6k

I cut down some of the less, y’know, important stuff (the plot lol)

Warnings: oral sex (m!receiving), fem!reader, awkward first times, awkward af, the reader is a dipshit. I’m ngl this isn’t one of those cute first time fics where virgin!reader is suddenly a sex goddess, you are legitimately an idiot. As usual, written with a plus size!reader in mind.

Sanji finds out you’re a virgin. You suck his dick. Congrats!

Sanji was going to fucking lose it. Out of all the possible scenarios Sanji never once considered Nami would take you out to a bar to pick up guys. He brooded as he nursed his drink, Zoro rolling his eyes at the display. Sanji just growled. Usopp looked between them.

"How about another round? 'Nother milk Lu? Hey Sanji, why don't you come with me? I saw some hot chicks up at the bar."

Sanji just shook his head brooding. He looked to where you stood with Nami, laughing at some guy's jokes. He felt stupid at how jealous he felt.

"Hey, Sanj, man. Nami isn't gonna reciprocate y'know?" Usopp offered lightheartedly. Zoro scoffed from next to him. 

"It's not about Nami for once."

---

When Sanji's eyes found you again he saw you alone with the same guy, nursing a drink. Now that Nami was gone he could see the atmosphere had changed, you didn't seem happy like before. He watched as the guy said something and you shrugged halfheartedly. The guy then proceeded to wrap his arm around you. Sanji had known you long enough to see how uncomfortable you looked. Anger flared in his chest. The final straw was seeing the guy trying to tug you out of the booth to leave. You looked so defeated, it hurt. He began stalking his way to your booth.

"C'mon sweetcheeks, let's leave this dump."

"I'm good thanks, I should get back to my friends."

"I already told you bitch, we're going. I didn't spend all this time fucking around to go home empty handed. You're lucky I even stayed once your hot friend left. I'm doing you a favour, so hurry the fuck up."

"No, I really don't want to." You began, the man snarled, grabbing your wrist.

"It wasn't a question. You owe me. I don't go for ugly, but a hole's a hole, and from the back you're probably passable."

You had tears in your eyes from embarrassment. This whole trip was a bad idea. You wish Nami would come back. As the man tugged on your wrist harder you heard that gorgeous voice ring out. You tried to hide your face so Sanji wouldn't see the tears in your eyes. That last thing you wanted was for the crew to think you're weak.

"That's no way to win hearts Sunshine. So uncouth, and frankly, disgusting behaviour."

"Who the fuck are you? How about you mind your own business?"

"And watch such a beautiful lady be treated that way?"

"Beautiful lady my ass. The only thing you can know for sure about girls like this is that their pretty pussy is untouched." The man barked out a laugh causing you to wince. He snaked his other arm to cup your breast over your dress. You saw something flash in Sanji's eyes. "And I know I'm gonna really enjoy these."  

You squirmed, before biting the man. He howled in pain, releasing his hold on you. You quickly made your escape, rushing to cling to Usopp and Luffy, crying. You felt pathetic. Embarrassed that all eyes were on you.

Sanji saw red. You blinked back tears as you called out to him. Sanji was protective of all of you, but he seemed especially so of you. You knew it was because he saw you as some kind of little sister. "It's okay Sanji. Really, let's just go home. Please."

"No." He fixed the drunk man with a freezing gaze. "You dare touch someone so out of your league? I asked you nicely to piss off, but now I'm going to fucking kill you."

Before you could react Sanji had kicked the man in the chest. You watched as he began ruthlessly kicking and stomping the man, muttering profanities and sentences you couldn't understand. With a final stomp he huffed. Zoro finally pried Sanji away. You saw Nami returning, fuming. If you weren't so traumatised by the night you would have laughed at how Zoro pried Nami away too, holding the two brawlers by the scruff as they fought against it, looking like wet cats.

You don't remember how you got home. You remember Usopp covering you in his coat and dragging you out of the bar. You remember apologising to Usopp, crying that you needed to go back. The last thing you remember was Luffy running to join you, scooping you up and starting the walk back to the Going Merry, you, falling asleep in his rubbery arms.

---

"Ah my dear, you're finally awake. I made you something to eat."

You smiled tightly at him, thanking him. The way you played with your food tugged at his heartstrings. You looked so mournful. He pulled up a chair, sitting backwards on it, gripping the backrest. 

"C'mon lovely, don't make me have to feed you myself." He winked. Your lips twitched upwards performatively. Sanji frowned. "Look (name) about last night-"

"I'm sorry."

Confusion. "What?"

You cringed inward. "I'm....I'm sorry I ruined everyone's night."

"You didn't ruin anyone's night, that good for nothing prick did. Don't understand why you'd even go for a guy like that to be honest." He added bitterly. You frowned.

"I wouldn't normally. Everything moved so fast. He seemed nice...It was too late before I realised it's because he wanted Nami." Silence. "Once Nami left, I, well, I didn't want to cause a scene."

"So, what? You were just going to let him take advantage of you?"

You jolted, shocked. "No! No, I- there was no way he was going to-” 

“(Name), love, I know you can be a bit naive but-”

Your voice was small. “He said so himself! He..." you trailed off. "He didn't 'go for ugly girls'. And besides…he was right."

Sanji frowned, angry at the world. How could anyone make you believe that you weren't beautiful? That you didn't deserve some guy trying to take advantage of you? He took a deep breath, steadying his resolve

“There's no such thing as an ugly girl (name), and if there was, I can assure you you're not one of them.”

“Not that.” Sanji took in how you winced, trying to make yourself seem smaller.

What?

Sanji felt the wind knocked out of him.

You're a virgin?" He asked, clearly shocked. You bristled with embarrassment.

"Well...yeah, but I understand how it works! It's not such a big deal, I mean...I've just, I've never had the chance."

"Have you ever...y'know, at all? Not even a handy?" You shook your head. He flushed, you were completely pure.

He felt slightly sick at how his perverted thoughts twisted that. He could be your first, ruin you for all other partners. He could be the one to take your innocence. His cock twitched at the thought. Shame flooded him. You were his friend, his, admittedly, very cute friend. He shouldn't be thinking about you this way. His mind was racing with all the obscene thoughts he'd ever had, the deviant things he dreamed of. He was disgusting. You were too innocent, he'd felt guilty before, but now he felt like he was defiling you just by thinking about you.

You took his silence as pity and pointedly looked away from him, taking a deep breath.

"It's not like I don't want to. I do. But, ugh, it's so silly...no one has ever shown any interest. I'm not exactly a goddess like Nami."

"Darling, I don't believe no one has ever shown interest." He offered a smile. Gods if you only knew how badly he ached for you. How hard you made him. Now wasn't the time for him to blow your friendship over him thinking with his dick. You were being vulnerable.

"I don't need your pity Sanji. It's okay. You don't have to give me the 'everyone's beautiful in their own way' speech. There's more to me than my lack of experience! I'm a good fighter! I have talents, I don't need to be pretty. Just, sometimes, it'd be nice.". 

This wouldn't do. He had to try to fix this. He took your small hands in his, trying not to lose his breath at how warm they felt. Swinging them lightly, he stared into your eyes.

“You are a beautiful girl, you deserve way better than some kind of bastard like that. Men are pigs (name), you shouldn't trust any of them."

"I trust you."

Sanji froze. You peaked up at him shyly. He looked conflicted, and that caused you to smile sadly, misinterpreting the look. You withdrew your hands, fiddling with them in your lap. "I didn't mean that you should take one for the team Ji, I just meant that, well, I trust you. I don't think you're a pig."

"You shouldn't trust me." He lowered his voice. You stared at him, clearly taken aback. "I'm just as bad."

"No, you-"

"No. I'm an absolute pig darling. You aren't that dense surely."

You frowned. "Sure you flirt a lot with other girls, but that's just you! It's charming, non-threatening. I don't see you acting like-"

"I flirt with you too!" He tried, clearly exasperated. You smiled.

"Exactly! You make cute comments to me, and call me cute things like darling, but you're just naturally flirty."

Sanji groaned. Your smile slowly faltered. Sanji screwed his eyes shut. "I'm not 'just naturally flirty'...I mean, I am, I suppose, but I'm actually trying to flirt with you. I thought you were just being polite, but are you really that dense?"

"I....you are?"

"Are you kidding me?!"

"But, I'm..." You gestured to yourself. "You're more friendly than flirty to me?" 

"You're too innocent, it's not like I could just waltz right up and tell you that I think you're hot, can I?" He bristled. 

You felt electricity surge down your spine. Hot? Sanji thought you were hot? Sanji? 

Sanji took your silence as disgust. "See! That's exactly why I couldn't tell you."

"You think I'm hot?" He nodded. Your grin spread, hurting your blushing cheeks. Your eyes sparkling. "You think I'M hot?!"

"Yes, okay!" He sounded almost angry.

"Sanji, you're gorgeous! I'm too awkward. Too fat. Too plain. I'm not a model or some kind of beauty. And you're telling me someone as handsome as you, thinks I'm attractive!? And I-"

You stopped, really thinking about what he said. "Innocent? I....well I suppose. I'm not that innocent though."

Sanji's nostrils flared. "Not that innocent? Please love! You prance around in those low-cut tops and shorts in front of everyone, thinking that they ain't gonna go ballistic? You're too trusting of men, thinking that we aren't all beasts inside."

You laughed, still riding the high of his praise. Sanji snarled, banging his fist on the kitchen table. "No! It's true. You think someone doesn't see the way your tits look and salivate? You don't think you would make anyone insane? You don't think I got so fucking hard when you told me you're a virgin?"

He froze, blood turning to ice, clearly regretting blurting out that last bit. You stared at him, eyes round with wonder. He avoided your gaze, cringing at what you said next.

"I...I make you hard?".

"I'm sorry (name), that was very ungentlemanly of me. I didn't mean to say that last part." 

"But you did." He felt warm hands prying his open and playing with his fingers. He flitted his eyes up to see your face red, staring at him with your eyes practically sparkling with mirth. "God, I've wanted you to fuck me for ages, and now you're telling me you've actually wanted to this whole time?"

Sanji stiffened, cock twitching. He ached painfully. He felt parched, throat burning. This had to be a joke. "You...what?"

"Yeah. Fuck. I, mean, the clothing was purposeful at first, I wanted you to notice me. I had no idea it was working though, haha!"

"WHAT!?"

"Yeah, I thought you knew? You never noticed I only wore those kinds of clothes when you were around? You never noticed how I tried to cling to you in the kitchen? I just assumed you knew and thought I was gross, so I pulled back." You laughed. "Did you seriously think that because I'm a virgin I can't think sexually?"

"But you've never-"

"You've never said anything raunchy to me like you do to other girls. I thought you saw me as a little sister. It'd be weird if someone you saw like family told you they want to suck your dick."

"Fuck." He hissed. 

"Oh this is too good! Have I been torturing you?" You laughed, running a hand up his arm. "You must be so frustrated."

"You have no idea." 

"I could help you." 

Sanji groaned. "You can't say things like that."

"Oh." You pulled back, back to being timid. Even if it was at his expense, Sanji felt the loss of your confident persona. Fuck he really was a masochist, wasn't he? "I, um, I'd need you to guide me. But if you did want help, I'd like to be the one."

"God, you have no idea what you're doing to me." He heard you giggle lightly. He opened his eyes to see you biting your lip, staring up at him through thick lashes, a blush adorning your chubby cheeks. He throbbed.

"You could show me? I promise I'll be gentle! Please Sanji? Can I pretty please touch your dick?"

Sanji felt like he was going to explode from how cute you were. 

"Fuck. Please."

You squealed in excitement, jumping up from the table, both his arms in hand. He wanted to laugh at how innocent you looked, but instead he felt a lump in his throat. You didn't notice, pulling the seated man into an awkward, crushing hug.

"C'mon! C'mon what are you waiting for? Let's go!" 

"Go where?" He laughed at your eagerness. "In case you haven't noticed darling, we aren't exactly alone."

The way you deflated was comical. What wasn't was the wicked glint that formed in your eyes. Sanji gulped, that was never a good sign. He watched as you quickly dashed out of the kitchen. Sanji looked around, confused. Minutes passed. He got up from the table, moving over to the kitchen island, hiding his lower half behind the counter, lest one of the crew wandered in. He sighed, willing his boner away. 

Bang!

The door flew open. Sanji jumped. There you stood frantically in the doorway. Your hair a mess, breathing heavy, and that wicked glint set on him. He watched as you closed the kitchen door, taking a chair and boarding the door. You grinned, stalking towards him.

No. There's no way.

"We aren't going to be disturbed." You were practically vibrating in excitement.

"What? No. Not in the kitchen. We. Eat. Here." Sanji hissed. You peeked up at him, lip pouting. 

"Please? I'll make sure there's no mess left." You pleaded. 

No mess? Sanji closed his eyes and groaned when he realised what you meant. You were going to be the death of him. When he opened his eyes you were in front of him, staring at him shyly. He startled.

"Can I kiss you? Or is that too far?"

Too far? He wanted to cry. You really had no idea what you were doing to him. He bent down. You grinned. He wrapped an arm around the back of your head, pulling you closer. You tipped your head up. He smiled softly before placing his lips on top of yours.

Your lips locked together like the last piece of a puzzle. You sighed, eyes flitting closed. You pushed further against him, trying desperately to pull him closer. He tasted like cigarettes but you didn't mind, an addictive taste for an addictive man. You wanted more of him. You kissed him feverishly, reluctantly pulling back for air. You stared at the taller man through lidded eyes. He gazed down at you lovingly, a blush high on his cheeks. His blue eyes studied your face closely. 

Sanji laughed as with both hands you pulled his face back for another kiss. His skin was hot, your hands now cold against his cheeks. You tasted sweet and he wanted to devour you so badly. You were too cute. He felt you pull him closer to you. You were kissing and sucking at his lips before you felt it. Sanji bit back a groan, feeling your hips brush against him. He felt pure embarrassment as he heard your breath hitch, pulling away. He opened his mouth to protest but was cut off by a groan as you experimentally pushed your hips against him harder.

"Oh my gods." He heard you whisper against him. He froze. "Oh my gods it's so-"

"We can stop if it's too much dar-LING!"

He squeaked as he felt both your hands rake down his chest, you humming contently as you kept yourself pressed against him. He felt overwhelmed at how eager you were. He'd never had someone so upfront in wanting to touch him. His cocked throbbed. You mewled lightly, causing another throb.

"Oh my god it moves?" You giggled. He cracked a smile back. You were so innocent.

Sanji had made one crucial mistake though. That was thinking that just because you were inexperienced, that meant you would be submissive. He felt you cage him against the countertop, the wood digging into his ass, your hands on him. It wasn't that he didn't like it, the dissonance was making him dizzy. He felt your hands find purchase on his waist. You breathed out a dreamy sigh.

"God your waist is so fucking tiny."

Sanji bristled with embarrassment. He tried to address it without upsetting you. "Love, that's not exactly what I want to hear."

You giggled. "I can't help it, it's so hot. You could kick my ass if you wanted, but holy fuck you're just letting me feel you up. Gods I've seen you fight, I've seen how thick your legs are, but fuck your waist is so little."

Sanji hissed. He'd never experienced anything like this before. Your hands migrated upwards, resting on his pecs. Your slow pace was driving him insane.

"Can I?" You gestured to his shirt.

"Fuck, love, I'd love to, but maybe when we have somewhere more private okay? Don't want to be too unclothed if someone tries to come in. Same with you okay? Don't want anyone to see something so gorgeous." He smiled at you. You nodded your head, practically buzzing at the idea of this happening again. He winked at you. "You could take off something else though."

Sanji was shocked and delighted at how quickly you dropped to your knees. You began playing with his belt, figuring out how the clasp worked. Sanji scrunched his eyes shut. Fuck, you were so eager! He never would’ve expected it to go like this. Despite your eagerness you were so gentle, as if you were afraid of touching him. He was going to prompt you, but instead you softly pulled his zipper down and began drawing the fabric down till it sat mid thigh.

Oh, fuck. There he was, huh?

You looked at his clothed cock, studying It like it was some kind of strange bug. You wanted to laugh at the comparison. Above you Sanji was flushed, embarrassed by your staring. You ran a finger over the bulge. He hissed, his dick jumping lightly. You couldn't help the giggle that bubbled out of your throat. 

"What?"

"It's so cute the way it jumps."

"Maybe this was a mistake."

"No no no! I promise I'll be good. Can I, um... do I?"

"Just...hah...do what you think is right. I'll...correct you."

Sanji let out an undignified squeak as he felt you lightly grab the clothed bulge. You massaged it, feeling what you could, watching with curiosity how the man above you writhed. Exploratively, you moved your hand further back, cupping his balls through the fabric. The friction of the fabric against bare skin was pure torture.

"Oh shit!" Sanji whined. You withdraw your hand like it burnt. "That's, god, that's really sensitive okay? You're killing me sweetheart."

"Sorry." You mumbled, placing a kiss to his bare thigh. The "strange bug" jumped again. You began peppering more kisses to his thigh. Once you reached the inside of his thigh you breathed deeply, he smelt musky, it made your mouth water. Experimentally, you licked the inside of his thigh. Sanji's thigh tensed. You licked upwards in long stripes until you reached the leg of his underwear. You gave a quick moment of hesitation before you blew air over the bulge. Sanji hissed. Smiling, you placed a kiss directly over the top of his bulge. 

"Did you just kiss my dick?"

"Mmhmm. Watch, I'll do it again." You placed an open mouth wet kiss over Sanji's clothed cock. The man above you threw his head back, whining softly. The fabric was dampened with a mix of your spit and something else. You saw how taut the fabric had become. You cooed. "That looks like it hurts." 

Sanji nodded. You looked up at him.

"Can I take them off?"

He shuddered. "Fuck. Please (name)."

With curiosity you began dragging the wet underwear down his hips, settling them at his mid thigh. His musky scent overpowered you, and you watched with fascination as Sanji's cock slapped against his stomach. Looking up at him you saw how tight his eyes were scrunched, knuckles gripping the countertop. You noticed how he shivered lightly at the exposure. Sanji's cock stood, large, imposing, and leaking. You breathed out a curse. It looked gorgeous, just like him, long and lithe. His happy trail led to a neat little patch of dark hair. You salivated. Eyes drawing to your prize, you winced at how red and angry the head looked.

Sanji thought he was going to kill you when he felt you tap his cockhead like a microphone. Instead he bucked his hips away, humiliation colouring his face. "Stop that! I know you don't know what you're doing, but please use your brain dearest." 

You mumbled an apology before rubbing your hands together, trying to warm them. He watched as you wrapped a hand around his dick before moaning lowly. You studied him, absolutely enraptured, as you gave a test pump. The man above you crumbled. 

"Do you always get this way?"

"No." He panted.

"Just for me?" You tried sultry, trying to muster up some quote from a smutty novel you once read. Sanji peeked one eye open before groaning.

"No." His voice was strained, breathing heavy. You tried pumping him, but the rhythm was sloppy. "N-no. You're...it's a lot right now. I'm not used to it being this slow…or clumsy."

"Do you like it?" You looked up at him with wide eyes.

"Unfortunately." He muttered. With a burst of pride you tried pumping him harder. Sanji squealed, grabbing your hand. "Fuck (name), I really need you to spit in your hand. Th-that's painful."

"Oh...sorry." You offered. Sanji watched as you perversely spit in your hand, wrapping the digits back around his cock. You tried setting a rhythm, it was sloppy, but you focused on giving him consistent squeezing pressure. Sanji moaned lowly at the squeezing, hips rocking. 

Soon you reached a steady rhythm. You watched with bated breath before you slowed down. Sanji began to whine from the loss, only to keen loudly as he felt your lips enclose his cockhead. He began spluttering, eyes rolled backwards. He'd take anything right now, fuck he wanted to cum so bad. He sucked in a breath.

"No teeth, okay love?" 

You laughed, the vibrations tickling him in the best way. He moaned, trying desperately to not fuck your face. His eyes were so tightly scrunched.

You slowly forced yourself further down his length, squeezing the base. Sanji swore. You froze, taking a deep breath through your nose. When he didn't stop you, you continued your devotion. 

"Ack!" You choked, throat burning. You felt Sanji's hand patting your head. You retreated off him, coughing.

"Darling don't take more than you can okay. We don't want you to choke now."

You gazed up at him, eyes wet and throat hoarse. "Let me try again!" 

Your raspy voice made Sanji quiver, but the way you looked up at him, absolutely wrecked, made him burn. As quickly as he noticed it, it ended, and you unceremoniously inhaled his cock. He could feel you try to smile. 

"Fuck!" His voice was high as you sucked hard, adding your tongue to flatten against the underside of his cock. "(Name)! Baby, fuck, I-"

"Hey why won't the door open?" Zoro's voice rang through the wood. Sanji stilled, holding your head. The two of you looked at each other frozen. Sanji tried clearing his throat. 

"If you keep making noise out there, I'm gonna explode, Mosshead!"

You snorted, trying hard to not laugh. 'Yeah you're gonna explode,' you inwardly snickered. 

"Whatever shitty waiter." 

Silence. Sanji looked down at you. "Darling, maybe we should stop. It's okay, we can try again another day." He froze at the frustrated look that overtook your features. "Fuck." He whispered.

You sucked harshly causing Sanji to bite his hand hard to avoid screaming. He felt you try swallowing, watched as tears pricked your eyes. You didn't slow down on your work, sucking harshly and hands wandering. You grabbed a fistful of his asscheek, other hand tracing circles on his inner thigh. You felt him tensing, quivering. His hand reached for your neck, trying to coax you off. He was so close.

"Oh god!" Sanji gasped. "Baby I'm gonna cum, you need to hop off-AH!" 

You sucked harder, milking the man through his orgasm. It was like music the way he spluttered and grabbed the back of your head, nails scratching your scalp. You felt hot, thick liquid painting your throat. It wasn't pleasant, but fuck his reactions were. Some dribbled out of the corner of your mouth and Sanji wiped it away with a thumb, a fucked out expression on his features. He pulled his softened cock out of your mouth, and watched, breathless as you swallowed his seed. You made a grimace afterwards causing the man to laugh.

"Was it okay?" You asked, shyness taking over you. 

"You're lucky I don't mind a bit of torture. It was good for a first try." He gave you that flirty grin and a wink. "I think you need more practice though."

You laughed, outstretching a hand so he could help you up. You tried stretching your legs, noting the numb pain in your knees. You wrapped your arms around his middle. "Was I that bad?"

Sanji pulled his underwear and pants back up, zipping his pants closed. He pulled you closer. "Nah, you're just something else entirely. Silly." Kiss. "Torturous." Kiss. "And I am smitten with you."

"We've wasted enough time, better get back to it." You smiled against his lips. 

"I'd love to pay you back."

"Later loverboy, we're gonna have the whole crew in here soon if we don't hurry."

"I'm so glad there's a later."

You winked, straightening your clothes and heading for the door. You stopped, turning to stare at the man.

"For you baby? Always. Oh, can you make souffle?"

"What? Why?"

"I told the guys we were making a souffle and needed the kitchen completely silent."

Sanji laughed. You definitely kept him on his toes.

-----------

I'm not going to lie, some of this is coloured by my first time hahaha! I am an incredibly awkward person, and yes I did also once tell a guy how cute I thought it was when dicks jump. He also told me I was fucked for that ha!

[sapphickitii]

do yall ever think abt thalassa giving trucy her bracelet. because i think abt thalassa giving trucy her bracelet

[indywasdeepfried]

Not a lot, just forever :(

Desperate for more people to talk about Henry and his literal suicide bot he made, I feel like it can add SO much to his character on an emotional level

Mostly like him just going through such a shitty point in his life I mean

Idk I just think about rhis sad man a lot, I can’t explain rn 😭

[jackshiccup]

affectionate chin tilts my beloved.. (perhaps in the same universe as my college/long distance au)

[idlyingabout]

Doggy :D

[reineydraws]

happy 10th anniversary to the finale of the show that gave me my first real fandom community experience! 🥰💖🎉 so here's some art of merlin ✨️just holding✨️ arthur, then and now. (cries)

anyways arthur's back and he's cuddling with merlin and learning how to use a smart phone because i said so. that's the real ending. 😤

[yukipri]

I finally got a beta for my fic!! May I introduce: Sabo!

For his first time editing, he deleted my entire chapter and instead wrote:

Wow, he can type with his ass. Skills.

April Fool's (but he really did type that)

Cats tag: #YukiPriASLKittens

[buckevanley]

any other bodily sense.

you can also read it here on ao3

The second Eddie steps into the dark, muggy parking lot at the end of his first twenty-four hour shift since a ladder truck blew up his best friend’s life, Maddie is calling him. 

This strikes Eddie as odd for two reasons. One, he didn’t even know he had Maddie’s actual number in his phone. He’s gotten so used to hearing her calm, steady timbre over the radio during calls that her voice has more or less become synonymous with imminent emergency incoming in his head. 

Two, he and Maddie have never really actively spoken on the phone before outside of that bubble of imminent emergency incoming, which leaves Eddie to assume that there’s only one thing she could be calling about. 

He picks up on the third ring. “Maddie?” 

“Eddie, hi,” Maddie’s voice rushes out on a sigh, relief staticky down the phone line. “Sorry, I know it’s late. Or, God–really, really early. I hope I didn’t wake you. Did I wake you?”

“Uh, no. No, you caught me at the perfect time, actually,” he says, looking around the slowly emptying parking lot as the rest of the shift shuffles off to their cars. The rain, which has been an endless droll on the station roof all day, finally petered off, leaving every surface shiny and slick in the streetlights starting to come to life. The heat is already starting to bake it off, filling his nose with the smell of wet, hot asphalt and steam. 

He sniffs, staving off the tickle of a sneeze. “What’s up? Is everything okay?” 

“Yes, everything’s fine. It’s just–,” she takes a breath, and it’s so different from her usual steadiness that the muscles in his shoulders pull tense, like his body knows the answer before she even says it. “It’s Buck.”  

Eddie grimaces, suspicions confirmed, and immediately kicks into gear. He takes long, wide strides across the parking lot to get to his truck, pinching the phone between his cheek and shoulder to dig for his keys in his pocket. “What happened?” 

“We just got back from the ER. He’s fine,” Maddie adds immediately, like she can hear the way Eddie’s stomach shoves its way up into his lungs. “He’s okay, it’s just a bad cold. But he’s running a pretty high fever, and with it coming on so recently after his surgery,” her voice trails off, and Eddie puts two and two together easily. 

“You were worried it could be something worse,” he finishes for her. Postoperative fevers aren’t unusual—Eddie had his own rough go of it after the surgeon pulled three bullets out of him overseas. He remembers the shivering, the pins and needles, the misery of his body stuck in overdrive while it slowly tried to pull itself back together—but it must be a bad one if it’s got Maddie worried enough for an ER trip. His mind helpfully fills in the blanks on potential complications, all of them scary, none of them pleasant.  

“Yeah,” she replies softly. He hears a little sniff, and he can almost see the way her brows pull together as she tries to stave off the tears, nodding.“Yeah, he just spooked me, is all.” 

Eddie doesn’t waste any time. He hauls himself into the truck in one, swift movement, the handle wet beneath his fingers. “What do you need me to do?” 

“Come over? To the loft,” she asks, then laughs a little. The sound is tired, but helplessly fond. “He wants to sleep in bed, and I can’t carry him up the stairs.” 

Well, okay. Neither can Eddie. But somehow he doesn’t think she would appreciate that sentiment right now, when she’s so clearly trying to make her little brother less miserable in an already pretty fucking miserable situation. A tight knot, hidden and tucked snugly against the underside of his sternum gives a ferocious little tug when he realizes that he was the person she thought to call to make that happen. 

And he would try, if it really came down to it. He would carry Buck up those god awful stairs, leg cast and all, if it meant that his best friend was just a little less miserable. 

Eddie would’ve picked that ladder truck up and thrown it down the street for Buck, if it was within his power. 

“Curse of being short,” he jokes instead of saying any of that, and it earns him a scoff of protest, light with surprise. It’s a genuine thing, though, and helps that knot in his chest loosen, just a little. “Give me a few minutes to pick up some things. I’ll be over in ten.” 

On the drive over he calls Pepa, explaining the situation and letting her know that he’s going to have to pick up Christopher in the morning instead of tonight. He feels bad that she had to stay up so late waiting only for him to call off at the last minute, but she swiftly assuages his guilt, citing that she’s happy to let the little boy sleep. 

“We’re fine here, Edmundo. Don’t worry about us,” she says, tone steady and patient, and he feels like he can breathe a little easier for it. “In the morning I will have some caldo de pollo for you to bring to your boy. It will help him feel much better.” 

At first Eddie thinks she means Christopher. But before he can open his mouth to correct her on the fact that Buck is not his boy, just a good friend and work partner, Pepa is wishing him goodnight and ending the call with a long, overexaggerated yawn. Eddie snorts, wishing her a good night and ending the call with a press of his thumb. 

In the following silence, he can’t help the sound of disbelief that huffs out of his lungs, shaking his head. 

Buck. His boy. 

He sits with that thought as he drives, tires swirling through the steam drifting listlessly off the sleepy, wet streets of LA. A slow seeping warmth begins to spread from where that knot is pulling loose in his chest, making its way into his limbs, buzzing and heavy. Grip on the wheel tightening, he feels the muscle jump in his jaw.  

Despite the fact that it feels like sinking, it’s not claustrophobic. If anything, it feels snug, like stability. Like being held. 

He doesn’t know why that scares him so much.

By the time he parks and is walking up to the loft, he’s literally shaking out his arms to get rid of the feeling. He stops as soon as he realizes, feeling silly. Eddie takes the stairs two at a time to get to Buck’s floor, his gym bag bumping against his hip where it’s swinging from his shoulder. He manages to wrestle the feeling back down by the time he makes it to the door. 

He knocks, even though he has a key, but with Maddie inside it just feels better to knock. Like he’s offering her some control in a situation she already has very little over. Her brother is sick and hurting, and she’s the one who has the power to open the door and let Eddie in to help. He can give her that, at least.

He doesn’t have to wait for long. He’s barely lifted his knuckles from the wood when the door is swinging open to reveal Maddie on the other side, looking both so elated and so deeply tired that Eddie’s heart aches a little at the sight of her. 

“Thank you for coming,” she says the second she opens the door, stepping back to let him inside. “Really, Eddie. I mean it.” 

“Don’t thank me yet,” he replies, aiming for joking as he steps carefully inside while she shuts the door behind him. Setting his bag down by the island counter, he turns back to her, running his palms down and back up his thighs to stop himself from wringing them together. “Not until he’s up those stairs. How’s he doing?”

“Better now with the Tylenol I just gave him,” Maddie says, keeping her voice soft. She runs a hand through her hair, holding it back out of her face as she fills him in with a sigh. “They said everything looked okay with his stitches, no signs of infection or bad drainage. We’ve been really careful about keeping the cast dry when he showers, so there’s no irritation from water damage. It’s terrible timing, but it really is just a bad cold. There’s not much else we can do but fill him up with cough medicine and hope he doesn’t chew his own leg off from boredom.”

“Easier said than done,” Eddie says, leaning back against the counter. After a moment his brows draw together. “You said we?”

“Me and Evan, yeah,” Maddie nods. Her cheeks color a little, but she smiles as she tells him, “Chimney’s been helping me out with bringing meals over, too. Oh, and sometimes Josh comes by after work and we play cards.” 

“What happened to Ali?” It’s out of his mouth before he can think about it, and he watches something in Maddie’s eyes shutter closed like a steel grate. She opens her mouth to answer, but is interrupted by the sound of snuffling from around the loft stairs. 

He exchanges a quick glance with Maddie, eyebrows raised. She only shakes her head, mouth pressed into a thin line, and that’s all Eddie needs to confirm his suspicions about the noticeable lack of girlfriend in Buck’s apartment at the moment. He’s a little relieved, if he’s honest. Ali was nice enough, but Eddie always quietly thought there really wasn’t a lot that she and Buck had in common, besides surviving a 7.1 earthquake.  

It’s easy to push up off the counter and give in to gravitational pull in his chest, the one that pulls him around the loft stairs like a needle compass to true north, to see his best friend bundled up on the couch, groggily sitting up and blinking awake, slowly emerging from underneath a fuzzy purple throw blanket that’s tucked underneath his chin. 

Buck looks, to put it nicely, like warmed up roadkill. It’s only been a week since he left the hospital, and the nasty scrape on his forehead is still healing, purplish green bruising skating down his temple to his chin like an oil spill. The fever is a bright red stain high up on his cheeks, and the soft pink of his mouth, half open already since he can’t breathe through his nose, drops a little further in surprise. He blinks up at Eddie, eyes owlish and blue. “Eddie?” 

It’s more of a croak than his name, but Eddie thinks it might be one of his favorite sounds in the world. 

“Hey, bud,” he says, way softer than he means to, and moves to sit down on the coffee table. He feels a smile pull across his face, and a real one at that. It’s the first time that he hasn’t had to force one in days. “How are you feeling?” 

“‘M fine,” Buck manages, and Eddie winces internally at how congested he sounds. Sniffing uselessly, Buck shuffles a little under his blanket. He swallows before finding his voice again. “What–what’re you doing here?” 

“I was in the neighborhood. Thought I’d pop in and see how you were doing.” At Buck’s somewhat glazed, disbelieving stare, Eddie relents. “Maddie called me. Said you weren’t feeling great, and that you needed some help getting up those stairs.” 

At that, Buck frowns, brows drawing in. It looks like it might sting, the way the scab by his eyebrow pulls. “You're not gonna be able to carry me.” 

“Why not?” 

“You’re too short,” Buck states, like it’s obvious. Eddie’s unable to muffle the miffed noise that kicks out of the back of his throat. 

“I am not,” he protests, and it only sounds a little like he’s whining. “I’m six foot!”

“An’ I’m six two,” Buck replies, like that somehow trumps all of Eddie’s firefighting and military experience. He opens his mouth to say as much, but Buck is busy shimmying the blanket back to reveal the awkward, clunky cast that will be chaining him down to that couch for the next three months. “‘Sides,” he says, “can’t carry me with this thing. Too heavy.” 

“Your cast does not weigh a ton, Buck,” Maddie says, crossing over from the kitchen to come perch on the armchair. From her tone it sounds like they’ve had this conversation before. 

“Does too,” Buck mumbles back, so sullen that Eddie has to bite back a smile. “Weighs two tons, probably. No way we make it up the stairs.” 

“Maybe you should’ve thought about that before you begged me to call Eddie to come carry you, then,” she replies, and Eddie’s brain trips over itself as every thought comes to a screeching halt like a comically long record scratch. 

“Maddie,” Buck whines. “You’re not s’pposed to listen to me. I was loopy on cough medicine.” 

“You’re still loopy on cough medicine,” she reminds him, sounding not sorry at all as she leans over and presses a kiss to the side of his temple that isn’t scraped to shit. Buck turns into it like a flower towards the sun, letting his sister card her fingers gently through his hair. “But look, Eddie’s here now, see? You’re welcome.” 

“Thank you,” Buck grumbles out, and Maddie rolls her eyes in a way that is both long-suffering and inexplicably fond. She leans back, and Buck peeks over at Eddie, almost like he’s shy. “Hi, Eddie.” 

“Hey, Buck,” Eddie hears himself say, faintly, because his body is currently trying to manually reboot from the blue screen Maddie just caused.

Buck asked for him. Buck could’ve asked for anybody. Any one of the 118 would’ve picked up Maddie’s call and come running, but Buck didn’t ask for that. 

He asked for Eddie.  

Eddie is not going to lie. It’s no secret that he hasn’t exactly been the most present, lately. He never, ever lets it interfere with his job, because he loves being a firefighter and he cares about the people he works with too much to not give them his everything. He trusts them implicitly to have his back out in the field, and Eddie would rather walk on hot coals in bare feet than let any of his team think he doesn’t have theirs. 

But outside of the job—when he’s not Firefighter Diaz, and all the adrenaline and focus drains out of him, and the only thing he can manage is a threadbare goodbye in the locker rooms before he’s shuffling off at the end of a shift like a goddamn zombie, limbs still moving despite the fact that his skull feels heavy and hollow—when he’s just Eddie? 

Who would ever want just Eddie? 

“Right,” he says, swiftly cutting off that train of thought at the knees. He sits up a little from where he was leaning on his elbows and points at Buck, who blinks at his finger. “We need to get you in bed.”

“I already told you,” Buck groans in a way that sounds suspiciously like Christopher, slumping down to burrow deeper underneath his blanket. It might be Maddie’s, actually, because Eddie doesn’t think Buck has ever owned a single throw blanket in his entire life. Eddie plans on rectifying that immediately. “There’s no way you guys can carry me. You’re—” 

“Too short. Trust us, Buck, we know,” Maddie cuts him off. She raises an eyebrow at Eddie, eyes narrowing pointedly. “Some of us have been told twice.” 

And yeah, okay, Eddie deserves that one. 

He’s surrounded by Buckley sass on all sides tonight, Dios help him. 

“Alright, then,” Eddie says, standing up. Thinking quick on his feet, his eyes dart around as he takes in the shape of the living room. After a moment, he gets an idea. “Here. Maddie, help me move the coffee table?” 

“Oh! Uh, sure,” Maddie’s quick to hop up and help Eddie move the table out of the way in the kitchen. The side table quickly follows that too.   

“Okay, what’s happening?” Buck asks, shuffling to sit back up as Eddie takes the stairs two at a time up to his bedroom. He calls, voice strained and craggy,“Why are we tearing apart my living room?” 

“Well, I figure if we can’t bring you to your bed,” Eddie reasons as he comes back downstairs to plop Buck’s comforter and obnoxiously big pillow that he insists helps support his neck right onto his lap. Buck stares, eyes wide and bewildered, and Eddie smiles at him, shrugging. “Then we can bring your bed to you.” 

A few minutes later—with some surprisingly efficient coordination between the two of them and a very good demonstration of geometry skills on Maddie’s part—Eddie and Maddie manage to drag Buck’s king size mattress, sheets and pillows and all, down the stairs and situate it so it’s pressed right up against the couch. Now all Buck has to do is carefully slip down and shimmy a little to get in the center of the mattress, just how he likes. 

Which he does, almost immediately. The second his head hits the pillow Buck is conked out, mouth open and snoring even before Maddie is finished making sure his cast is properly elevated with some more pillows stolen from the couch. 

“Wow,” she says, sounding genuinely impressed a few minutes later when she and Eddie settle at the kitchen island. “I think that’s the fastest he’s gone to sleep since he got home.” 

Eddie just finished turning the lights down low to let Buck sleep, and she presses a warm mug into his hands the moment he sits down. He cradles it gratefully, the sweet warmth of cider filling up his nose a pleasant surprise. There’s a specific kind that Eddie likes from a small farmer’s market that pops up by the firehouse every so often. He didn’t know Buck still had some. 

“Seriously?” he asks, surprised, and she nods around a slow sip from her own mug. 

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Buck doesn’t exactly know how to sit still,” she says, and he can’t help the laugh he lets out, air leaving his nose in a soft huff. Maddie smiles at him. “That hasn’t changed much since he was a kid. God, he used to toss and turn for hours. Especially when he was sick.” 

“That’s a little harder to do with a full leg cast,” Eddie points out, and she hums in agreement. 

“The only way I could get him to sleep is if I let him sleep in bed with me,” she admits, gaze drifting over to where Buck is starfished out on his mattress. Her eyes are warm, if not a little sad. “Then at least he would stay still, otherwise I threatened to kick him out if he kept wiggling around. But he’d go right to sleep, curled up next to me.” 

Eddie can picture it. The two of them, small and young, huddled together beneath a blanket, Maddie’s arm curled around Buck’s shoulders, his nose pressed into her hair. Offering the delicate heat of their own bodies to create a bigger, better warmth together. 

“He always got me sick afterwards, too. But I didn’t mind,” Maddie says, smiling a little. She adds, quieter, almost to herself, “I think he always sleeps better, knowing somebody he loves is close.” 

Unbidden, Eddie thinks of all the times he’s watched Buck drop into bed in the bunkroom and not move an inch. Stretched out on his stomach in a way that is sure to give him back problems later on, sheets pulled haphazardly up around his waist, clinging to his pillow. 

He thinks about how many times he’s watched Hen pause to adjust the sheets until they were pulled up to Buck’s ears as she passed by to go to her own bunk. How many times he’s watched Bobby turn off the lamp by Buck’s head if he forgot to before he fell asleep. How many times Eddie himself has absentmindedly straightened out Buck’s boots while he unties the laces of his own, watching his friend’s back rise and fall every time he breathes. 

Not once, during any of those moments, did Buck ever stir. 

“My mom would quarantine us as kids. My sisters and I,” Eddie says. He doesn’t even mean to, but then Maddie’s turning those big, brown eyes on him, attentive and open and listening, and he just keeps going. “Five people in one house like that, no way was she dealing with three sick kids at once. Four, actually, if my dad caught it too.” 

Maddie laughs at that, and Eddie smiles at her. He tells her, “Problem was, there were only two kids' bedrooms, right? Mine, and the room my sisters shared. So whoever got sick got stuck in my room, and the other two would have to share Sophia and Adriana’s. And my mom—she treated any illness like it was the worst thing to ever happen. Even if it was just a cold, it might as well have been la plaga de la muerte. We weren’t allowed anyone near that bedroom, and whoever was stuck inside wasn’t allowed out until their temperature was back below a hundred degrees.” 

“What about eating? Like breakfast and dinner?” Maddie asks, and Eddie shrugs. 

“She’d leave a tray at the door. Food, water, meds, she’d drop it off and knock.” 

“And what about going to the bathroom?” 

“Alright, she wasn’t that crazy,” Eddie laughs, and Maddie holds up her hands in mock surrender. 

“Okay! Okay, just making sure,” she says, and watches him while he takes a slow sip from his mug for a few beats. The cider warming his belly, he almost misses it when she asks, “Did your parents really just let you deal with being sick alone like that?” 

“Not always,” he says. “My dad had this trick, to help with congestion. He’d take a washcloth, soak it in hot water, and then drape it over your face so you could breathe in the steam and alleviate some of the pressure. It worked, at least for a few minutes anyway. He didn’t do it a lot, didn’t want to get caught by my mom, I think. But I remember him sitting with me, sometimes. Just holding my hand.” 

He thinks about being six, and seven, and nine years old, alone in his bedroom, shivering ferociously while his body fought off the illness. He thinks about the relief he felt, blindly clutching at a big, calloused hand in that warm darkness where he could finally breathe again. He thinks about dreading the moment when the washcloth went cold, and his father’s touch would slip away.

“I don’t remember when he stopped doing it,” he says, and knows it’s a lie the second it’s out of his mouth. He knows exactly when. It was the same time Ramon sat him down and told him it was time for him to step up, to become a real man. “I was ten, I think.”  

“That’s—” Maddie starts, then stops, and something about her tone makes him look up. She’s already looking at him when their eyes meet. There’s no pity, in her gaze. Just heaviness, and a profound sense of understanding. 

“That sounds really lonely, Eddie,” she says gently, and Eddie thinks it should feel it like a punch to the gut. If it was anyone else saying, he's pretty sure the gravity of that statement would have him doubling over in his seat. 

“It was,” he admits quietly, surprising himself. 

Eyes hot, Eddie blinks, suddenly finding it very difficult to continue meeting her gaze. He looks over at where Buck is sleeping, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath the comforter. He finds himself trying to match his own breathing to that steady rhythm, seamless and slow. 

“The truth is I would’ve given anything to have someone stay with me, like you did for him,” he says, looking back at her, and Maddie’s whole expression crumples in on itself, her lip wobbling a little as she nods. She reaches out across the counter, palm up, fingers open. Offering her own warmth out to him. 

Eddie slides his hand into hers without a second thought, squeezing tight. She squeezes back, and the heat created between their palms makes Eddie feel steadier than he has in months. 

They stay like that for a few minutes, just holding on to one another, until Maddie’s phone chirps from the kitchen counter. Sniffing a little, she pulls back and reaches for it, not without giving his fingers one last squeeze. Eddie does her the courtesy of not pointing out the stray tear that’s running down her chin, too busy wiping at his own. 

“Shit,” Maddie says succinctly, and Eddie looks over at her in alarm. 

“What?” 

“Chimney just texted,” she says, grimacing at her phone like it just personally insulted her. “He’s asking if he should bring over breakfast tomorrow. I completely forgot to tell him I have a shift in the morning.” 

“In the morning?” he repeats, and she nods, expression turning sheepish. She looks a whole awful lot like Buck, when she’s smiling like that. He checks the time on his phone. “Maddie, you need to go home and sleep.” 

“I was going to!” She stresses, just barely catching herself from raising her voice. Her eyes dart over to where her brother is still sleeping soundly before she turns back to him, leaning in with a half stage whisper. “I was going to. But then everything with Buck came up, and I—” 

She cuts herself off with a huff, running a hand through her hair as she shakes her head. “You didn’t see him earlier when I got back. He was so sick, Eddie. His fever was so bad he couldn’t even get up to get to the medicine cabinet. I can’t just leave him here alone. What if—” 

“I’ll stay,” Eddie offers, automatically. Easily. “I can stay with him tonight.” 

“I can’t ask you to do that,” Maddie says. “What about Christopher? Don’t you need to pick him up?” 

“You’re not asking. I’m happy to do it,” he says, already waving away her concerns as gently as he can. “And tomorrow’s Saturday anyway. Pepa will be happy to hold on to Chris for a little longer. She and my tío Paco will make him migas for breakfast and ruin my chance of ever getting him to eat my omelets again.”

“Are you sure?” she asks, worrying at her bottom lip. Carefully, Eddie reaches out across the counter and holds out his hand just like she had before, palm up. She interlaces their fingers without a moment of hesitation, and he squeezes tightly. 

“I’m sure,” he promises, and after a moment she nods, squeezing back. 

Maddie leaves shortly after that. Eddie helps her gather up her purse and other things while she tiptoes around the mattress in the living room to kiss Buck’s forehead and whisper goodbye. He snuffles a little in his sleep, turning towards her voice, but otherwise doesn’t stir. 

She hugs him tight before she goes, which stuns Eddie for all of two seconds before he’s folding his arms around her, her hair tickling his chin. She makes him promise to call her if they need anything, even if it’s in the middle of the night, and then she’s gone out the door, leaving only the warmth of her embrace in her wake. 

And then it’s just Eddie, standing in the entryway of the loft, his best friend sleeping soundly behind him.

The first thing Eddie does is text Pepa that he’ll be a little later in picking up Chris in the morning. It’s late enough now that she’ll have gone to sleep at this point, but he trusts she’ll see it when she wakes up, and that’s enough for him. He also asks her to send him her migas con huevos recipe, which he’ll no doubt butcher the shit out of, but it’s something he and Chris can do over the weekend together. Maybe they can bring Buck over the leftovers, if they’re not burnt.

The second thing he does is shower. Maddie was polite enough not to say anything when they hugged, but he knows he’s more than a little ripe after coming off a twenty-four hour shift. He uses the upstairs bathroom in an attempt to keep the noise down. Buck, who’s currently snorting like a war horse in his sleep, doesn’t seem to mind. 

Rinsing off the sweat and worry of the day, he only feels a little bad about using Buck’s body wash. It’s a nice smell—sandalwood, and something that kind of reminds Eddie of orange zest and fresh oatmeal. 

Stepping out of the bathroom in a towel, it dawns on him that he doesn’t have a change of clothes. He has his street clothes that he could change back into, but he’s not exactly thrilled at the idea of sleeping in jeans tonight. 

So instead, he just digs out a pair of sleep shorts from Buck’s dresser and a T-shirt that he doesn’t think Buck will mind him wearing. It’s a little big in the shoulders—with a faded image of Bruce Springsteen’s fingers curled around the neck of his guitar plastered on the front, a silver bracelet drooping over the back of his hand—but it’ll do. 

Stopping at the bottom of the stairs, Eddie doesn’t know what to do with himself, for a moment. He can’t turn on the TV with Buck sleeping in the living room, not that there’s much of anything he’d be interested in watching at this hour. Plus, Buck doesn’t have Hulu so he can’t put on old baseball reruns on ESPN. 

He briefly considers making himself a cup of coffee, or some more of that cider, but ultimately decides against it. The day has been long, and only made longer by Maddie’s sudden call, so Eddie decides to follow Buck’s lead and crash. 

He fishes around in his gym bag until he finds his earbuds, then moseys over to the couch after turning off the lights, using the dim glow of his phone screen to lead the way. Taking up the throw blanket Buck abandoned for his comforter, Eddie gets himself situated on the couch, tucking one earbud into his ear. There’s a mystery podcast that Buck has been raving about for a while, and Eddie thinks it’ll make the perfect background noise to fall asleep to. 

Turning on his side to get comfortable while the host starts up a lulling, ominous monologue about strange weather phenomena in his ear, Eddie takes a minute to catalogue Buck’s sleeping form below him, slack jawed and snoring. His head is turned away from Eddie, so he can just make out the light stubble on Buck’s jaw. His hair is going to be a wild mess come morning, and Eddie smiles a little at the perfect little curl he can see resting against Buck’s pillow above his head. 

Because he’s unable to flip flop around like a restless pancake, Buck’s taken to fidgeting with his arms. He’s got one hand up by his head on the pillow, the other arm is stretched completely out across the mattress by Eddie’s head on the couch. His palm is up, fingers splayed out. Reaching, even in sleep.

There’s a small, white scar that curls around the bone of Buck’s wrist. A biking accident, from when he was young. He can’t see it well, but Eddie knows it’s there. He remembers watching Buck thumb at it when he told him, during a slow moment between calls at the firehouse. 

Carefully, so carefully, Eddie reaches out and traces his fingertips over that line, following it to the delicate, paper thin skin over the vein of his wrist, and then up to the life lines of Buck’s palm. Reflexively, Buck’s nerves react to the touch, his fingers curling around Eddie’s in a lax hold. Strangely, Eddie feels his face flood with heat, warmth spreading all the way to the tips of his ears. 

For some reason, he doesn’t let go. He ghosts his thumb over the warm skin of Buck’s knuckles, eyelids starting to get heavy as he keeps up the slow, hypnotic motion. 

Maybe Buck’s not the only one who sleeps better, knowing that his loved ones are close by. 

Some indeterminable amount of time later, Eddie is pulled out of his doze by the faint feeling of a warmth pulling away, leaving his fingers cold. Half awake, he reaches for it, but only finds more empty space. 

That gets him awake. Blinking open his eyes—it’s harder to orient himself with the podcast host talking about frogs raining from the sky somewhere over Serbia in his ear—it takes his sleep-addled brain a minute to understand what he’s looking at. 

Buck, who has so far been sleeping like the dead, is sitting up ramrod straight in the dark, not moving. 

“Buck?” Eddie rasps. “You okay?” 

Buck doesn’t answer, which has Eddie’s pulse spiking oddly up into his throat. He rips out the earbud and sits up, straining to turn the lamp on behind the couch so he can see what’s wrong. He twists back around to see that Buck’s eyes are open, staring off into the middle distance with his eyebrows raised, like he’s waiting for something to happen. 

Eddie’s just about to ask again when Buck’s whole face contorts, and suddenly he’s letting out the most ear piercing, earth shattering sneeze that Eddie has ever heard in his life. It has him startling like a horse at the sight of a snake—he nearly jumps half a foot in the air from the sheer power of it alone. 

And Christopher thought Eddie’s dad sneezes were bad. 

“Jesus Christ, Buck,” he gasps, unpeeling himself from the back of the couch, one hand clutched over his chest to calm his racing heart. He laughs, a little strangled by the unnecessary adrenaline. “You couldn’t warn a guy first?”  

“S’rry,” Buck slurs out, so muffled by his hands that Eddie can barely hear him. “My bad.”

“Hey.” Eddie moves forward immediately, setting a hand on Buck’s shoulder when he leans forward, hand cupped around his face. “Hey, you okay?”

“Need a tissue,” Buck kind of gurgles, pulling his hands back a little and oh, yep. Yes he does. Eddie quickly throws off his blanket and hops up, hurrying over with the box off the coffee table and plopping it into Buck’s lap. 

“How are you feeling?” he asks after nearly half the tissue box has been demolished, the evidence filling up the bathroom garbage can that Eddie quickly grabbed once the post-snot eruption nose blowing tornado started.

“Guh,” Buck replies eloquently, flopping back down onto his pillow. He lifts his head back up a little after a moment, looking muzzy but more alert. “What time is it?” 

Eddie gives a cursory glance at his phone. “It’s half past eleven.”  

Buck groans, flopping back down with more conviction. “Where’d Maddie go?” 

“She went back home to sleep before her shift tomorrow morning.” Eddie perches on the arm of the couch to look down at Buck, crossing one arm over the other. “You’re stuck with me for the night.” 

“Oh,” is all Buck says to that for a beat. “You don’t–you don’t have to do that. Isn’t it your day off with Chris tomorrow?” 

“Chris is with Pepa,” Eddie says, pointedly ignoring the way the genuine care in Buck’s voice makes his stomach do a complicated somersault maneuver. “And I do have to, actually. I’m under strict orders to keep an eye on you, otherwise your sister will skin me. Probably turn me into a rug or something.”

Buck is quiet for a long moment, absorbing this. Eddie watches him worry at his lip, a little chapped from being sick and dehydrated. He thinks that Buck and Maddie’s habits are practically interchangeable, at this point. 

“She wouldn’t make you into a rug,” Buck says eventually, expression surprisingly serious when he looks up at Eddie again. 

“Oh no?” Eddie quirks an eyebrow. “What would she make me into, then?”  

“She’d make you into something useful, like a blanket or–or a petticoat,” he says, then honest to god giggles at his own joke. “An Eddie-coat.” 

“A what?” 

“An Eddie-coat,” Buck reiterates, a slow, pleased smile spreading across his face like butter. “She’d make you into an Eddie-coat.” 

There’s a moment where neither of them says anything. Eddie stares at him, and Buck immediately breaks first, devolves into nasally, semi-delirious laughter. 

Valiantly fighting off a smile on his own face, Eddie rolls his eyes skyward. “Proud of yourself for that one, huh?” 

“You are too. Don’t act like you aren’t,” Buck beams up at him. “You think I’m hilarious.” 

Eddie purses his lips, cheeks warming, unable to fight back the smile this time, and Buck starts laughing all over again. He gets a little wheezy at the end, and Eddie winces when it turns into a wet, ugly sounding cough. 

“Alright, funny guy,” Eddie says, pushing off his perch. “Where’s that thermometer? We’re checking to see how cooked your brains are.” 

“Kitchen drawer. And my brains aren’t cooked,” Buck protests, propping himself up on his elbows as he watches Eddie root around his kitchen drawers. “Just, like–lightly sautéed, I think.” 

“Uh huh.” Eddie comes back over, brandishing the thermometer above his head triumphantly. “I’ll be the judge of that. C’mere.” 

It’s easy to drop down onto the mattress and scooch close, careful not to jostle Buck’s cast too much. They’re practically pressed hip to hip, Buck’s shoulder fitting snugly into the crook of Eddie’s collarbone while they both peer down at the little device in Eddie’s hand. He’s hyper aware of Buck’s breathing when the thermometer beeps, declaring that it’s ready for use. 

“Here,” he murmurs, pulling back a little. He misses the contact almost immediately, but then something—happens. 

Buck looks up at him through his long, honey colored lashes, and he’s opening his mouth to let Eddie check his temperature, and Eddie physically feels it when his heart trips over itself and falls flat on its face. 

And just what the fuck is that all about? 

Vaguely feeling like he’s been plunged under water, Eddie tucks the thermometer under Buck’s tongue, who lets him do it without complaint. They wait the few minutes it takes for the thermometer to beep like that, just watching each other.

“What’s the diagnosis, doc?” Buck asks after the thermometer beeps and breaks the silence. “Am I gonna make it?” 

Eddie squints at the number on the tiny screen. “No cooked brains,” he confirms. “Still a little warm, but that’ll go down with some more meds and sleep.”

“Oh thank god,” Buck sighs, sagging against Eddie’s side, head dropping down to rest on his shoulder. He can feel Buck’s smile through the thin shirt sleeve. “I don’t know what I’d do with cooked brains and a broken leg.” 

Barely breathing, he slides his palm up and down the length of Buck’s spine, turning his head to hide his smile in his friend’s hair. “Somehow, I think you’d manage.” 

Eddie feels a little bit like he’s getting away with something, here. 

They don’t do this. Sure, the occasional slap on the back or shoulder squeeze is fine. Normal. Sometimes Buck’s knee will brush Eddie’s in the engine and Eddie won’t pull away. But none of that leaves Eddie’s mouth dry, or like he’s suddenly too big for his skin, or like he weirdly doesn’t know what to do with his hands. 

“How are you feeling?” Eddie asks for what feels like the thousandth time tonight, keeping up that steady movement of his hand up and down Buck’s back.

Buck sniffs dejectedly, shrugging, and Eddie dutifully hands him another tissue from the box. 

“What can I do?” he asks, pulling back a little to give Buck some space while he blows his nose.

“Unless you can get me some new sinuses, not much.” Buck tosses the tissue in the trash can, his nose already turning a shade of red that let’s Eddie know it probably hurts like a bitch to blow. “Feels like my whole head is a cork in a champagne bottle.” 

Eddie hums, chewing on the inside of his cheek for a moment. His thoughts drift back to the earlier conversation in the kitchen with Maddie, how easy it had been to share those memories with her, as painful as they are. 

Then he remembers Maddie’s hand squeezing his, the earnest understanding on her face as she met his eye, and he thinks that maybe that pain can be useful for something after all. 

“Can we try something?” he asks. 

“Uh.” Buck pauses, tissue half raised to his nose. “Sure?” 

“Great,” Eddie says, patting him on the back before standing up. “Take off your shirt.” 

“What?” Buck startles, staring after Eddie with wide eyes as he pads around the stairs and into the bathroom. His hands press instinctively to the grey zip up he’s wearing. “Wh–what do you mean take off my shirt?”  

“I mean, I’m going to put a wet washcloth on your face, and I don’t want your shirt to get soaked,” Eddie explains, coming back around to lean on the railing of the stairs. “Where are your washcloths, by the way?” 

“In the upstairs bathroom, second drawer down.” 

When Eddie comes back down, washcloth in hand, Buck hasn’t taken off his shirt. In fact, he’s pulling the sleeves of the zip up further down his hands. His mouth is pulled into a tight, small frown. 

“Buck?” Eddie pauses. “You okay?” 

“What is it supposed to do?” Buck asks, and if Eddie didn’t know any better, he’d say it sounds a little bit like he’s stalling. “The washcloth, I mean. How–how does it work?” 

“Oh,” Eddie blinks. “I was gonna soak it in hot water and then kind of drape it over your face. The steam is supposed to help with the pressure, I think. So your congestion will clear up and you can breathe better.” 

Buck is quiet for a long moment, nodding as he takes this in. He won’t look at Eddie, picking anxiously at a stray thread on his sleeve, teeth caught on his lower lip. 

“Hey.” Eddie comes to sit down at the edge of the mattress, ducking his head so he can meet his friend’s downcast gaze. “What’s going on?” 

“It’s not pretty,” Buck blurts out. He looks up, his voice pinched with distress. “The road rash, it—it’s pretty much healed up but it’s not gone yet, and I don’t—” he cuts himself off with a sharp intake of breath. He shrugs mutely, staring down at his hands.  

After a moment, Eddie sets a hand on Buck’s shoulder, thumb finding the crook of his collarbone like a magnet clicking into place. Naturally, easily. 

“I’m a paramedic, Buck,” he says, “I’ve seen way worse than a little road rash.” He smiles gently when Buck huffs, shoulder jumping under Eddie’s palm. “And I can take my shirt off too, if it helps,” he offers, teasing, and that’s enough to make Buck crack a smile. It’s small, but it’s real. 

“That’s okay,” he says, cheeks going a little pink, and Eddie’s really going to have to schedule a visit with his cardiologist, if his heart keeps flopping around in his chest like that. “You can keep your—wait. Is that my Bruce Springsteen shirt?” 

“Uhm.” And now it’s Eddie’s turn to feel uncomfortably hot, apparently. He hopes he’s not catching Buck’s cold already. He pulls back, nodding. “Yeah, I didn’t have any clothes to change into after work, so I borrowed one. If that’s okay.” 

“No, no—um,” Buck waves a hand awkwardly, face turning beet red as he gestures at Eddie’s person. “You’re good. It—yeah, it looks good. On you. You’re good.” 

“Thank you.” Now that they’ve both successfully embarrassed the hell out of themselves, Eddie motions with the hand holding the washcloth towards the bathroom. “I’m gonna—go get this wet.”

“Yep,” Buck says, nodding like a bobblehead. “Yeah, go right ahead.” 

“Great,” Eddie says, then all but flees to the bathroom. 

A few deep breaths and a pointed glare at his reflection in the mirror to fucking get it together, Diaz , later, Eddie leaves the washcloth in the sink with the hot water running, letting it soak while he comes back out to help Buck to stand up, careful not to let him twist or bump his cast in an awkward way while he gets his footing, leaning heavily on Eddie’s shoulder. 

He carefully does not react when Buck’s shirt comes off. Just stands steady while Buck shrugs out of his zip up, then keeps a firm hold of Buck’s back, acting as a dutiful crutch while his friend slowly works the black T-shirt off one sleeve at a time, and then pulls it up and over his head. 

There’s a violent roadmap of healing scrapes that starts on the pale skin of Buck’s hip and glides all the way up his torso, just stopping shy of the curve of his armpit before continuing on the soft, vulnerable underside of his arm all the way up to his elbow. If he wanted to, Eddie could trace the exact line of where Buck's body dragged when the truck skidded on its side. 

“Maddie cried, the first time she saw it.” Eddie drags his eyes up to see Buck already watching him. He smiles, sad. “She tried to hide it, but I—I think I scared her pretty good.”  

“She’s your big sister, Buck. She’s always going to worry about you,” Eddie says, carefully helping Buck slide his good arm around his shoulders, hand wrapping around Buck’s wrist, the other securely on Buck’s hip, careful not to press his fingers into any bruises. 

“And you don’t scare me,” he adds, softer, and Buck looks over at him, something so painfully earnest and open in his expression that Eddie wants to fold himself around his friend like a protective layer and shield him from all the awful in the world. 

Maybe Buck was onto something, earlier. Because from where he’s sitting, being made into an Eddie-coat doesn’t sound so bad right about now. 

The shuffle into the bathroom is a slow one, but with the warm line of Buck’s body pressed from hip to shoulder against him, Eddie finds he doesn’t really mind. 

After some debate, they get Buck situated on the bathroom floor with a pillow for him to sit on with Eddie sitting on the lip of the tub, Buck’s back against Eddie’s shins so he can easily tip his head back and rest against his knees. 

“You ready?” Eddie asks, unballing the washcloth carefully after wringing out the excess water in the tub behind him. It’s just a little too warm against his fingertips, steam coming off the fabric in fleeing, wispy curls. 

“Mhm,” Buck nods. He cranes his neck a little to look up at Eddie, squinting a little. “Am I supposed to do anything specific, or–?” 

“Nope,” Eddie replies, smiling down at him. “Just close your eyes and breathe. The steam will do all the work for you.”

“Okay.” Buck wiggles a little more to get comfortable. He lets his eyes slide shut, murmuring, “go ahead.” 

“Alright. Hold still.” 

Very gently, Eddie drapes the washcloth over Buck’s face, making sure that it covers his nose and eyes, smoothing out the edges on Buck’s forehead, just against his hairline. He makes sure it doesn’t sit too heavily over his mouth, just in case Buck starts feeling claustrophobic. 

A few stray water droplets immediately race over the curve of Buck’s chin and down his neck, pooling in the hollow of his throat. Eddie chases after one that slips down his cheek, stopping it from rolling into his ear with a soft swipe of his thumb. 

“How’s that feel?” he asks after a moment. 

Buck shifts, voice a little muffled. “It’s okay.”  

“Okay?” Eddie echoes. “Not too hot, or anything like that?”   

“Mm-mm, it’s good.” Buck takes a deep breath, then lets it go slowly, steam billowing off the fabric like a sleeping dragon lay beneath. After a second, he asks, “Can you shift forward a little? My neck kind of hurts.”

“Sure, here.” Carefully, he cradles Buck’s head in his hands and shifts his legs forward more, so Buck can lean back fully against his shins. Eddie gently starts massaging Buck’s temple with his thumbs, using slow, sweeping motions against the pressure he knows is built up there. “That better?”

“Yeah,” Buck sighs, melting into it. “Yeah, that’s perfect. Thank you.” 

They stay like that for a beat, Eddie keeping up his ministrations before Buck’s curiosity is piqued enough for him to ask. “Where’d you even learn this from?” 

“Old Diaz family trick,” Eddie tells him, mouth quirking. “Waterboard your children while they’re ill so they can’t fight back.” 

That earns him a proper laugh, genuine and surprised and endearingly nasal, and the sound is so sweet that it warms Eddie straight through. 

After a few minutes of quiet, Buck sniffs, sounding clearer than he has all night. He takes another deep breath, much easier this time. “Oh, wow,” he says. “It really does work.” 

“See? What’d I tell you?” Eddie smiles, pleased. “You gotta trust me on these things, Buck.” 

Buck curls his arm around Eddie’s leg, fingers warm against the skin of his shin. Not squeezing, just holding on, thumb mirroring the sweeping motion of Eddie’s against Buck’s temple. It’s the same spot, Eddie registers distantly, where Buck’s surgery scar is hidden beneath his cast. 

“It’s you, Eds,” Buck murmurs. “I always trust you.” 

Eddie is suddenly so thankful that Buck cannot see his face, because it feels a little bit like he just got kicked in the chest by a mule. 

If he had been standing up, the force of it would have him bowing over. Instead he just sits there, staring down at his friend’s covered face with equal parts amazement and terror, and that’s when it hits him. 

He’s afraid of it—this implicit trust that Buck is so willingly giving him. Eddie is terrified of it, and the force of it startles him, but he doesn’t shy away. In fact, he welcomes it, feeling almost dizzy with relief. Because for the first time in his life, Eddie is wanted not for what he can give, or what role he can fill, or how well he can provide. 

Buck asked for Eddie because he is exactly that—just Eddie. 

The truth is ever since Shannon passed Eddie has had a hard time with feeling—not needed, but. Something close to it. A word like wanted feels like too much, too selfish. Useful, maybe. 

He couldn’t stop her from getting hit by that car that day, couldn’t even ease her pain, because by the time he got there there was no more pain for her to feel. The best he could do was twine their fingers together, clutching helplessly in a desperate attempt to give her his warmth, even as she grew colder by the minute, and stand there and listen to her tell him how much she wanted to stay, even as she was in the middle of leaving. 

Eddie couldn’t stop the ladder truck from blowing up, either. He could only stand there and watch as Buck came to, blood gushing down his face with grime caught in his fluttering eyelashes. He’d never felt more helpless than when he watched his best friend realize he was crushed under nearly fourteen tons of lifesaving equipment and metal, while Bobby talked down the bomber not even ten feet away. 

He couldn’t stop Buck from needing surgery, or the fever and illness that followed. But Eddie can be here, in the aftermath. He can fetch tissues for his friend’s poor nose, and drag Buck’s bigass mattress down the stairs so he can sleep more comfortably, and he can use the tricks from the rare moments he received his father’s warmth in childhood and make that old, familiar achy pain into something useful, something good. 

Eddie can be good. 

Maybe he always has been. 

Buck certainly seems to think so. Maddie, too. So maybe it’s time Eddie starts believing it himself, if only a little. 

The washcloth has cooled some, in the time it took Eddie to work himself into and back out of his miniature panic spiral, the steam no longer fleeing the fabric as rapidly as before. Eddie decides to relieve Buck of its weight before it can get too uncomfortable. 

“Buck,” Eddie says softly. “I’m going to take off the washcloth now, okay?” 

Buck doesn’t answer, the slow, even rise and fall of his chest telling Eddie that he’s probably dozing under there. Even dragons need their beauty sleep. At least he’s not snoring yet. 

“Buck?” he asks, a little louder. “You with me?” 

Buck’s answer is an incomprehensible, sleepy mumble. Eddie huffs a laugh through his nose, taking that as permission, and gently peels back the lukewarm washcloth from his friend’s face. He leans over and hands it up on the tub spout to dry before taking Buck’s head back up in both his hands, gently scratching at his scalp in apology for jostling him. 

Buck’s head is a heavy weight in his hands, and Eddie takes a few seconds to just take him in. His cheeks are still flush, more from the heat of the steam than the fever, now. Droplets of water have beaded on the sloping bridge of his nose and across the delicate skin below his eyes. It reminds Eddie of the constellations in Christopher’s favorite astronomy book as a kid—the one with holes punched in the pages that you can shine a light through and project them onto the ceiling. 

The proximity to the steam has made the edges of Buck's hair curlier than it already was, and Eddie's heart gets all sorts of warm behind his ribs because it reminds him so much of Chris's hair, too. He cards his fingers through it, and Buck hums, a warm, happy sound, and Eddie wants to be the one responsible for Buck making that noise for the rest of his life. 

He’s not really thinking when he leans down and presses his lips to the unscathed skin on Buck’s temple, checking his temperature the same way he’s done a thousand times with his son whenever he’s sick. Buck’s skin is warm and damp, but no unnatural heat is rising off him. It’s safe to say his fever’s finally broken. Feeling triumphant, Eddie presses a satisfied, lingering kiss to Buck’s hairline, smiling a little to himself. 

“Eddie?” Buck whispers. 

Oh, is the first thought Eddie has as he freezes in place, lips still brushing against Buck’s skin. 

The second, much more important thought he has is, oh no. 

Eddie’s breath stalls out in his lungs. He pulls back, eyes wide, and finds Buck staring right back.

“Hi,” Buck breathes. Up this close, he can see the starburst pattern in the blue of Buck’s irises around his pupil. It almost reminds Eddie of a nebula, or a flower. Light and life, blooming out. Reaching, reaching, reaching. 

Eddie opens his mouth, but his voice is being strangled somewhere beyond his back molars. He shuts it, swallowing. He whispers back, “Hey, Buck.” 

“Sorry I fell asleep on you,” Buck says, and it’s so not what Eddie was expecting that it bursts the bubble of anxiety that was forming inside his lungs, and all the air it was holding back leaves in a rush of relief. 

“That’s okay,” Eddie replies. He thinks he’s going to let Buck fall asleep on him whenever he wants for the rest of his life, forever. “I don’t mind being a pillow.” 

“Um,” Buck blinks a few times, Adam’s apple bobbing. When he finds his voice again, it’s low, a little grainy from his illness. It makes Eddie’s stomach flutter. “Did—did you kiss me, just now?”

Tongue like a balloon in his mouth, Eddie nods. “I was checking your temperature,” he explains, like that excuses anything at all. “Dad habit. I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be,” Buck says quickly. His eyes dark down to Eddie’s lips, then back up, lightning quick. He asks, voice soft and small, “Can you check it again?” 

Eddie feels his eyes go as wide as dinner plates. “You want me to?” 

“Yes,” Buck says, nodding frantically. “Yes I want you to.”  

So Eddie does. He checks Buck’s temperature above his left eyebrow, then his right, the bridge of his nose and each eye, both cheeks and even the divot of his chin. He kisses all of those little drops of starlight right off of Buck’s skin, savoring their taste, amazed that he’s even allowed to at all. Even more amazed when Buck chases after him and their nose knock, and then Eddie kisses it again in apology. 

They’re both smiling when he pulls back, giggling like children. Eddie doesn’t think he’s ever going to get over how brilliant Buck’s smile is, bright and pleased and perfect. He’s pretty sure his own smile makes him look like an idiot. 

“You ready to get off this bathroom floor?” Eddie asks, failing to beat back the giddiness trying to escape his every pore. 

“Actually,” Buck says around a yawn, arching his back in a stretch before turning his nose to nudge against Eddie’s bare knee, eyes sliding shut. “I think I’m good right here.” 

Eddie’s smile only gets bigger. “You don’t want to wait until you’re back in bed?” 

“Can’t hear you. Too busy sleeping.” 

“Oh really?” Eddie muses. “After all that trouble Maddie and I went through to drag that mattress down those stairs?” 

That makes Buck open his eyes again, and then Eddie watches as his best friend’s expression sort of just—melts, lip wobbling for half a second before he catches it, swallowing hard. 

Eddie’s smile starts to slip. “What?” 

It takes Buck a few seconds to find his voice. When he finally does, his expression is so painfully sincere that it looks like it hurts. 

“You made me a couch-bed,” he says simply, staring up at Eddie in such awe that Eddie can’t help it. He laughs, soft and relieved, and feeling infinitely lighter than he has in months. Before Buck can get the wrong idea, he leans down and presses another kiss right against the strawberry pink of Buck’s birthmark. 

“It’s you, Buck,” he says, shrugging, a fond smile growing on his face as he stares down into those big, earnest baby blues. “It’s always you.”

That seems to do it for Buck, because the next thing Eddie knows he’s being pulled down and Buck is surging up and crushing their mouths together in a kiss. The angle is awkward, and their noses bump together hard enough that Eddie’s eyes water, but he doesn’t even care because Buck’s lips are warm against his, and everything about it is goofy and wonderful and perfect but there’s just one problem.

“Oh, no, Buck—come on,” Eddie rips himself away as soon as he remembers, leaning back and wiping at his mouth as Buck laughter fills up the tiny bathroom. He groans, “You’re going to get me sick.” 

“Sorry,” Buck says, not sounding sorry at all, the bastard. “Couldn’t wait.”  

“Yeah, I’ll bet,” Eddie shakes his head, pinching Buck’s side playfully till he twists, swatting at Eddie’s hand with a gasped out laugh. “C’mon, let’s get you in that couch-bed.” 

“Only if you be my pillow,” Buck replies, practically beaming, and who is Eddie to deny an injured man what he wants? 

Buck is out like a light the second Eddie gets him back into some warm sleep clothes, and Eddie can’t help but smile at the way his friend sighs like an overworked puppy when he finally settles down into bed, feeling all kinds of gooey and fond at the sight of him. 

In the morning they’ll talk about it. They’ll have to. But for now, Eddie is content to turn off the lights in the loft and crawl into bed beside his best friend, his partner. His boy. 

The second he settles, Buck shifts, turning his head to tuck his snotty nose against the hinge of Eddie’s jaw, and in that moment Eddie doesn’t even care if it gets him sick, so long as he can keep being the warmth that Buck reaches for in sleep.

[sunn-mechanic]

[ID in alt]

Grillstertember Week 1: "I thought I'd lost you."

I like to think that Gaster's soul got pulled back together when Asriel grabbed all the souls in the underground :)

[myokk]

before it felt like a sin, ch. 1

pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!MC

word count: 3000

summary: Eloise never wanted to be different.

And yet, her differences are what have defined her life up until this point: growing up as a squib in one of the most prominent wizarding families, being exiled to muggle society, and then attending Hogwarts at the age of sixteen.

She finds herself thrust into the life she should have been prepared for from birth but was denied. As she navigates this new life and her new precarious position in her family, she must come to terms with the fact that maybe what she dreamed of her whole life isn't turning out how she ever expected it would.

a/n: Hi everyone!! I decided to post this here too...I'm slowly going through everything I've written so far, and I want to post each chapter here as I edit them. I'm hoping that this can be a way to a) get back in to writing more, and b) get better at my art as I make full illustrations for each chapter. Let me know what you think!! :)

There is nothing quite as horrible as being a muggle, Eloise thought savagely as she ripped out yet another stitch in the landscape she was embroidering. At least, it was supposed to be a landscape. Maybe with her head tilted to the left and with her eyes almost closed so everything blurred together, it might resemble one. She did just that, trying her hardest to make out some recognizable shape and blast the stupid practice of manually pushing colored thread through a fabric in some sort of -

“And what is this, Miss Babbit?”

Eloise jumped at the sound and looked up at the scowling face of her teacher, and then quickly back down at the tangled thread in her lap. Behind her, she could hear the hushed giggles of the other girls in her class.

“Oh! Er…it’s -”

“How long have you been here?” the woman interrupted.

“One hour…I just -”

“Don’t be smart with me. I mean, at this institute.”

“Five years.” Eloise glared down at her embroidery as if it had personally offended her. It wasn’t like she was actively trying to be bad at everything, but she had the distinct disadvantage - how had it ever come to be that she would be at a disadvantage to muggles? - of not having spent a lifetime being prepared for muggle society and all that it entailed. The last five years had been a monotonous, endless cycle of lessons designed to turn her into the perfect lady: French (a waste of time as Eloise was already fluent), embroidery (a waste of time as the things she embroidered weren’t actually useful), dancing (a waste of time as she was already engaged to be married - why would she bother trying to woo another silly man?), and her most dreaded class of all: etiquette. No matter how many years had been spent trying to assimilate into muggle culture, her thoughts still got muddled when she tried to remember the steps to a dance, or how to properly address the son of a duke.

Did it really matter, anyways, what the other girls thought? She had pretended her whole life to be the daughter she thought her parents had wanted - now she was simply pretending that she hadn’t been thrown into the muggle world without a second thought. What was a bit more pretending - that she didn’t care? That she hadn’t been tossed aside without a second thought?

“Exactly. Five years. And yet, you have shown no progress whatsoever. This -” a finger jabbed accusingly at the embroidery - “is absolutely horrendous. If your parents hadn’t continued to make such a sizeable donation every year, I would have deemed you a lost cause and sent you packing when you first arrived. How your family ever managed your betrothal to the son of an earl is beyond me.”

Eloise grimaced at the mention of her fiance as her teacher clapped her hands together to get the attention of the class - a wholly unnecessary action due to the fact that it was already being given. “Class is dismissed. Please collect your belongings and put them in the correct place. Remember, as future wives and mothers, you must be organized in all aspects of your life. Many of you will be managing important households and the slightest misstep -“ a slight glance to Eloise out of the corner of her eye - “can cause the biggest of scandals.”

Eloise raced to gather her things and leave the classroom before everyone else. No matter how many years had been spent at the school, she couldn’t help but hate sitting through the classes amongst the judgmental stares and snide remarks. Although things had started out shaky at the finishing school - to be expected, really, when you’ve grown up in wizarding society and then are then forced to live as a muggle - it still stung that after all these years, she still hadn’t found a friendly face. She was treated as if she were a pariah: it was as if the other girls just knew that something was different about her. But…wasn’t that the great irony of it all? She wasn’t different than them. She was a filthy squib.

When she first arrived at the school, she was an anomaly. A twelve-year-old girl who didn’t know how to play the piano or who the queen was. It was clear to everyone that Eloise wasn’t the charity case of the school - her parents were obviously quite wealthy - and yet they seemingly wanted nothing to do with her. Whereas the others got regular letters and visits from their family, it was as if Eloise were an orphan. Nothing new to her of course, but to her peers this otherness aided them in her ostracization.

Upon entering her room, she was abruptly pulled out of her thoughts. Something wasn’t right. Everything seemed the same: a twin bed perfectly made opposite a small wardrobe, a plain wooden desk placed between them. The weak afternoon sunlight shone through the window, illuminating her desk. But…there.

That…

Placed on her bed, resting on the pillow, was a letter.

She never received letters.

Eloise shoved her embroidery under her bed and hungrily grabbed at it, pausing when she saw the address. Miss E. Babbit. The Third Bedroom on the Left… It seemed vaguely familiar to her in a way she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

As she read the letter, though, it became apparent to her exactly why this was. Although not exactly the same as the one her brother had received six years earlier, it quickly became apparent that this was a Hogwarts letter. For her. For Miss E. Babbit.

Hands shaking, she set the letter down on her desk and sat on the edge of her bed. She smoothed her hands over her skirt over and over, taking comfort in the familiar softness as she tried to even her breathing.

How was this possible? She had all but accepted the fact that she was a squib. The shame of her family, a dirty secret to be hidden away and never talked about or mentioned again. Her parents had suspected as much by the time she had turned seven without any signs of magic whatsoever manifesting around her - not even a basic transformation of brussel sprouts to sweets during dinner. It was ultimately confirmed, however, when her own Hogwarts acceptance letter never arrived. She had spent the whole year before her banishment daydreaming about her life at Hogwarts, still optimistic that there could be something magical inside of her. Her brother, Leo, came home every holiday with wonderful stories of his new friends and teachers, and the subjects he was learning at school. Even back then, at twelve years old, Eloise hadn’t been sure if he was actually hopeful she wasn’t a squib, or if he had been trying to prolong the fantasy for her before it all came crashing down.

Although she had had five years to come to terms with her new life, there was still a small part of her that hoped. A small “what if…”. She had tried time and time again to squash that tiny ray of optimism that would escape every so often, tried so very hard to cultivate a hard exterior that wouldn’t let any sort of vulnerability shine through. And that optimism was a vulnerability, after all. It was that vulnerability that had made it absolutely impossible for her to fit in the muggle world, and made it so that she didn’t really want to try.

Five years to come to terms with the fact that she needed a new purpose for her life and…

…not anymore?

Eloise grabbed the letter and greedily read through it again, drinking in all of the words. She paused at the end, thinking. Was this a forgery? Some sort of awful joke orchestrated by her brother? Leo had never been cruel to her in the past; in fact, he was the one who always encouraged her and was the most probable source of the small optimism that remained within her. However, she had no way of knowing how he had changed since she had last seen him. It had been, after all, five very long years. And not once had she heard from him, even though he had promised her through huge sobbing gulps that he would never abandon her. Maybe their parents had slowly poisoned him against her. It would be right on the nose for them, after all.

Looking at the envelope again, however…Third Bedroom on the Left…no. It was too specific. Nobody in her previous life had any reason to even want to contact her again, and nobody in her current life even knew what Hogwarts was, let alone have the ability to convincingly forge a letter just to have some fun at her expense.

A light, bubbly feeling began to spread throughout her body as it sunk in that this was real. She was going to Hogwarts. Soon, a - squinting at the letter again - a Professor Fig would be contacting her and giving her things to study. A huge grin slowly spread across her face and she hugged the letter to her chest as she fell back on her bed. She read through it again. Was it the fifth time already? It felt as though no amount of times rereading the letter would ever be enough.

Eloise got up and walked over to look at the calendar on her desk. She was surprised to see that September 1st was in only two days. The days at the finishing school moved in such a strange, sluggish way. They all felt the same. Monotonous. French and Latin and embroidery and household management and Merlin even knows what else all blending into each other in an endless parade of dusty classrooms and gossip and boredom.

The light feeling left her in an instant as, after years of practice, the optimism was squashed back down. But how will you even get to London? And, her brain added sneakily, you haven’t even shown any signs of magic. Maybe you’ll just be returned back here after they realize their mistake.

No, she thought fiercely, gripping the letter. Until -

A tapping came from the window. A tentative smile returned at the sight of a tawny brown owl with another envelope in its beak. She ripped it open as soon as it was in her hands (again addressed to Miss E. Babbit) and along with the letter a small, purple pouch fell out of the envelope and onto her bed.

Miss Eloise Babbit,

I am pleased to be the wizard charged with such an important task as escorting you to Hogwarts in two days’ time. It is something extraordinary to be accepted in your fifth-year, and as such, I expect extraordinary things from you. I have enclosed a small pouch along with this envelope, and in it are some items that will be vital to you in the upcoming days. I have included books for you to study at your leisure, and a small gobstone that will bring you to our rendezvous point in London. All you have to do is touch it at noon on the 1st and you will be transported instantly.

Your family has not been informed of your acceptance. I am sure you understand why - at this, Eloise scoffed quietly to herself - which is why I will personally be your escort.

I am looking forward to meeting you and bringing you to the sorting ceremony in two days’ time.

Yours,

Eleazar Fig

The handwriting was tiny and spidery and cramped, but it didn’t stop Eloise from reading it with the same vigor as the previous letter and as many times. Finally, she turned to the small pouch that had fallen onto her bed when she opened the second envelope. It must have had an invisible extension charm, because it was filled to the brim with books on basic spellwork and general wizarding history. Professor Fig had no way of knowing, but Eloise had already read many of these books and many more during the year her brother had started Hogwarts, as she had needed to know absolutely everything about what would be awaiting her. A few years may have passed since she had stepped foot in her family’s library, but she couldn’t get the books or their contents out of her brain even if she had wanted to. She had really wanted to forget everything she knew about the magical world when it was confirmed she was a squib but it was a futile effort. As she zoned out during her piano lessons, she would find herself mentally going through the movements to cast different charms.

It was painful to be thinking about things from the life that had been ripped away from her, to know that what she was thinking about would never come to pass, that she would never be able to wield magic - and yet she couldn’t find herself able to stop.

As Eloise picked out one of the books and settled into her armchair, a steely resolve overcame her.

She would prove that she deserved to be there, and was just as capable as any of they were. She would make her parents regret ever discarding her like she was nothing.

She was worthy. She was capable. And she would prove it.

The morning of September 1st dawned cold and rainy. Absolutely perfect.

Eloise had pretended to be sick the night before, and no one had suspected a thing when she stayed in bed long after all of the other girls had gotten ready and headed to breakfast. As the last of the chattering faded away down the hallway, Eloise finally got out of bed and prepared herself for the day. It was difficult to sit still long enough to braid her hair. Her fingers wouldn’t stop trembling and she had to restart countless times. Finally, she tied the black ribbon at the end into a neat bow and turned to the drawer of her desk to retrieve the small purple pouch she had hidden away.

Everything she deemed important enough to come along with her had already been placed inside: the books from Professor Fig, the hair ribbons gifted to her by her brother many years ago, and some clothing. Nothing else was coming with. She needed the fresh start. Besides, anything else she might need would be supplied, as her acceptance letter had specifically stated that any school supplies would be provided to her.

Waiting the hours before noon came along proved to be more difficult than Eloise had imagined. Time seemed to be moving slower than the molasses that had come with the breakfast sent up to her, the steady patter of the rain becoming a sort of metronome keeping time as she paced back and forth. Wasn’t there anything that could distract her, even for a bit? She glanced at the clock. Only five minutes had passed since the last time. 10.35.

The second hand ticking away in tandem with the sound of rain splashing against her window.

What if this was all a trick? What if she arrived at Hogwarts, and they turned her away because they realized they had made a mistake? After all, why would they admit a sixteen-year-old? Surely she was too old; every other student had started Hogwarts at the age of twelve and had shown signs of magic much earlier than that. She still hadn’t shown any signs of magical capability whatsoever, and didn’t feel any different than she had before receiving the letter. It had to be a fluke.

As her thoughts started veering into the melancholy she was prone to, she shook her head. No. Today was a happy, exciting day. She wasn’t going to squash the optimism down today, not when she needed it most. All of these thoughts she was having were simply that: thoughts. Not reality. Hogwarts never made a mistake, and in all of the history books she had read, she couldn’t recall an instance of someone being turned away at the door. Granted, she had also never heard of someone being admitted so late. But, better to focus on what she did know, which was that she had gotten the letter. It must be right in its assumption that she had magic.

Trying to pass the time was easier said than done. She ended up quizzing herself on all of the charms she had memorized in the books sent by Professor Fig, moving an imaginary wand in the precise movements needed to successfully cast and focusing on her pronunciation. She had studied all of these forms late into both nights she had had the books, and when she would eventually close her eyes to sleep, the wand movements were all she saw.

Eloise was determined that she would receive pity from nobody. Nobody was going to look at her like she was lacking. She had gotten enough of that to last a lifetime, and now that she was given this opportunity she wasn’t about to waste it.

When noon finally struck, Eloise was ready and waiting. She eagerly grabbed the gobstone that was sitting on her desk and felt the familiar tugging sensation in her navel as she was whisked away to London and the beginning of her new life.

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