#anyway for jo and meg cause this is what happens when i ramble in the discord at 2am

[deareddie]

you drew stars around my scars

for @grcywvren and @nymika-arts

buck/eddie, 1.5k

warning: depictions of violence and blood

When Eddie was six years old, he fell off of his bike for the first time.

His knees had hit the pavement hard and fast, scraping themselves raw and stinging with bitter regret at having ever removed the training wheels. He remembers looking down at his previously unblemished skin as the blood ran down his leg and painted it red, and for a moment, being too stunned to even cry as he was forced to face the fact that the world he'd felt so close to conquering as he sailed down the street, pumping those pedals, was not quite as kind and malleable as he'd thought.

It was only a split second, of course, before his juvenile brain had fixated on the much less profound fact that he was hurt and bleeding, and he'd cried for his mother who came rushing out into the street. He remembers the way she fretted -cleaning the dirt and loose stones out of the wound and patching him up carefully, all the while muttering that she really hopes this doesn't leave a mark.

He wonders what that past version of his mother would think of the person standing in the mirror in front of him now, notches all over his skin from all the ways that same harsh world has tried to fight against him since.

He finds himself idly tracing the scar on his wrist as he stares at his reflection, trailing soft fingertips over the rough flesh and remembering the way the bullet had whizzed through the air; cut through the darkness and struck right into the bone. He's curious to know if his mother ever registered the mark. Or if she'd one day become so desensitized to his pain, after years and years of it, that every time he came home with a few new ones she didn't even bat an eye. He wonders how many it took to get to that point.

His hands move next to the white line along his left palm, pale and stark against the rest of his skin. This is one he'd given himself, years ago, trying to cut open a wounded soldier's shirt and slicing his own hand open instead. It bled heavily, running out of the cut in crimson streaks, but he'd barely even registered the pain, bandaging it up quickly and returning to his work. No time to fuss.

Finally, he moves his fingers up to his forearm. To the still-healing cut that he'd acquired on a call just a few weeks ago, when a piece of debris had fallen from the ceiling and ripped through the fabric of his jacket, slicing into him and causing warm blood to trickle down through the sleeve. Hen and Chimney had patched him up easily, and he hadn't thought much of it after that.

There are others; marks all along his body, from cuts and scrapes and wounds from the war, some of which even he can't remember the stories to. It's almost funny, really, in contrast to the way his six-year-old self had sat and stared at his injury, that he's now got such a collection he can hardly differentiate between them.

He supposes he can't blame his mother for becoming familiar with the violence against him when he himself has done the same.

Eddie's not sure how long he stands there, contemplating his past as vague, distant memories fill the back of his mind. But he's broken from his thoughts when the half-open bedroom door swings towards the wall, making room for the man standing in the doorway. He glances at Buck over his shoulder, trying to shake all thoughts of pain from his head and come back to the present.

In an attempt to do so, he asks, "Is Christopher asleep?"

Buck smiles, the upturn of his lips laced with affection. "Out like a light," he says.

Eddie can't help but smile back slightly at the image it creates in his mind. His son, fast asleep just down the hall. Safe in this home, right where he's supposed to be.

"I remember the days when he wouldn't even let you read him a story."

Buck laughs, filling the room with something a bit warmer than the cold swirl of memories that Eddie had been caught up in. "Well, that was before he found out that I can do the funny voices."

"How times have changed," Eddie muses.

"Indeed," Buck hums as he steps further into the room and closes the door behind him, looking pleased at the thought that time has worked kindly in his favour. To bring him closer into this family; to make him a part of it. 

It strikes Eddie, sometimes, just how different his life is from what it was less than a year ago. That just ten months previously, the way Buck is moving to stand behind him in the mirror, curling playful fingers around the hem of his shirt, was nothing more than a distant wish. A desire kept hidden beneath layers of apprehension.

But somewhere along the line, that changed. At a certain point he drew himself out so thin with his longing that everyone could see right through him, until he had no choice but to tear his emotions from where they'd bubbled to the surface and pinned themselves to his sleeve and lay them out bare, before Buck caught a good glimpse of his transparency.

His desperate confessions had been met with Buck's own against his lips, and here he stands now, gazing at the reflection of their joint shape, pressed together to spell out their future in a simple truth; this is their life now, and this is their life for as long as they can keep it safe.

It makes him strangely grateful for everything that came before it. For every scrape and bruise and outpouring of blood that made him who he is; led him to Los Angeles, to the 118, to the person standing behind him. And he knows it's not right to feel thankful for his own pain, but there's a part of him that thinks he wouldn't be him without it.

Buck's fingers move upwards, pulling the t-shirt up and over his head, displaying more and more of that damaged skin as he goes, and Eddie can't help the way his breath catches ever so slightly in his throat when he catches sight of his newest scar.

The mark on his shoulder -still red and raised from where the bullet made its impact, with a matching one on the back from the way it had ripped right through him. Buck's gaze follows his in the mirror and lands in the same spot, concern in his eyes melting into understanding as he recognizes Eddie's train of thought. A small sigh escapes Buck's lips as he remarks, "Almost a year now, huh?"

Eddie nods soundlessly, images of blood and flashing sirens and frantic eyes suddenly filling his mind as he stares at the circle of rough skin. This is one that he could never forget the story to; could never forget the way he fell, the way hot searing pain had rippled through his body, the way Buck had crawled beneath the truck, rushed towards him and-

-touched him. Just like he's doing now. But this time, as Buck's fingertips move up to trace the now-healed wound, there's no pressure to his touch. No desperate fear trying to keep Eddie's life force inside. No, the way he touches him now is almost reverent. Like he too is remembering the day that this was the most sensitive part of Eddie's body, and is now in awe that the skin is still warm beneath his hands, blood pumping through his veins exactly where it's supposed to be.

And here's the thing; Eddie is used to violence. To war and wounds and horrors beyond most people's comprehension. To events that leave a mark in more ways than one. Hell, there was a time when he knew the cacophonous sound of spraying bullets better than he knew his own son's voice.

What he's not used to is this; the gentle caress in the aftermath. The whisper of another person's skin ghosting along the site of impact like it's something fascinating. Something to be worshipped. As though the scar is more than ugly, garish skin; it's a mark of survival, of a life given a second chance.

"You're a wonder, you know," he hears himself say, as Buck tilts his head down to press a kiss to his shoulder.

Buck hums. "I'm just glad you're here, that's all."

Eddie forces back the lump in his throat at the simple adoration lacing the words. Swallows back the emotion threatening to spill from his lips and says, "Me too."

Buck smiles at him in the mirror. Eddie turns in the circle of his arms and presses a kiss to those upturned lips, overwhelmed with gratitude at whatever force had given them the opportunity to have this life together.

Buck's hands move from his shoulder, down to his hands and squeeze as he suggests, "Let's go to bed."

And so they curl up together in the same space they've spent countless nights, completely entwined and secure in each other's embrace. Safe behind these walls, away from all things that hurt and scar.

[agirlwithadreamandapen]

a summer spent apart (jo march x reader)

—2272 words 

Setting off for the March house was usually filled with joy and happiness. This particular journey was drenched in sadness. You were going to tell Jo you weren't going to be spending the summer in Concord. Your mother thought it was a wondrous idea to tell your great aunt that you would spend the summer with her. She also thought it was a great idea to tell you a mere week before you have to leave. 

When your mother told you the news, you nearly lost your mind. Jo and you had so much planned. Picnics in the park, trips to the markets, days at the beach, everything you could possibly dream off. Jo has been talking this summer up so much. She was determined to make this summer the best one you two have spent together yet. Now, all your plans were ruined.

The thought of spending the whole summer with your great aunt was already causing a headache to form. Your mother believed that it would brighten up the old lady's life, and give her something to do. She lives in a huge house down south with no one to fill up the bedrooms besides herself and the occasional guest. You did feel sorry for her in a way but not sorry enough to give up a summer with Jo for a summer with her.

There was no backing out of it now. Your mom signed, sealed, and delivered the letter before ever asking your opinion on the whole matter. That stupid letter is what put you in this dreadful positon, walking over to your loves house to break to news.

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Sitting with Jo in the attic for the past 2 hours has been amazing but you knew you needed to break the news at some point. Putting it off any longer was only going to pain you and her more. You set down the book you were reading and gather as much strength as you possibly can. You clear your throat, causing Jo to look up from her writings.

“Jo, can we talk about something?” Jo sets down her pen, “Of course, anything specific on your mind?” she huffs, pushing herself out of the wooden chair making her way over to the bed. She plops down next to you and grabs your hand.

“I have been trying to find the courage to tell you this but it seems like I just haven't been able to muster up enough.” you squeeze her hand. “Before I say anything else I just want to say, please don't be mad at me. This choice was not my own, and if I could I would reverse it.”

Jo lifts her eyebrow, confusion fills her face. She grabs your other hand, resting them in your lap. “If I’m being honest, you're starting to worry me with all this seemingly sad talk. Hopefully this isn't a breakup speech.”

A smile breaks out across your lips and you shake your head fiercely, “No, no nothing of that sort. I guess I should just come out and say it, I am making it seem pretty dreadful aren't I?” you squeeze her hand again to reassure yourself. “It is a dreadful situation don’t get me wrong but… jeez okay I’m just going to say it. Jo, I can't spend the summer with you.” you look away, not wanting to see her face.

“What? What do you mean you can't spend the summer with me, you live not even a 10 minute walk away.”

“I know, I know. My mother, god you know she can be so infuriating. My mother wrote to my great aunt to inform her I will be spending the summer with her. She didn't even ask me, she just wrote to her without even questioning my opinion on the whole situation.”

“Oh.” Jo lets go of your hands and slowly stands up from the bed. You look up as she begins to walk towards the window, stopping right in front of it. She stares out, one hand on her hip, the other resting on her chin. You rise from your spot and stand still, not sure what to do.

“I’m truly sorry Jo. If I could, you know I would spend the summer here with you. I've already argued with my mom over this all night and into this morning. She's stubborn and won't budge. I have to go, I don't want to but I have to. Please don’t be mad,” you start to make your way over to her. “I know how excited you were for this summer.” you say wrapping your arms around her waist, resting your face against her back. You take in her perfume, it's the one you bought her for her birthday last year. God, you're going to miss this woman.

Jo gently rests her hand on top of yours, “I know. I know you can't do anything about it. I've met your mother, she's a strong headed woman, I admire her for it yet I resent her for it in situations like this. I was just really looking forward to spending time with you.” she turns around and rests her hands on your cheeks. You smile sadly, wrapping your arms around her waist once more.

“I’m going to miss you so much Jo.” tears start to form in your eyes.

“I’m going to miss you too darling.” she whispers before softly pressing your lips together.

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The last two months have gone by surprisingly fast. You were not expecting to have this much fun at your aunts. She shockingly has been quite the partner in crime. You also have gotten extremely close with the neighbors daughter, Eleanor. She was just a year older than you and had so many common interests. You both loved painting, you both adored fashion, and you both hated parties. Although your aunt and her parents did force you two to go to a couple. You won't publicly admit it but you did enjoy them. The only bad thing was not spending your time with Jo.

You found yourself dozing off during the day, dreaming of laying in the meadow with her. You tried not to think of her too much as it saddened you but it was hard not too. You both wrote each other letters everyday, although it wasn't the same as seeing her in person, it was better than nothing at all.

My dear Jo,

Oh how I’ve missed you. I know I tell you this in every letter but my feelings never change. I wish you were here with me and that I could hold you in my arms. I miss the scent of your hair and your beautiful smile. I long to kiss your lips and caress your skin. I keep reminding myself, “Three more weeks and I will be in Jo’s arms.” Nothing eventful has happened since our last correspondence. Eleanor and I spent the day together again. This morning she came over for breakfast, then we gathered our art gear and walked to the park. It's nice having someone to paint with. She understands the struggle of being an artist. I got to paint a lovely lake scene today, my favorite thing to portray. Eleanor actually painted me. It was interesting. It took her a little while to convince me but I finally caved. I wish you could see her paintings, she is quite talented. I admire her a lot. Anyways, I hope you are doing well my love. Hopefully these weeks fly by fast and I can hold you in my arms again soon.

Yours truly,

Y/n

To my darling Y/n,

I have missed you too my love. Do not worry, it’s nice to be reassured you miss me too. I am praying these three weeks speed by quickly. Holding and kissing you is the only thing on my mind these days. I’m glad to hear you are doing well. It's interesting how you spend all your time with this Eleanor. You two seem to be growing quite close. She might understand the struggle of being an artist but you know I can in a way too. You forget artists and writers are not too different. I wish I could see this painting she painted of you. I'm sure you look lovely. Don’t flatter her, she is definitely not as talented as you. I don't even have to see her work to know that. I am doing as well as I can without you. I will be better once you're here again. I love you. Say hi to your great aunt for me.

Eternally yours,

Jo March

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Finally, the summer ended and you are on your way home. The summer flew by faster than expected but you're glad you finally get to go home. And most of all, you're glad you get to see Jo. She promised she would meet you at the train station, as you both are eager to see one another. You try to pass the time by reading but you find yourself too distracted. You end up staring out the window most of the train ride, daydreaming about the weeks to come with Jo.

It feels like an eternity passes before your train finally pulls into the Concord station. You gather your things, pick up your trunk, and head toward the train door. Stepping on to the platform, you begin to set your belongings down. You packed way too many things to begin with and your aunt insisted on sending you home with many new trinkets. You begin to look around, trying to find Jo’s face amongst the crowd. As you’re scanning the area, you feel a pair of arms forcibly wrap themselves around your waist. Jo crashes into you screaming with joy. You manage to turn around and you embrace each other for what feels like hours. She finally pulls away and you get a good look at her. You smile stepping back a bit, not wanting to look suspicious and gather stares.

Jo finally speaks up, “I feel like I have so much to say, but I’m currently speechless. Oh, how I’ve missed you.” She steps forwards and embraces you again. You laugh squeezing her tight once more.

“I’ve missed you too, Jo. I have a lot to tell you too.” you step back again and go to grab your things, signaling that it's time to leave. Jo immediately grabs your trunk and insists on carrying it back to your house. As you're walking home, Jo and you talk about your days so far. She explains how hectic her day has been already. Telling you that Meg’s children painted all over the living room wall and how she had spent all morning covering it.

You finally come upon your house, Jo insists on helping you carry all your things to your room. You stop and briefly greet your parents, explaining in short your time with your great aunt. You convince them to let you spend the rest of the day with Jo.

Jo and you head to the meadow, your favorite spot to sit and talk. Jo practically sits on top of you. She’s barely able to keep her hands off of you. “You know, I haven't asked you much about your summer, I've been rambling on about my day.” Jo says, rubbing your back.

You giggle, “It’s fine, I enjoy hearing you talk.” you squeeze her leg. “I don’t think there is much for me to talk about. I've basically told you everything in my letters.”

“I know but It would be nice to hear you talk about them in person. How about you tell me about that girl you were always hanging out with.” a hint of callousness in her voice.

“Eleanor? She was amazing. We got on well right from the start, and you know how hard that is for me, being shy and all. She's just a really sweet person, very selfless, you know? I promised her I would write to her as often as I can.”

Jo pulls back from you, “Wow, she seems great. I’m glad you got to spend the summer with her.”

You look at her, confused on why she's being so curt. “Is something wrong? Did I say something?”

“Nothing’s wrong. I'm just saying I'm glad you had a good summer with this girl. She sounds like a lot of fun.” Jo remarks.

Realization falls over you, you wrap your leg over her and hoist yourself over her body so you're now straddling her.

“Hey, what are you doing?” Jo struggles underneath you.

You lean in close to her face, “I think someone is jealous.”

Jo acts shocked, “I'm not jealous. I just find it odd the way you speak about her. You're always talking about how amazing she is and how much you admire her.”

“Oh, so you're definitely jealous.” you begin to laugh.

She huffs, rolling you guys over so she's now on top, “For the last time, I’m not jealous. I was just stating my opinion.” she declares.

“Whatever you say.” you giggle. “I mean she was kinda hot.” a smirk escapes your lips.

“Oh shut up!” Jo smacks your chest. “You're just being unfair now.”

“I was just playing, calm down my darling. I could never think of anyone in that way, besides you.”

Jo smiles, “Oh, well I know that. I wouldn't let you leave me for anyone even if you tried.” She leans down and gently places a kiss on your lips. “You're all mine, Y/F/N.”

“And you're all mine, Josephine March.”