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renecdote · 1 year

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ren please my love will u write me "wiping their tears when they cry" for buddie mwah

Also for @abcdefuk-off who requested the same prompt. This got so much longer than planned lol but enjoy the Buck angst <3

[Read on AO3]

Those first few days after waking up, and after leaving the hospital, everything hurts. Buck gets used to a baseline of pain: headaches, muscle aches, healing burns on his hands, fractured ribs, bruised lungs, something vague and unrelenting that coils tight in his stomach. It all ebbs and flows, a tide teetering between low and high, easy enough to ignore sometimes, but never fully gone.

It gets better, as days blur into weeks. One and then two and then three, and after four he’s sitting in Dr Salazar’s office and she’s saying, “You can go back to work as early as next week.”

Buck doesn’t know how to explain the flash of panic that seizes him. The way he wishes she could just tell him that something is wrong, that there is some physical explanation for the way he feels. But all his other doctors say the same thing: there’s nothing wrong with him. His lungs have healed enough for him to go back to work. His hands aren’t even going to scar. There are no blood clots in his leg, no reason it should be hurting at all, except for how it will probably always hurt sometimes.

“But it’s worse,” Buck tries. “It hurts more, and more often, doesn’t that—shouldn’t it mean something is wrong?”

“You’ve been through a trauma,” is all the doctor will say, shrugging behind ultrasound and CT results that all say the same thing: he’s fine.

So why doesn’t Buck feel fine?

Why can’t he just feel fine?

****

He gets through the first shift fine. He’s exhausted at the end of it, a headache knocking behind his temples, but it’s fine. He’s fine. He lets Eddie talk him into going home with him, manages to smile through breakfast with Christopher before crashing hard on the couch, and when he wakes up a few hours later, he’s fine.

The second shift, he doesn’t go home with Eddie. Doesn’t leave the station with a headache, either, which is nice, but he’s left with something restless and itching beneath his skin that makes him want to run until he has forgotten how to breathe.

He goes home instead. Deep cleans his apartment. Heats up frozen lasagne for lunch and eats sitting on the balcony, squinting at the grey edge of the sky and wondering if it’s going to rain.

Come over for dinner? 🥺 Chimney texts around four p.m., and Buck spends several minutes frowning at the message before he sends back a question mark. Chimney sends back a block of the same emoji in response and refuses to elaborate.

Fine, Buck replies. But just for the record I’m sick of eating pot roast.

He’s half expecting it anyway; Maddie isn’t a bad cook, but her repertoire is a bit limited, and Chimney’s even more so. When he arrives at six-thirty on the dot, he’s pleasantly surprised, and then a little suspicious, to find them setting out containers of Thai from one of Buck’s favourite takeout places.

“This isn’t another intervention, is it?” he asks, and he tries to make it sound like a joke, but he’s pretty sure he doesn’t succeed.

“Should it be?” Maddie asks, eyebrows raised.

“No,” Buck answers, matching her raised eyebrows with his own narrowed eyes. “I thought we agreed you couldn’t fix me.”

Chimney fumbles a grease-stained paper bag and two spring rolls make a bid for freedom, rolling across the counter. He snatches them quickly, muttering hot hot hot under his breath as he drops them onto a plate. He doesn’t say, “ah, so there is something that needs fixing,” but he may as well have. Buck steals a spring roll and bites down on it hard, chewing and swallowing even as his eyes water at the burn of too-hot pastry and filling.

Maddie rolls her eyes. “Sometimes dinner is just dinner, Evan. Why don’t you help Chimney set the table? I’m going to get Jee washed up to eat.”

Just dinner would be sitting in his apartment alone with whatever leftovers he dug out of the freezer, but Buck doesn’t argue. He takes the handful of cutlery Chimney offers him and sets it out on the table, Maddie and Chimney side-by-side, Buck opposite them both, plastic cutlery arranged carefully on Jee’s high chair at the head of the table. It’s hard to feel anything but warm inside when handling toddler cutlery, which was probably Maddie’s goal all along.

It spreads through him while they eat: warmth soaking into aching muscles, loosening the tension in his spine, helping him breathe a little bit easier. They don’t ask him if he’s okay and at some point he stops expecting them to. It’s like the moment after a jump scare in a movie, when all the tension that has been building snaps, the door pushed open to reveal a cat or a squawking bird where you expected to find a killer, adrenaline draining away to leave you loose and giggly. Buck stretches out his legs under the table and he can almost trick himself into believing that the twinge of pain is just in his head.

After dinner is over—plates and cutlery packed into the dishwasher, leftover Thai in the fridge—he helps Maddie give Jee a bath and put her to bed. It’s good. Normal. From the moment the tap turns on until Jee’s bedroom light is turned off, he feels like he can breathe. Like he might be okay.

Which. That was probably Maddie’s goal all along.

“You can stay,” Chimney offers when they’re back out in the kitchen. “The guest room has a proper bed and everything now.”

Buck smiles, appreciating the offer. “Nah, I should get home. Thanks though. For dinner and…”

A gesture, vague and all-encompassing. Chimney shrugs it away.

“Anytime,” he says, and Buck knows he means it. He could show up here at three in the morning and he wouldn’t be turned away. “See you at work tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” Buck agrees. “See you at work.”

Maddie follows him to the door and hugs him tightly before he steps outside.

“Drive safe,” she says against his shoulder, words cast like a spell. “Text me when you get home.”

It’s the kind of thing she has said to Buck all his life. He used to roll his eyes good naturedly, grumble through a yeah, okay , and he’d still speed through yellow lights but he’d always feel a little more guilty about it with Maddie’s words in the back of his mind.

Tonight he just squeezes her again and promises, “I will.”

He slows down for every yellow light on the way home.

****

It’s not so bad at first: a dull ache, deep enough in his leg that he can almost ignore it. He’s getting pretty good at that, with the way it feels like the pain is always there these days, lurking, waiting to pounce. Buck avoids looking at it head-on for as long as he can, like it’s a monster in the dark that he can keep away by pulling a blanket over his head.

So it doesn’t sneak up on him, really, but it still takes his breath away when the pain corkscrews through his leg, suddenly sharp and biting. Buck stumbles, catching himself on the engine, choking back a curse that becomes a strangled wheeze. His first thought— fuck, ow ow ow —is followed quickly by a second: thank god everyone else is already in the engine .

“Buck?” Bobby calls, head sticking out through the front window. “You coming?”

Buck gives him a thumbs up, words trapped behind tightly clenched teeth. Climbing into the engine is hell, his leg pulsing with every step up, and he curls his hands into fists to hide the way they’re shaking after this seatbelt has been clipped into place. It was a long call, the kind that leaves everyone tired and not in the mood to talk, and Buck is absurdly grateful for it because it means nobody is paying too much attention to him. Nobody sees the wince he can’t hide when the truck jolts over a pothole, or the way he has to brace himself before jumping out when they’re back at the station.

There’s a bottle of Tylenol that lives in his work bag and he goes straight for it after he gets his turnout gear off. Everyone else has already drifted towards the bunks, but Buck tries not to limp as he walks up the stairs anyway. It feels too much like giving in. Like letting his leg and that bomber kid and the whole fucking universe win.

He tries to pace, tries to shake the cramp out by moving, but every step is like a knife through his ankle, his knee, shooting up through his hip to grip his chest in a vice as well. Buck makes it three limping circuits around the loft before he gives up and collapses on the couch. He folds over, head against his right knee, left leg stretched out while he digs his fingers into the long-healed muscles and wishes the pain would go away.

A stress headache is setting in now too, the kind that feels like his head is in a vice, the pain squeezing and squeezing and squeezing. Buck takes a shaky breath, then another, then another, trying to figure out whether he feels sick, or if it’s just the same coiling tension in his stomach that he’s been dealing with for weeks.

“Hey.”

He flinches, startled, and Eddie moves closer with a frown.

“Buck? You okay?” he asks, sounding like he’s already halfway convinced that he answer is no . Which it is, but.

Buck swallows. “Yeah, just—my leg. ‘M okay.”

Eddie hums, an I’ll be the judge of that kind of sound, and he perches on the edge of the coffee table, so close that their legs have no choice but to touch. “Can I…?”

There’s a half-hysterical thought in the back of Buck’s head that his leg will fall apart if he lets it go. The pain will tear through flesh and bones and leave nothing but broken, jagged pieces behind. Blood and sinew and useless muscle hanging off splintered pieces of bone. The thought of it makes him sick and he has to swallow hard against the nausea before he can make his fingers loosen their hold. It gets him a smile, quick and gentle, like Eddie knows the mental battle it took.

“Okay,” he says, easy and soft. “Do you want to lie down?”

Buck shakes his head. Even if he’s lying on his back, even if it’s the couch in the station instead of the rough asphalt of the street, his edges are too frayed right now for it to feel like anything other than being back there under the truck. He stretches his leg out in front of him instead, hands curled into tight fists while Eddie does his exam, quick but thorough.

“I don’t see anything concerning,” he judges, and Buck shouldn’t mourn the touch of his hands but he does. “No redness or swelling… is it just the pain?”

“Yeah,” Buck manages, too shaky. He doesn’t need to explain because Eddie knows more than most what it’s like when an injury heals but doesn’t ever fully let you go.

“Alright.” Hand on his knee for a second, two seconds, warmth lingering even after it’s gone. “Heat or ice?”

Buck shakes his head because—he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know if anything will help.

“Okay,” Eddie takes his non-answer in stride, “we’ll try heat first, then switch if it isn’t working.”

It doesn’t take long to grab a couple of heating pads from the first aid cupboard, nor to pull the coffee table a bit closer so Buck can put his feet up on it without having to stretch. Hen would smack him if she saw him doing it, but he’s pretty sure Eddie would defend him. His only other option is stretching out on the couch and—no. Not tonight.

“Here, drink this,” holding out a glass until Buck takes it. “It’ll help.”

It’s only half full, which is good because Buck’s hands shake when he holds it. He still feels vaguely sick, but he chokes down a few sips anyway, clinging to the way Eddie smiles at him when he does.

“Better?” he checks, adjusting one of the heating pads that had started to slip off Buck’s knee.

Buck wants to say yes. He wants to say yeah, all good now, thanks for your help but you don’t need to stay . He wants to rewind time and never get in the front seat of the truck. He wants to rewind time and wait just a few minutes before climbing up that ladder so the lightning doesn’t hit him. He wants and wants and wants. He’s spent his whole life wanting—his parents to love him, somewhere to belong, to be useful and good and happy —and even now that he has so much, he still fucking wants.

Buck bites his lip through the sting of frustrated tears, determined not to cry.

“It’s been, um, worse. Lately. Since the lightning strike.”

Eddie frowns. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Buck shrugs, as if he doesn’t know the answer. As if the words aren’t right there on the tip of his tongue: I didn’t want anyone to worry .

“No,” Eddie says, gentle and a little bit—sad, almost, but trying not to be. It’s like he can read the words spinning through Buck’s mind. “Why didn’t you say anything to me?”

Because Eddie isn’t anyone . He hasn’t been for a long time. Buck rubs a hand over his face, then picks at a loose thread on his knee, avoiding Eddie’s eyes.

“Are you going to tell Bobby?” he asks.

“You don’t want me to,” Eddie says, not a question. Buck shakes his head anyway. “Because you don’t want him to worry? Or because you don’t want to be benched for the rest of shift?”

The simple answer is both . That’s the answer Buck is supposed to give. It’s what Eddie is expecting to hear. But the truth is that Buck died, and nobody will let him forget it, and he still doesn’t know how he really feels about it.

That coil in his stomach tightens, dread clogging his veins. A traitorous, frustrated tear slips out and Buck squeezes his eyes shut. He makes a belated movement to wipe it away, but Eddie’s hand is already there, the curl of his fingers warm under Buck’s chin and his thumb warmer still as it swipes gently across his cheek. It’s that, Buck thinks, more than the pain and the frustration, that makes the next two tears slip out.

“I won’t tell Bobby,” Eddie promises him, the absence of his touch burning like frostbite when he pulls his hands away. “But I’m going on record saying that I think you should.”

“I can still do my job,” Buck mutters, sinking into his corner of the couch. It’s the easiest excuse to hide behind. It’s even mostly true: he can do his job, even if adrenaline and determination are the only things that get him through.

Eddie rolls his eyes. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

Buck wilts. He does know. And he doesn’t want to argue with Eddie. It’s always so much easier to be angry, to burn hot and fast and deal with the fallout later, but whenever he reaches for the flames these days, whenever he thinks it’s not fucking fair , all he feels is tired. Bone deep, achingly tired.

You’ve been through a trauma , people keep telling him, but Buck has been through traumas before and they’ve never left him feeling quite like this.

“Fine,” he sighs. “I’ll tell Bobby if it becomes a problem.”

If it comes down to other people’s lives, he would have done it anyway. He’s not stupid; he’s not going to risk anyone else.

Eddie nods, satisfied. He takes the glass of water from Buck’s hands and sets it on the coffee table, out of the way, then settles into the couch at his side. There’s enough space that they don’t need to be touching, but they end up pressed together from thigh to shoulder anyway.

“Do you think you can sleep?” Eddie asks.

Buck shrugs, but he’s pretty sure the answer is no. He’s pretty sure that Eddie knows it too.

“Alright,” he says, reaching for the remote. “But it’s my turn to pick what we watch.”

It’s not, but Buck doesn’t fight him on it. He doesn’t care what they watch, doesn’t think he could focus on it right now anyway. He closes his eyes, letting the sound of some late-night soap rerun fade into background noise, and waits for the pain to fade with it.

****

Buck doesn’t sleep, but he drifts, sinking down to something close enough to sleep that it can almost be called rest. His leg doesn’t hurt as much anymore, the weight of the heating pads over his knee and ankle as much of a relief as the heat itself. He’s not sure what time it is when footsteps on the stairs make him tense, threatening to undo all the hard work that Eddie and the heating pad have done to relax his muscles. The only thing that keeps him still is the hand Eddie puts on his thigh, warm and grounding. He squeezes gently— relax, you’re okay, I’ve got you —then stands up, meeting Bobby in the kitchen with an easy, “Hey, Cap, you want some coffee?”

Buck relaxes, listening to the familiar sound of people moving around the station kitchen: mugs clinking, the coffee machine gurgling, the slightest squeak of boots on the floor as Bobby and Eddie move around each other. It’s so familiar and soothing that he’s almost back in that state of not-quite-resting, drifting through the currents at the edge of the room, when he hears Bobby ask, “He okay?”

It’s right there in his voice: worry worry worry . Buck bites the inside of his cheek hard enough that he tastes blood, sudden and metallic. It stops his heart in his chest for a beat, two beats, and he has to breathe carefully through the swell of memory and nausea until the taste of blood and bile have both been swallowed down.

“Yeah,” Eddie is answering behind him, and that helps too, “just a leg cramp, he’s okay.”

Buck doesn’t get to find out what Bobby’s response to that is—the alarm rings and he’s on his feet before it’s a conscious thought. Before he stops, one hand on the bannister going down the stairs, and wonders whether he should actually stay behind. Whether Bobby will make him stay behind.

He hesitates too long. Long enough that everyone else is already climbing into the truck and Bobby is looking back at him from the app bay, eyebrows raised.

“You coming, kid?”

Buck shakes himself and follows. He can still do his job.

****

The fire burns hot and fast, two townhouses already alight when they join the 122 on scene, a third just starting to go up as well.

“Shit,” Chimney mutters, and Buck feels it in his bones: people are going to die tonight. People are probably already dead, just waiting for someone to pull their bodies out.

“Buck—” Eddie starts, low and close, fingers twisted in his sleeve, and Buck doesn’t know what he’s going to say but—

“Not now,” he says, shaking Eddie off.

Eddie lets him go.

Buck tells himself that he’s grateful for it, even as his leg throbs in protest. He’s fine, he reminds himself. He’s fine, he can still do his job.

And he does. He lets the smoke and the flames numb him, sinking into the routine: check room after room after room, pull out body after body after body. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. Don’t think.

He’s limping by the time they clear the buildings. The pain isn’t as bad as it was before, but it’s deep and persistent, the kind of always there pain he got used to feeling in the weeks after the ladder truck crushed him. Buck sees a life stretching out before him where it never goes away: he’ll wake up hurting every morning, go to sleep hurting every night, probably have to quit his job because he’s always, always hurting.

He feels sick. Thinks he might actually be sick, stuck on a roller coaster he doesn’t know how to get off, and he leans shakily against the engine, pressing his forehead against the cool metal while he tries to breathe the feeling away.

Bobby finds him there.

Of course Bobby finds him there.

“Here,” he says, and his hand is a steady pressure between Buck’s shoulder blades until he turns his head, blinking past the red of the engine to find a water bottle being held out. Bobby shakes it a little when Buck doesn’t immediately reach to take it. “Come on, Buck, you know the drill.”

Buck wonders which drill that is. The stay hydrated when fighting fires one, or the don’t disobey orders one, or maybe the let people take care of you one. It doesn’t really matter, he supposes, the answer is all the same. He grabs the water bottle from Bobby’s hand. Fumbles it open and takes a few sips.

“Sit,” Bobby suggests, hand still on Buck’s back, gently guiding him the few limping steps until he can sit on the front of the engine. The scene is still bustling around them, firefighters moving like moths around the flames, but Bobby seems content just to stand beside Buck, watching silently.

Buck lasts five minutes before he breaks.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?” he asks, exhausted down his marrow.

“About your leg?” Bobby doesn’t pretend not to know what he’s talking about and Buck is grateful for it. “I figured you’d come to me if something needed saying.”

Buck swallows.

Swallows again.

He’s pretty sure they’ve reached the point where something needs saying, but he has no idea where to start. I’m sorry , maybe. I swear the doctor cleared me , probably. The words all feel frothy on his tongue, taking up more room than they should, and he opens his mouth without really knowing which ones he’s going to say and—

“I’m scared.”

It’s a whisper. A confession meant for the dark safety of night, spilled out here in the burning daylight of a new day like oil on the road. The sun glints off it like a beacon: here! look, beware, there is danger here! Buck wants to scoop the words back up, shove them deep inside his chest, lock them up where he’s the only one who might choke on them. He wants to find a smile, or a joke, anything that he can tape over the moment to wipe the look of quiet concern off Bobby’s face. He wants to pretend that he’s fine because maybe if he pretends hard enough it will become true.

“I don’t even know why I’m scared,” he finds himself confessing anyway. “I don’t know why my leg hurts, or how to make it stop, or—”

or if I’ll ever feel normal again

There’s a flash of memory—Eddie crying at the dining table, Eddie’s room destroyed, Eddie’s door locked, Eddie dying in the street—so sudden and visceral that Buck flinches away from it. His breath stutters, and his leg throbs sharply, and it’s all so much that he almost flinches when Bobby puts a hand on his shoulder as well.

“I’m not going to pretend that I have all the answers,” Bobby says, as warm and steady as his hand. His lips twist into something wry for a second as he adds, “Or any of them.” Buck doesn’t smile, even though he thinks he’s supposed to. “But I’m always here if you want to talk, or even if you don’t.”

Bobby breakfasts . It’s not a secret at the firehouse, but it’s always talked about in low tones, the same way you’d whisper about something sacred. They’ve all had one at some point: a quiet invitation at the end of a hard shift, “we don’t have to talk if you don’t want to,” then the comforting bustle of a café with good coffee and eggs cooked any way you want them. Buck remembers sitting in that café three days after Eddie got shot, the taste of blood still in his mouth and his stomach too messed up to even think about eating, sipping camomile tea while Bobby ate a bagel and did the crossword in an honest to god newspaper beside him.

He remembers wondering where the newspaper even came from. Remembers the flash of fear at the realisation that he’d lost time somewhere between the firehouse and the café. Remembers his hands shaking around his teacup, china rattling as he set it back in the saucer, and Bobby’s knees bumping against his even though the table was big enough that they shouldn’t have.

He remembers that it helped, even if he didn’t really know it at the time.

“Captain Nash!” someone calls, and it’s like a bucket of ice water over Buck’s head.

Bobby glances behind him, towards the IC who called his name, then back at Buck, his reluctance clear on his face.

“Go,” Buck tells him, hugging himself. “I’m okay.”

Bobby still hesitates, long enough that the IC calls his name again, and Buck tries for a smile that is probably more like a grimace by the time it reaches his lips. It gets Bobby moving though. Gets him to nod, once, and squeeze Buck’s shoulder again before he turns with a parting, “I’ll send Eddie over.”

Buck opens his mouth, halfway to a protest, but Bobby is already striding away. He should be annoyed, he thinks; he doesn’t need a babysitter. But instead he’s just kind of grateful as he sinks back against the engine, knowing he won’t be alone for long.

****

The shift is over by the time they get back to the station, but Buck still finds Bobby in his office. The door is open, but he knocks anyway, leaning heavily against the doorframe because he thinks his leg might collapse under him if he has to take one more step.

“I can’t,” he says, when Bobby looks up at him. “Talk about it. Not yet.”

Not with Bobby, at least. Not until he can find a way to say I’m not okay without also saying you died, you know? in my coma dream, you died because I wasn’t there to help save you, and I don’t know what to do with that because sometimes I feel like I can save everyone except myself .

“Okay,” Bobby says easily. “Would you like to have breakfast anyway? We don’t have to talk.”

Buck smiles, tired but real. “I appreciate the offer, Cap, but—maybe a rain check?”

Bobby’s face is a silent ah . “You’re going home with Eddie.”

It’s not a question. Buck nods anyway. If he turned his head just slightly, he’d be able to see Eddie hovering by the engine, both their bags slung over his shoulder, waiting for Buck to be ready to go. Waiting to jump in if he’s needed too, knowing Eddie.

“Good,” Bobby smiles, and Buck knows it means he’ll take care of you . “If you need anything, let me know.”

“I will.”

Bobby nods, satisfied, then looks back down at his paperwork. “I’ll see you next shift, Buck.”

Buck bites the inside of his cheek so he doesn’t do something embarrassing like burst into tears. He has to breathe through the sudden lump in his throat a couple of times before he can say, “Thanks, Cap. See you next shift.”

He turns carefully, weight balanced on his good leg, and limps out towards the parking lot. It only takes a few seconds for Eddie to fall into step beside him, their shoulders bumping gently.

“Okay?” he checks, brown eyes warm and serious on Buck’s face.

Buck smiles; still tired, still pained, but still real.

“Yeah,” he answers. “All good.”

And it’s not really. Not fully. But—

“It will be,” Eddie agrees, smiling back.

It will be .

Yeah.

Yeah, Buck thinks, he’s gonna be okay. His family will make sure of it.

#Evan Buckley #Eddie Diaz #Maddie Buckley #Chimney Han #Bobby Nash #911 Fox #fic #post lightning buck is something that can be so personal

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canirove · 1 year

Text

Kylian Mbappé Imagine | three

Little summary: This Wattpad request asked for something with Kylian where you've had an argument, and you accidentally hurt yourself after. But it isn't a serious injury, anyone can read it. Hope you like it and thank you for reading! ☺️💜

Masterlist

"No."

"But..."

"I said no."

"What if I find an acoustic version? That would be nice, right?"

"Kylian, what part of I'm not walking down the aisle to "Despacito" did you not understand?"

"But it is our song! The one that was playing when we first kissed!"

"It isn't our song."

"That One Direction one you like isn't it either."

"It is better."

"It is boring."

"That's what you say."

"Yeah, and everything I say is wrong" he scoffs, rolling his eyes. "You haven't liked any of the things I've suggested for the wedding, you know? Nothing."

"That's because all your ideas are tacky."

"They aren't."

"They are, Kylian. They are."

"Then maybe we shouldn't get married. It's like you don't want to, always saying no to everything" he shrugs.

"What? Of course I want to marry you!"

"Then let me do something!"

"I'm letting you!"

"No, you're not! You are doing it all. You even chose my suit!"

"Because you wanted to wear a white one, and that's tacky as hell!"

"It wasn't tacky. It was really cool."

"I beg to differ."

"Whatever" he says, parking the car.

"Yeah, whatever" I reply, opening the door and getting out.

"What about having one of those photocall things where people pose with emojis and things like that?" Kylian asks as we walk towards the house.

"Those are ridiculous."

"See? Another thing I suggest that you don't like!"

"I'm sorry, ok?" I say, turning around to look at him. Though I do it way too fast, and I trip with the step at our door.

"Careful!" he says, trying to catch me. But he is too slow, and I end up falling. "Are you ok?"

"No!"

"Are you crying or laughing?" he asks while kneeling next to me.

"Both."

"What?" Kylian chuckles.

"I'm pretty sure I fell like they do in movies, I must have looked ridiculous."

"Nah..."

"And I think I've broken my butt."

"Wait what?" he says, going from trying to not laugh to looking worried.

"It hurts."

"Come, let's go inside" he says, helping me get up.

Once inside the house, Kylian moves all the cushions to one sofa, making me lay facing down on them.

"Comfortable?"

"Yeah. Thank you."

"You're welcome. Now let's see if you've broken that pretty bum of yours" he says, lifting my sweatshirt.

"Careful" I hiss when he touches my low back. "How does it look?"

"You are already brushing. I'm gonna call Pierre."

"Pierre? Why?"

"He's a doctor, isn't he? I'm sure he can come and check you, he should be home by now."

"He's a physio, Kylian."

"Even better" he smiles.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

"It's just a big contusion. You'll be sore for a couple of days, but you should be fine."

"Thank you, Pierre."

"Yeah, thank you" Kylian says. "Let me walk you out."

"There's no need, I know my way out. Just take care, ok?" he says to me.

"I will" I smile.

"Well..." Kylian says once Pierre has left, sitting next to me. "Looks like we'll have to take a break from all the wedding planning for a while and play doctors instead."

"It'll probably be for the best. I'm sorry, tho."

"About what? Being clumsy?" he says with a teasing smile while fluffing a pillow so I can sit up.

"Ha ha" I reply, rolling my eyes. "I'm sorry about the way I've been treating you. I hate arguing about stupid things like the shape of a table or if we want red or white roses."

"It's ok, don't worry" he says, putting an arm around my shoulders.

"This is supposed to be a day to celebrate our love, isn't it? Why does it have to be so complicated? Why can't it be like the day we got engaged? It was so simple, just you and I looking at the sunset from the pool in that Italian villa..." I sigh.

"Maybe it can be that simple."

"What do you... Ouch" I complain as I move to look at him. "What do you mean?"

"Let's elope."

"Elope?"

"Yeah. Let's go back to the villa. We can call the priest from the town nearby, and get married next to the pool while the sun sets."

"That sounds... That actually sounds perfect. But won't we be needing some witnesses or something so it is legal?"

"We can ask our families to come with us and spend a weekend there, eating and celebrating what truly matters."

"Which is?"

"Us. Our love" he says, caressing my cheek.

"Let's do it, then. Let's elope" I smile.

"You sure?"

"100%. But first I need to recover from almost breaking my butt."

"Ok" Kylian laughs. "I love you."

"I love... Ouch" I complain again as I move to kiss him.

"Careful" he chuckles.

"I love you too" I say, finally finding a comfortable position and kissing him.

#kylian mbappe #kylian mbappe x reader #kylian mbappe imagine #football imagine #football fanfic

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fortheloveofwonderland · 2 years

Note

☁️👅🎓⛴😵‍💫💦 😮‍💨 and maybe virgin!spence

ILY and your fics are 😍

Hello my dear! I hope this was the kind of thing you were looking for! I think this is the first I’ve written virgin! Spencer without virgin reader so I hope you enjoy! Kind of very soft Dom reader.

Spencer would have been like 14 in college so this is during one of his PhD’s (I imagine he is 21 while reader is 18 ish) Minors DNI.

Send me emojis for my milestone celebration and I’ll write you a blurb.

🎓college AU

⛴ Sub! Spencer

😵‍💫 over stim

💦 cum play

😮‍💨 breath play

Summary - one tiny taste has Spencer Reid worshipping at the altar of you.

CW - swearing, meet awkwards, virgin! Spencer, sub! Spencer, Spencer’s a little quick on the draw, breath play, use of “good boy”, cum play, over stim, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, oral sex (fem), fingering

Word Count - 3.5k

Milestone Blurbs Masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Worship

Not my gif

Fluff and smut - virgin Spencer

🎓college AU

⛴ Sub! Spencer

😵‍💫 over stim

💦 cum play

😮‍💨 breath play

Riding his bike through campus and listening to the crunch of fall leaves under his tires, Spencer Reid found himself smiling.

He was just a few weeks away from completing his third PhD in Engineering and once that was through he planned to move to DC and work for the sought after Jason Gideon at the BAU.

Life wasn’t perfect, far from it. His mom wasn’t doing so well and he worried what her fate might be when he left Las Vegas behind him for the east coast.

But this was a job of a lifetime and there was no way he could let it slip through his fingers. His mom would understand. Or more likely, his mom wouldn’t even notice his absence.

He focused his mind on the sound of the leaves crunching beneath his bike, a small commodity that made Spencer inconceivably happy.

He loved fall. He loved to watch the change in nature as it rolled in and the trees darkened before wilting, their leaves spiralling down to the ground to make way for new sprouts.

There was something hopeful this time of year. Spencer never quite knew what it was but fall excited him.

He was so hyper focused on the crackling of leaves he didn’t notice someone step into his path until he was imminently about to hit them.

He panicked and swerved the bike straight into a bench. The bench and bike collided and Spencer was thrown over the handlebars into a pile on the grass.

“Ouch.” He moaned, rubbing the back of his head wishing he hadn’t foregone a helmet this morning.

He pushed himself into a sitting position, brushing the grass stains off his jeans.

When he looked up, a curious set of eyes were looking back at him.

“You ok?” You were leant up against a nearby tree, a book open in your lap.

Spencer blinked a few times.

“Uh yeah.” He croaked, feeling his cheeks flush a dark crimson.

Spencer felt like a complete idiot. Of all the people he could have taken a tumble in front of, it had to be the girl he’d been crushing on all year.

He’d never spoken to you, never dared to. You were so beautiful he wouldn’t even know what to say to you.

You pushed yourself to your feet and came over, picking up some errant books that had fallen out of his bag before holding your hand out for him.

Spencer chewed on his lip and politely took your hand, letting you help him to his feet.

“Testing some kind of gravitational pull theory?” You smirked at him, handing him the books.

“Something like that.” Spencer picked up his bag and stuffed the books back inside.

“You’re the kid doing the PhD right?” You smiled at him and Spencer felt his knees practically give way.

He’d argue that he wasn’t a kid, he was twenty one, older than you, but instead he shrugged.

“I guess.”

“You must be some kind of genius to be doing a PhD at your age.” You nudged him in the arm.

“It’s actually my third doctorate.” His cheeks burned at his admittance.

“No shit.” Your eyes widened. “I’ll be lucky to make it through my bachelors.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

You shrugged and waved a dismissive hand.

“I’m Y/N by the way.” You smiled at him and Spencer felt like all the stars aligned at that moment.

“Spencer.” He scuffed his toe awkwardly in the grass.

“Are you going to the party tonight Spencer?”

“P-party?” Spencer did not get invited to parties.

He also didn’t get spoken to by pretty girls, so maybe his luck was changing on all accounts.

“Yeah, you should come.” Your eyes sparkled and Spencer didn’t think it was possible to say no to you.

“O-ok.” He nodded.

“It’s at the girls' dorms, fourth floor. Hopefully I’ll see you there.” You gave him one last bright smile before turning on your heels and sauntering away.

Spencer watched you go in complete awe of what had just happened.

Had he hit his head so hard he’d imagined that? Surely there was no way you had just invited him to a party?

But on the off chance this had been real, he was most certainly going to go.

***

It was hard to say exactly what had happened between Spencer turning up at that party and now sitting on your bed in your dorm room.

He hadn’t been drinking so that didn’t explain it. Maybe he’d hit his head harder than he’d realised.

Or maybe you were so electrifying he lost all concept of time around you?

One minute he’d been talking to you, having to yell to be heard over the music and the next you’d taken his hand and were running down several flights of stairs.

He wasn’t exactly well versed in these kinds of things but he was sure there was only one reason a girl would invite him back to her dorm room.

And that both excited and terrified him.

“Did you have fun tonight, Spencer?” You sat down next to him on the bed and he swallowed.

“Uh…yeah.” He could smell your perfume and he felt a heat rising in his chest at the close proximity he found himself in with you.

“Do you want to have some more fun?” Your lip turned up at the corner and you leant in close to him.

Spencer closed his eyes as he felt your breath on his face. One of your hands cupped his cheek and just as your lips were about to graze his he whimpered, “I’m a virgin!”

Just like that.

You suddenly sat back and stared at him wide eyed.

“Oh.” Your demeanour switched in an instant, shuffling back a little. “Oh.”

Spencer slapped his palm to his face wishing a hole would open in your floor so he could just disappear.

“That was a really unsexy thing to say, huh?”

You surprised him when you chuckled a little and he removed his hand from his face so he could look at you.

“I mean, the timing was weird.” You smiled at him. “But uh…good to know I suppose.”

“Do you want me to leave? I should probably leave.” Spencer went to push himself up but you stilled him with your hand on his thigh.

“Why would I want you to leave?” You frowned curiously at him, keeping your hand on his thigh.

Your touch alone was enough to make his crotch twitch.

“I just…I figured…”

Your hand moved a little higher up his thigh and Spencer lost his trail of thought. Clearly you could see the effect you were having on him as you smirked.

“Are you waiting for, like, a reason? Religious affiliations? The one?”

“No.” He shook his head, swallowing a large lump in his throat.

“So you’re not opposed to…losing your virginity?” Your hand got higher still and you must be able to feel he was completely standing to attention now.

“Not in the least.��

“Well then, I certainly don’t want you to leave.”

With that Spencer found himself being shoved back to the bed and you quickly climbed on top of him and fixed your lips together.

He gasped at the feeling, allowing you the chance to slide your tongue in his mouth.

You held his face in your hands while Spencer kept his hands awkwardly at his sides.

He really didn’t know what to do. He’d watched porn, sure, but he didn’t have any practical experience in this field.

So he let you take the lead. He was powerless to do anything but.

You kissed him deeply, grinding against him causing him to moan into your mouth. Even fully dressed this was the closest he’d ever come to someone touching his cock.

When you sat back, he whimpered a little at your lack of touch but was grateful for the chance to breathe.

You looked down on him with a smirk as you quickly pulled your t-shirt over your head and tossed it to the floor.

Spencer blushed instantly at the sight of you in your bra and averted his gaze.

You laughed softly, cupping his jaw and turning his head back to look at you.

“You can look at me, Spencer. Even touch me.” You told him, as his arms were still plastered at his sides.

“Oh. Ok.” He rolled his bottom lip between his teeth but he didn’t move.

“You do want this, don’t you?” You suddenly frowned.

“What? Of course I do! I most decidedly want this Y/N, trust me. It’s just…very new territory for me.” His blush deepened.

“I find that hard to believe. You’re so…beautiful.”

“I was a twelve year child prodigy in a Las Vegas public school. Girls did not look at me.” He sighed.

“Well I’m looking at you. And I like what I see. But I want to see more of it.” You grabbed the hem of his shirt and he arched his back to help you rid him of the offending item.

It joined your shirt on the floor and he blushed once again while you looked him up and down.

He was painfully skinny, surely that wouldn’t be appealing to you?

But the way you were looking down on him, biting heavily on your lip and your eyes so dark they were practically black, told him otherwise.

You let your fingers run down his torso, your touch featherlight and leaving goosebumps behind in your wake.

Spencer let out a shaky breath at the sensation of someone touching him this way. He was so hard it hurt and he worried that he may come way too soon.

You placed your hands flush on his chest and bowed your head to his ear.

You nibbled a little on the lobe as you whispered, “take my bra off, Spencer.”

He whimpered pathetically and slowly raised his hands for the first time. He cautiously ran his hands over your back and up towards your bra clasp.

He was so nervous his hands shook violently and he fumbled with the clasp. It took longer than he was proud of to finally get it undone.

You rewarded him with a few kisses on his neck before you sat back and pulled the garment off your body.

Spencer moaned at the sight of your beautiful breasts and an animalistic urge took over and he instantly raised his hands and palmed them.

You smiled at him, giving him an encouraging nod as he started kneading them in his large hands.

“That’s it baby, just like that.” You praised him.

He bucked his hips, relishing the praise and he dared to tweak your nipples between his slender fingers.

You gasped, rolling down against him and making him whimper.

You could tell by his flushed face and heavy pants that he was probably already close. You didn’t want to embarrass him by having him come in his pants.

You surprised him when you pulled away from him, jumping up and standing over him. His eyes were heavy and full of lust and confusion.

“W-what are you doing?”

“Get your pants off.” You demanded, working the button of your own and sliding them down your hips.

Spencer whimpered again, staring at the black lace panties you wore under your jeans.

“I said, pants off.” You spoke sternly and Spencer nodded dumbly as he fumbled with his own buttons.

Once you removed your panties Spencer could barely breathe let alone think. He tried to focus on getting his own pants off but the sight of you was dizzying.

You chuckled a little and decided to help him, tugging the last remaining article of clothing down his legs and tossing them away.

His cheeks were redder than ever now he lay completely naked in front of you. But once again, you looked more than pleased by what you saw.

“So pretty.” You cooed as you climbed back on top of him.

Spencer gasped loudly when your wet pussy rubbed over his shaft and his teeth sank into his bottom lip.

“F-fuck.” He stuttered.

You smiled at him, he was truly so adorable.

You bowed your head and plunged your tongue inside of his mouth again, gliding over his cock a few times to tease him.

Whilst you kissed him, you took hold of one of his wrists and guided it between your legs, pressing his index finger against your clit.

You both moaned in unison into each other’s mouths.

You let go of his wrist hoping he could continue on his own. Thankfully he did.

He rubbed the pad of his finger in little circles on your clit, absolutely mesmerised by how fucking wet you were.

His cock was throbbing beneath you and he really wondered how long he could hold out for. And when your small hand wrapped around the base of his shaft he all but screamed.

“Jesus.” He mumbled as you tore your lips away from his.

You smirked at him as you brought your hand up the length of his cock, swiped your thumb over the head to collect his precome and then descended again.

Spencer was shaking beneath you, still trying to make you feel good with his fingers but he couldn’t think straight.

The only person to ever touch his cock was himself. And it never felt anywhere near this good.

He had tears pricking at the corners of his eyes and his breath was ragged. You knew he wouldn’t possibly last much longer.

With one more stroke of his dick, you let him go and gently guided his hand away from its place between your legs.

“Are you ready?” You smiled down on him, kneeling up a little.

“I-I think so.” He nodded.

“Don’t you worry about anything, ok? I’m going to make you feel real good.” You took hold of the base of his shaft again and lined him up with you.

Spencer gripped the bedsheets and prayed he didn’t come the second he was inside of you.

You were slow and cautious as you lowered yourself on his length. You wanted to give him a chance to get used to it so you let him disappear inside of you leisurely, inch by inch.

Spencer’s eyes rolled back in his head the second his head entered you. The noises coming from between his pouty lips could only be described as sinful.

His face, neck and chest were bright red and you could see his whole body heaved with heavy breaths.

Once he was all the way inside of you he looked back at you, wide eyed like a puppy dog.

“How do you feel, baby?” You cooed.

“G-good. G-great.” He nodded.

You smiled a little dangerously and when your hand wrapped his throat he didn’t understand what was happening at first. And then you applied pressure, squeezing his windpipe and using his neck to steady yourself as you started moving.

“Good boy,” you smirked as he gasped for air. “I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

You started riding him, faster and hard than he could probably take. But every time he felt himself slam back inside of you was like an other worldly experience.

Your grip on his throat tightened and Spencer gasped to try and breath but your hand was heavy on his windpipe.

You bounced up and down on him, eyes fixed on his so you could see when to loosen your grip.

His eyes bulged slightly and you quickly loosened your grip on him, focusing on fucking him as he panted and gasped to try and refill his lungs.

His chest heaved up and down but before long your hand wrapped back around his throat again.

“Good boy, that’s it, keep your eyes on me.” You moaned as he slammed against your g spot and kept your body angled that way to repeat the action.

Spencer’s face turned from red to purple and a few tears escaped his eyes.

He opened his mouth a few times but he couldn’t speak due to the lack of air.

When he closed his eyes and he started shuddering beneath you, you knew why and you quickly let go of his throat.

He was gasping and mumbling incoherently as you felt his whole body convulse as he came inside of you.

“F-f-fuck.” He whined, still trying to stuff air back into his lungs. “I-I…fuck.”

The lack of air made his orgasm even more pleasurable, better than anything he’d ever felt before.

His head was a complete mess and he couldn’t form a coherent sentence.

You slid off of him, laying down next to him in the small single bed.

You cupped his jaw to make him look at you.

“Are you ok?”

“Hmmm.” He mumbled. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t want to…so soon. I’m sorry.”

“It’s ok.” You shushed him. “But you have made an awful mess.”

“O-oh!” He flushed again. “Oh gosh, do you have something I can clean up with?”

Your eyes were dark again and you smirked at him.

“No, but you do.” You gripped his jaw, running your thumb along his bottom lip, hoping he got the idea.

Judging by the way his pupils blew out, he did.

“I-I…”

“I let you come inside of me Spencer. It’s only polite if you clean up after yourself.” You gripped his shoulders and manoeuvred him so he was on top of you.

Spencer was still a little light headed from his orgasm and restricted breathing which allowed him to focus a little less on his nerves.

He moved down your body and hissed at the sight between your legs. His come was dripping out of you and soaking the sheets. It was the most incredible thing he’d ever seen.

You wrapped your legs around him and pulled him closer and Spencer’s animal side returned, replacing any nerves he felt as he dove between your legs.

His tongue lapped all the way through your folds, collecting his own come on his tongue.

The combination of both of you on his tongue made him moan against you as rocked on the bed beneath him.

He’d see enough porn to know what to do, so he settled his tongue on your clit as he buried his face into you.

Your moans were like a melody to his ears and it caused his confidence to grow. Your hands found his hair and got lost in the thick locks.

He lapped through your folds again, loving the way his come tasted between your legs.

He worshipped you with his tongue. You were his altar and his tongue was his sweet prayers. He devoured you, eating you out like his life depended on it.

When you came, you tried to push him away but Spencer was too far gone. He kept up his ministrations on your clit whilst two fingers dove inside of you, fucking any of his left over come back inside of you.

“F-fuck Spencer! It’s too much!” You tugged his hair but he kept going.

His fingers plunged in and out of you, curling inside of you while his tongue never let up.

Spencer was a man possessed. He decided then and there his new favourite thing was eating pussy. Nothing had ever felt so fucking glorious as tasting you.

You were writhing beneath him, so over sensitive but Spencer showed no signs of slowing down.

You felt dizzy, like your whole body was on fire.

Spencer didn’t stop until your second orgasm washed over you and by the time it did, you forcibly pushed him away.

He raised his head to look at you, his mouth covered in a sheen of arousal.

He wiped the back of his hand over his mouth.

You had tears rolling down your cheeks but a sleepy smile on your lips.

“My god Spencer.” You breathed, reaching for him to pull him close but he nervously moved out of your grasp. “What’s wrong?”

His face was bright red again and he gnawed on his bottom lip.

“I uh…I enjoyed that a lot.”

“Me too. So what’s the problem?” You laughed a little.

“Uh…I enjoyed it too much.” He averted his gaze, feeling the sticky patch on the sheets where he’d come whilst eating you out.

“Oh baby.” You reached for him again and pulled him close to you. “It’s ok. If you enjoyed it that much, I won’t stop you doing it again. Just not right now.”

He nuzzled his head into your chest as you wrapped him in your arms.

“I would worship you anytime Y/N.” He whispered against your tender skin.

“Maybe in the morning I’ll take you up on that.” You chuckled sleepily, placing a kiss in his messy hair.

Spencer’s dick twitched at the mere thought. How was he supposed to sleep with thoughts like that in his head?

Soon enough your breathing got drawn out and he knew you were asleep.

Spencer just had to contain his excitement until the morning when he could do it all over again.

Spencer had never been a religious man, but he would spend the rest of his life worshipping you if you let him.

You were Spencer’s divine being, and he’d pay homage to you with his mouth every chance he got.

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #build a blurb #criminal minds self insert #criminal minds #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n

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rayshippouuchiha · 1 year

Note

I had the sudden vivid realization that I am basically a GTA NPC the other day.

Example: I went to the doctor the other day and told them that my dog tried to fight a chicken, which, in general, is weird for someone who lives in a fairly populated city. But what was weirder is that almost immediately after this upon seeing my mothman shirt the nurse said “I don’t understand mothman” and without hesitation I responded “I mean who doesn’t want to loom ominously and warn of future tragedy?”

The rest of her getting my blood pressure was very quiet.

I cannot stress enough that this is the same doctor that I rolled up several days after being bitten by a dog still covered in makeup and glitter from the day before and with a baby shark bandaid over the actual wound and just kinda shrug emojied off not getting medical attention because I had things to do. I was bruised shoulder to elbow with this tiny yellow shark grinning on my arm and just “I mean yeah I nearly passed out twice but then I took a nap and felt better so 🤷🏻”

I’m pretty sure my doctor thinks I’m insane.

1st of all, I adore you.

2nd of all, I promise you that you are the topic of their lunch conversations

#RayRambles

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bellysoupset · 9 months

Note

Hey up! I FINALLY have an idea for Lucas as the sickie and bell as the caretaker! (Well it’s more of a small request) maybe He’s been running errands with bell all day and just kinda suffering in silence for the whole day until he finally gets home and it all kinda hits him at once and kinda topples over in pain and of course some Emeto but please feel free to make changes etc etc !! 🌙 peace out 🌙🌙

oh heheeh, time to torture this cutie again.

------

Lucas had been spending the majority of his time at the hospital. As the only one who didn't work, that meant he could spend most of the time keeping Vince from breaking bed rest.

Still, that had been taking a toll on him and also, generally, in his personal life. Normally Bella left the house obligations to him, since he had more free time than she did, and with the renovation of their new condo, his list of errands had all but doubled in a quick amount of time.

Bella: did u pick up the new lamps?

Oh yeah, the new lamps. Lucas groaned, rubbing his temple and across from him Vince glanced away from the old rerun of Friends he was watching.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Luke shook his head, "just forgot to pick up some stuff. In fact, I'm pretty sure I forgot to pick up a lot of stuff."

Vince snorted, "that's because you've been babysitting me, even though I said five times already that I don't need a baby sitter. Wendy is in the hospital, Jon too. Casey the nice nurse is here and Tony the hotter nurse and Claire the one that I'm pretty sure spits on my food. I'm fine."

Lucas let out a chuckle, lowering his forehead to the hospital bed mattress, only to feel Vince's fingers in his hair, petting it lightly, "get out of here, Luke."

"Uhmm, okay," Lucas nodded, but didn't move from his position, "in a second, as soon as I get the energy."

Vince hummed, tapping the top of his head, "you good, Luke?"

"Yeah, just... Just tired, I guess," Lucas shrugged, straightening up. Now that he had a second to assess himself, he realized he wasn't actually feeling all that well.

His stomach hurt, but Luke chalked it up as hunger. He hadn't eaten since morning, because unwillingly, his own meals had synched up with Vince's mandatory ones. He also felt lethargic as hell.

"I don't want to see you here tonight," Vince shooed him with his good hand, "I'm serious, I'll ask security to ban you. Get out of my hospital room."

Luke rolled his eyes and got up, "sure you will, you love my company... But yeah, I think I need to rest, your couch is comfy but not nearly as comfy as my girlfriend's bed."

"Bet Bella also doesn't snore as much as you do," Vince grinned, "get out of here."

Figuring he should tackle the first issue first, Lucas headed straight to the hospital's buffet before even running his errands. People said hospital food was garbage, but what people meant was that the severely sick patients with different amount of sodium intakes allowed were served horrible, unsalted food. The cafeteria one, though, Luke had learned through his teenage years, was awesome. No one wanted nurses and doctors unhappy.

He piled on his plate with food and then sat down at a little table on the corner, taking his time to answer all the texts he had left for another time. Vince's mom had gotten his number and she was just as chatty as her son. He had a backlog of at least ten texts from her.

Bella had texted him too, although hers were less conversation and more her utilizing one of their many group chats to dump on their list of chores. He sent her a saluting emoji and "on it boss". She texted back with an eyerolling emoji and then, "you're coming home tonight, right Lucas?"

How could he ever even say no.

Lucas: ofc, i miss my girl.

He saw her little bubble pop and disappear twice, before her answer appeared.

Bella: and here I was thinking I'd have to fight Vince

He snorted at the mental image and pocketed his phone, turning his attention to the food. He hadn't managed even half the plate, but his stomach already felt full. It was unlike him, he was the type to have seconds and thirds.

Luke pushed the meatballs around his plastic plate, trying to figure if he should overdo it or risk throwing it away and being hungry later. Deciding he really didn't want to derail his day by having to eat again, he mechanically chewed the remaining meatballs and got up.

As soon as he was up his stomach jumped to his throat, in a nasty belch that he had no control over. He slammed a hand to his mouth, catching the tailending of it, but far too late. On the table next to him, some nurses wrinkled their noses and glared in his general direction, causing his cheeks to burn.

He made his exit quick after that.

Home Depot wasn't his natural habitat. In fact, it was almost an alien landscape, snob kid that he was. Lucas felt like every worker there was deeply aware how out of place he looked, even if common sense actually told him he looked like he belonged.

He spent more than thirty minutes trying to decode whatever Bella had meant when she typed "eggshell mud green paint" and eventually decided that fuck it, grabbing the ugliest shade of green he could find and putting it inside his cart.

The more he walked around, confident that he was picking every single piece wrong no matter how hard he tried to decode the instructions, the more it hit him that he had been wrong. His nausea earlier hadn't been hunger.

Lucas grimaced, pressing his stomach against the horizontal cart handle. It caused his stomach to let out a gurgle and he muffled another burp, blowing it out under his breath.

His phone buzzed and he picked it up, squinting at the screen. The queasy sensation spreading all over him was making everything else too much. The bright white lights over his head, the store radio, his clothes clinging to him.

Bella: can you buy me tampons 😭I forgot

He groaned then nodded, only to realize a second too late that Bell obviously couldn't see him.

Lucas: yeah. that green brand with the pink things?

Bella: sí.

He pocketed the phone again, then groaned as a horrible taste flooded his mouth. It made him shiver, his hair glueing down to his forehead.

Giving up on home depot, Lucas paid - even though he was pretty sure he'd have to return - and headed to the parking lot. He barely got to load all the packages in the backseat, before his stomach churned again and Luke ended up bending in half, retching to the gravel between his sneakers.

Nothing came up, but his nausea jumped up a notch. He spat the bitter taste in his mouth and rubbed his stomach, sweat running down his forehead and his shirt glued to his back, even though it was a pretty chilly day out.

He rasped out, trying to catch his breath and keep his lunch down at the same time, which was proving to be a challenge. Another wet burp rolled up and Lucas groaned, pressing his forehead to the leather of the seats in front of him.

He palmed over his belly button, where he could feel some angry gurgling and pressing. Another sickening belch made past his lips, offering not an sliver of relief, but pushing the nausea back enough that Luke could straight up. His lips were covered with drool and Lucas grimaced, wiping his mouth and his forehead.

Well... fuck.

He still had to stop by the pharmacy, so despite his whole body aching and the contents of his stomach sloshing every time he so much as breathed, Lucas got to it.

The pharmacy was brighter than home depot, causing him to squint the entire time as he picked up the package of tampons, grabbing the cramps medicine with one hand and planting it all over the counter with a groan.

"Good... Good evening...?" the cashier sounded horrified and Lucas sighed.

"Not really," he took a step back to avoid breathing in their direction.

"Do you have our loya-"

"No, please," Luke groaned, "just... Please."

Catching the memo, the blonde before him scanned his itens as far as possible, flinching in sympathy when Luke's stomach gurgled.

"I also get super nauseous on my period," they said and Luke frowned, confused.

"I'm not... It's not my-" his stomach cramped again and the pressed the back of his hand to his mouth, gulping down and deciding not to clear up anything, "yeah, it fucking sucks. I'm sorry for-" he gestured to his general self, "keep the change."

"Feel better!" came a squeal behind him, followed by "ginger helps!"

He wasn't sure ginger or anything could help. Luke felt drunk by the time he pulled up in front of their place and he couldn't insert the fucking key.

His stomach was crawling up his throat and he gagged, liquid splashing on his tongue and puffing out his cheeks... He swallowed it back down, dropped the key and then slammed a hand against the door, "BELL! Open-" he gagged and slammed the door again, "BELL!"

He heard a distant squeal and then footsteps, followed by "Luke? Did you forget your-"

As soon as she opened the door, his stomach turned again and the only thing he could do in order to not throw up on her was grab his girlfriend by the arm and push her to his side, as vomit covered the very spot she had been standing on.

He crumbled down, falling to his knees and Bella let out a curse, barely avoiding the puddle of sick and holding his shoulders, "hey- Hey, Luke- Lucas-"

He was far from done. His stomach was still burning, bubblying with sick and he retched again, bracing against the floor and gagging as his hand met hot chunky vomit.

Bella planted a cold hand on his forehead and supported his head, a good thing she did because the next heave was productive and if it wasn't for her holding his head, he'd have covered his shirt with it.

Red sauce sprayed all over the Welcome In mat and Lucas groaned, wrapping an arm around his stomach and turning around, dizzily falling on his ass, head meeting the open door.

"Joder, Luke," Bella cursed, hands cupping his cheeks and gagging softly as her knee met the puddle that was impossible to avoid, "what the hell, baby...?"

"Sorry," his voice was completely gone and Lucas ducked his head, belching to his lap and spreading his legs apart so he could spit on the already destroyed mat, "sorry, I-"

"That was frankly the most impressive Exorcist imitation I've ever seen," Bella teased lightly, leaning in and planting her lips to his clammy forehead, "I think you're running a fever, Luke."

"Kill me," he groaned pitifully, muffling another burp against her band t-shirt, "my stomach hurts, Bell..."

"Okay, uhm..." she ran a hand through his hair, then down his sweat covered shirt, "you need a shower... I'm gonna-" Bella grimaced, glancing at the mess on their front door, covering the mat, running down the brick step, "Yeah, I'm gonna trash that mat and wash this down, alright?"

"Sorry-"

"Shh," she kissed his temple, "are you done?"

"Fuck no," Lucas groaned, "I had a large lunch."

"Well, you couldn't have known-"

"I knew," he grimaced, leaning back against the door and rubbing his stomach, tugging at the shirt and sighing as his girlfriend helped him strip it off, despite the fact they were sitting on the front step, facing the street, "my stomach was already hurting, but I thought it was hunger..." he burped, pressing on his belly, "I was wrong."

Bella let out a disappointed sigh, "clearly," she rolled her eyes, then used his shirt to wipe down his mouth and glanced at his belly, "okay, can you stand?"

"Give me a minute."

"Sure," she cringed, stroking his cheek, "let's sit here with the puddle of vomit."

"Uhm," Lucas smiled, tiredly and rubbed yet another wet burp up, "I got you the tampons."

"...Ah puta mierda, Lucas, you didn't have to go to the pharmacy when you were sick!" Bella exclaimed, "no wonder you couldn't make it home."

"I did make it home," he glared at her in a lighthearted manner, then gagged as another churn warned him his stomach was done with his silly teasing. He burped in his fist and then patted Bella's hip with his free hand, "move-"

She almost fell off the step in her rush to move out of the way and Lucas groaned as he felt her hands on his shoulders, keeping him from leaning too forward. He gagged, no longer bothering to aim anywhere. It was already a horrible mess.

Bella's thumb was rubbing lazy circles on his nape and Luke tried to focus on it, but it was to no avail. With another belch, he coughed and a gush of chunky vomit joined the previous mess, some of it covering the hem of his jeans.

"Gross," Bella mumbled, "take a deep breath, Lu-"

He heaved, loudly, and another watery amount rushed up, stinging his nose, mostly pink instead of the cartoonish red from before, "I think..." Lucas burped, spitting the thick saliva pooling in his mouth, "think I'm done."

She let out a humm and kissed the top of his head, "alright, then hold on me. Let's get you in a shower... Or to a priest."

Lucas groaned, hugging his stomach, "don't make me laugh, my stomach is so sore."

Bella opened a smile, grabbing his arm, "up, up, up."

He allowed her to pull him to his feet, swaying on the spot and grabbing on the door handle to keep him from toppling over her, "this isn't fair, my first night home in three days."

"You might consider where you picked this stomach bug in the first place," Bella said, gently maneuvering him around the cramped house, towards the bathroom, "I'm going to tell Wendy."

"About me hurling?" Lucas blinked, confused as Bella pushed him inside the shower and turned the water on, his jeans and sneakers be damned.

"Yeah, it's worrying if you got this in the hospital," she said, then gestured to the water, so he'd get in.

"Okay," Lucas sighed in relief as the water washed down the clammy sweat, hands fumbling with his jeans that were getting heavier and heavier with the water, "this wasn't very smart- Ow!" he jumped as Bella slapped his hand away and promptly undid his pants, "watch those claws, Bella!"

She snorted, crouching down to peel them off his legs. She grabbed his hip when Lucas swayed and moved up, balling the ruined pants in her hand, "I'll be back in a second. Don't fall and hit your head."

"I'm a better patient than Vince."

His girlfriend rolled her eyes, "not by much, baby. Not by much,"

#sickfic #emetophilia #emeto #mywriting #lucas atwood #lucas x bell my beloveds #stomach flu #🌙 anon #i have not reread this one and my corrector is in the wrong language #so i expect it to be typo filled

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