#and it is only day 1 of my 7 in a row | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

stardust-maple · 2 years ago

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Edit: look I didn't do a good job explaining what these were for the first time so I've got a second edit at the bottom of the page that explains things better.

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I made my own pain and fatigue scale charts. Because I'm so adept at overcoming my symptoms the normal pain scale doesn't really work for me. I adjusted my numbers so that I could change the number into something I could tell a doctor when they inevitably ask me to rate my pain.

[Image Description: Pain Scale Chart with rainbow gradient background for each row, starting at red and ending at blue.

Row 1: Mine Drs Pain Scale Description

Row 2: 10 X I am not leaving my bedroom or bathroom, someone needs to bring me food and I need something to dull the pain or the pain will cause tears.

Row 3: 9 X I am not leaving my bedroom and bathroom for anything other than food.

Row 4: 8 10 Speaking is difficult. It is no longer practical to do activities outside of the bathroom or bedroom, but they can be done with assistance.

Row 5: 7 9 Necessary care activities are sacrificed. Academic activities and social activities can no longer be tolerated.

Row 6: 6 8 My pain is tiring. Paying attention is difficult. All activities require pacing and extra effort.

Row 7: 5 7 My pain is so distracting it is making me tired. It is hard to think. Necessary care activities are no longer all doable.

Row 8: 4 6 My pain is so distracting it is making me tired. It is harder to think. Necessary care activities are starting to be limited.

Row 9: 3 5 I can continue to do most activities

Row 10: 2 4 My pain bothers me but I can ignore it most of the time

Row 11: 1 3 My pain bothers me, but I can ignore it most of the time.

Row 12: 0 2 I am aware of my pain only when I pay attention to it

Row 13: X 1 My pain is hardly noticeable

Row 14: X 0 I have no pain. END Image Description]

[Image Description:

Fatigue Scale Chart with rainbow gradient background for each row, starting at red and ending at blue.

Row 1: Mine Drs Fatigue Scale Description

Row 2: 10 X Can barely sit up, needs assistance to get out of bed. Holding conversations is impossible. Laying down for most of the day is necessary. It is difficult to eat. Focusing is strenuous.

Row 3: 9 X Able to walk and stand for short distances. Holding conversations is difficult. Laying down for most of the day is necessary. It is difficult to eat. Focusing is strenuous.

Row 4: 8 10 Able to walk and stand for short distances. Holding conversations is difficult. Sitting for long Periods of time is difficult. It is difficult to eat. Focusing is strenuous. Preparing a meal isn’t possible.

Row 5: 7 9 Holding conversations is difficult. Sitting or standing for long Periods of time is difficult. It is difficult to eat. Focusing is strenuous.

Row 6: 6 8 Sitting or standing for long Periods of time is difficult. It is difficult to eat. Focusing is difficult. Preparing a meal is difficult.

Row 7: 5 7 Standing or walking for long periods is difficult. It is difficult to eat. Focusing is difficult.

Row 8: 4 6 Standing or walking for long periods is difficult. Focusing is difficult.

Row 9: 3 5 Cooking for longer than 15 minutes is extremely challenging.

Row 10: 2 4 Not everything can be done in the day. Activities are slowed down. Difficult mental challenges are sacrificed.

Row 11: 1 3 Tiredness makes it difficult to enjoy fun activities.

Row 12: 0 2 Things take more effort than usual, but everything is still doable.

Row 13: X 1 Slightly tired but still able to carry on as normal

Row 14: X 0 Not tired at all

END Image Description.]

Feel free to use them yourself if you like them!

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Edit p2:

So these charts I made them for showing people and using them to talk about my pain. The numbers are just sort of a reference point . The words are what's important. The fact that it is a relationship is what's significant.

I've got chronic pain and chronic fatigue. I'm never not in pain and I'm never not tired. These are based on the main pain and fatigue scales that I usually get shown at places that aren't specialized in treating pain or fatigue.

I use these when talking to my family, using the number that relates to the mine side. I use these with my non pain doctors who don't treat my pain or fatigue. I use the Drs number when talking to Drs. Anything that in those X spots is also 10. Drs don't like pain larger than 10 because they think you're faking it.

I made these after getting covid. It was about a year later and I still couldn't describe my pain in terms of the standard scale because I couldn't conceptualize pain properly because covid had completely broken my internal perception of pain intensity. Because I went from never having gone to 10/10 or ever being there for very long to about 2 weeks of what I could only describe as 13/10 pain. It was logarithmically higher than anything I my brain could process. And my brain didn't process it. I just sort of cried a lot, slowly.

If you are ever using a personalized pain scale or something you found online with a doctor you should show them what you're talking about. You need to make sure they understand you.

I posted this because I was having a hard time saying that while I was at a 3 in terms of abilities, I was in just as much pain as when I had been previously at a 5. I needed something that showed what I was talking about.

It feels very strange adding all these disclaimers so far after, but I've been thinking "it's too late" every time Ive realized someone might use it in a way that wouldn't help them. And then ignoring the problem for a while.

We've got 3k notes on this. People keep looking at it. The disclaimers are nessesary. I'm sorry they weren't there before.

I just remembered that I specifically made this because I needed to be able to point at a number and have my parents be able to know what that meant. They don't have training in the pain scale. They don't know what it means. But they do know what I mean now when I say I'm at a 6. They understand me.

The point is, this says that it's used for talking to doctors and it's really not. It's for my family mostly. And my PCP who keeps asking what pain I'm at and I just need to say a number that communicates the thing she wants to know (that's why the Drs thing is on there. That's the number she needs. She doesn't care. It's weird. She's weird.)

But it is mostly for my family. It's for describing how I'm doing.

Do not use this in emergencies!!! Do not use this with pain specialists without showing it to them!!!

#chronic illness #chronic pain #chronic condition #disability #chronic fatigue #cfs/me #chronically ill #spoonie #amps #disabled #actually chronically ill #actually disabled #stardust maple #pain scale #fatigue scale #chronic fatigue scale #chronic pain scale #long post

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witchingwithscissors · 2 months ago

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Agathario AU | based on a post by @incorrectquotesmcu : “fucking commit to it.” ft. a sharp-tongued principal, a hot coach who won’t stop flirting, one kid with a bunny, and a coffee spill that ruins everything just right.

Monday.

There are mornings that fade into the rhythm of the school year. This wasn’t one of them.

Dr. Agatha Harkness turned the corner outside the Counseling office and walked directly into the beginning of a distraction she would spend the next several weeks pretending wasn’t happening.

A yelp.

The screech of sneakers on high-gloss tile. A cardboard drink tray skidding across the waxed hallway. One iced coffee launched upward, its plastic lid popping off like a cork.

Caramel splashed over Agatha’s forearm and across the top of her neatly stacked discipline reports.

“Oh my God—shit—sorry, I—didn’t see the floor was wet, there wasn’t a sign—was there a sign?”

Agatha blinked down at the mess, the sensation of cold sweetness soaking into her sleeve. The voice belonged to a woman already crouched at her feet, sleeves rolled back, trying to blot the spill with the edge of her own sweatshirt. It was pointless.

Agatha lowered herself slowly. “There was a sign.”

The woman looked up.

Dark curls frayed loose from a bun. Deep brown eyes, warm and wide. A lanyard swung forward as she shifted her weight, brushing against Agatha’s wrist. Vidal, Rio – PE / Girls Basketball.

Agatha knew who she was now. She also knew she needed to stand up before this turned into something else entirely.

The woman stood first. “Coach Vidal. First day.” She extended a hand.

Agatha took it. The shake was firm and unguarded, fingers still cool from the iced drink.

Touch #1.

The contact wasn’t supposed to linger—but it did.

“Dr. Harkness,” she replied. “Principal.”

Rio looked mortified, though her smile came through anyway—like it always wanted to. “I swear I’m better with spatial awareness when I’m not holding caffeine.”

Agatha stepped back. She didn’t smile, but her voice softened. “Then I expect the rosters reprinted before second period. No lamination required.”

“Copy that.” Rio saluted her with a dripping straw. “And for the record—I really am better in the gym.”

Agatha walked away, resisting the urge to look back. But she could still feel the ghost of Rio’s palm against hers. Still smell the faint trace of vanilla and sweat that clung to her collar even after she closed her office door.

Tuesday.

Faculty meeting. 7:55 a.m. The library conference pit always made everyone look grayer under its flickering bulbs. Agatha stood in front of a screen and worked through policy updates with clipped efficiency. The staff knew her cadence by now—new hires would learn.

Halfway through her restorative discipline section, a hand rose from the third row.

Rio.

“Would you ever consider tardy reflection sheets before automatic detention?” she asked. “Students write down why they were late and what they’d need to fix it. It helped when I taught 7th and 8th. Some of them are carrying a lot before 9 a.m.”

She wasn’t interrupting. She was… adding.

Agatha paused. “Submit a draft.”

Rio nodded, then sat back, rolling her pen between two fingers. Her hair was still damp from early practice—Agatha clocked it before she could stop herself.

After the meeting, most teachers drifted toward bagels. Rio lingered near the back of the room.

“Peace offering,” she said, handing Agatha a reprinted folder.

The lamination was uneven. A bubble formed near the spine. Agatha ran a thumb over it, not sure why the imperfection made her chest ache.

“Thank you,” she said. “You weren’t out of line. Reflection is a good idea.”

Rio looked briefly startled. Then pleased. “You’re the first principal who hasn’t brushed me off mid-sentence.”

“I only do that when staff say something foolish,” Agatha replied. She meant it to land crisp—but it came out warm. Too warm.

Their fingers brushed again.

Touch #2.

Agatha pulled back, pulse sharp beneath her collar. Her office still smelled faintly of sweet milk from the coffee spill, and now—now it smelled like Rio.

She closed her door five minutes early and sat with the laminated folder in her lap.

Wednesday.

In the lounge between lunch blocks, Agatha passed Rio sitting on the floor with three kindergarteners playing a cooperative beanbag toss game. She was barefoot—again—and laughing so easily Agatha had to look away.

Later, Rio passed her in the hallway, hoodie zipped halfway, cheeks flushed from 8th-grade dodgeball.

“Did the blazer make it through the cleaners?” she asked.

Agatha kept walking but allowed, “Mostly. Unlike my dignity.”

Rio grinned, easy and unbothered. “I owe you a splash-free coffee.”

Agatha paused. One breath. Then: “I don’t drink coffee.”

But it didn’t sound like a no.

Friday.

The fundraiser was bedlam wrapped in raffle tickets and frosting. K–8 families filled the gym: balloon animals, bake sale tables, a noisy pop-a-shot competition run by Rio, who had somehow charmed every third grader into lining up twice.

Agatha’s son, Nicky, six and wild-haired, clung to her hand with his beloved stuffed rabbit squashed against his chest. The thing had been through the wash a hundred times—its ears were permanently lopsided.

He tugged at Agatha’s wrist. “That’s her, Mama! The tall one! She helped me make three baskets!”

Agatha raised an eyebrow. “Coach Vidal?”

“She fixed Bun’s ear, too.”

Wanda—ex-wife, ER pediatrician, observant as ever—arrived a few minutes later. “You’re smiling,” she said, dryly.

“It’s the event,” Agatha replied.

“Mmhmm.” Wanda glanced across the room. “That the coach?”

“Yes.”

“She’s pretty.”

Agatha gave her a sharp look. Wanda smirked and took Nicky’s hand.

Later, as Agatha tallied silent auction forms, Rio passed close behind her—close enough to brush fingertips against hers while handing her a stray entry slip.

Touch #3.

Not deliberate. Not not deliberate.

“Your son’s a menace,” Rio said softly. “And smart.”

Agatha nodded, but her voice caught. “He’s fond of you.”

“I’m fond of him, too.”

Their eyes held for a second too long.

Rio’s voice dropped further. “You’ve been on your feet all night. There’s a caramel rabbit at the bake sale with your name on it. I stashed one under the table.”

Agatha didn’t answer. But an hour later, she left the gym with a small white paper bag tucked inside her blazer pocket.

The house was quiet. Nicky was asleep with the rabbit tucked under his chin. Agatha stood in the kitchen, glass of wine untouched on the counter, reading and re-reading a text that had just come in.

Coach Rio Vidal: Hope you made it out alive. Pretty sure I’ve got frosting in my hair.

She typed back.

Agatha: Thank you for helping. Nicky wouldn’t stop talking about you.

She almost added: You looked good tonight…

She deleted it. Instead she wrote: He liked the rabbit thing. That meant something to him.

Rio’s reply came five minutes later.

Coach Rio Vidal: Bun is my new best friend.

Followed by a photo of the rabbit tucked inside her hoodie pocket, looking vaguely smug.

Agatha smiled, closed her phone, and stared out the dark kitchen window.

She had no plan for what came next. Only that her skin still remembered where their fingers had touched. And her son had laughed harder that day than he had in weeks.

Across town, Rio lay flat on her back in a too-warm apartment, hair still wet from a rushed shower, hoodie bunched under her spine. She had a dozen half-written messages in her Notes app. She wasn’t usually careful like this.

Agatha was sharp, elegant, and clearly trying not to notice her.

But Rio did notice her.

How she rarely smiled but always watched. How she spoke quietly but carried weight in every word. How she touched her son’s shoulder like it was holy.

She typed.

Rio: I like talking to you. Maybe you could show me around sometime?

Then deleted it.

Eventually, she sent just what felt safer.

Rio: Tell Nicky I’ll bring him a practice jersey. If he promises not to beat me in a free throw contest.

She hit send. Then rolled onto her side and closed her eyes, feeling warmth rise and settle behind her ribs.

She was definitely in trouble.

But she hadn’t wanted something in a long time.

And Agatha Harkness was worth wanting.

Monday.

Rio started leaving her office door slightly open.

Just enough to be inviting. Not enough to be obvious.

Agatha didn’t acknowledge it. But she noticed. She always did. The PE office was across from hers, nestled behind the gym’s east stairwell. Technically convenient. Emotionally treacherous.

By Wednesday, Agatha began walking that hallway more often.

She told herself it was about morning supervision. But every time she passed and caught the sound of Rio’s low voice behind the door—soft music, a laugh, the scratch of a pen—something unspooled low in her chest.

She never paused. But she started walking slower.

Tuesday.

Mid-morning. Warm for early spring. The blacktop smelled like chalk dust and sun.

Agatha stepped outside with her coffee. K–2 was at recess. Nicky ran past her, stuffed rabbit clutched in one hand, yelling about a spaceship. Somewhere nearby, jump ropes slapped pavement.

Rio crouched beside a second grader, showing her how to catch a kickball.

She stood when she saw Agatha, brushing gravel from her palms. Her shirt clung to her back from coaching drills. A faint pink flush crept up her neck beneath the messy bun. There was a smear of purple paint on her forearm.

“Didn’t expect to see you off-campus,” Rio teased gently.

Agatha raised a brow. “This is still campus.”

“Barely.” Rio stretched her arms over her head. Agatha looked away too fast.

“Nice turnout for recess,” Agatha said.

“Hard to compete with bunnies and beanbags,” Rio replied, nodding toward a small group drawing rabbits in chalk near the fence.

Nicky was among them.

“He’s good at basketball,” Rio said. “Stubborn about it.”

“I can’t imagine where he gets that,” Agatha murmured.

Rio turned. Their eyes held for a beat. A little too long.

Then Rio reached into her back pocket. “Reflection sheet draft.”

She held it out.

Agatha took it, and their fingers met.

Touch #4.

The paper crinkled between them. Agatha felt the callus on Rio’s index finger, the soft skin along her knuckle.

She let go too quickly and told herself it was professional.

Wednesday.

The staff room was overfull. Agatha arrived last. Only open seat? Next to Rio.

Rio didn’t move. She didn’t say anything, either—just shifted her water bottle to give Agatha more room.

Agatha sat, posture precise. She opened her salad. Ate without speaking.

Rio bit into an apple. The scent of it—tart and sweet—brushed the edge of Agatha’s awareness. It was unbearable, how good it smelled. How close she was.

“You always look like you’re solving a puzzle,” Rio said finally.

“I usually am.”

“Big one?”

Agatha didn’t answer.

Rio smiled faintly, then softened. “You’re not easy to read. I think that’s why I like talking to you.”

Agatha froze, fork mid-air.

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” she said, voice low.

“Why?” Rio’s tone stayed quiet. Not teasing. Just wondering.

“Because I’m your boss.”

Rio looked down. “Right.”

She folded her apple core into her napkin. For the first time, she didn’t meet Agatha’s eyes.

Agatha stood to leave. She hesitated. Reached to steady her chair—and her hand brushed Rio’s shoulder.

Touch #5.

Rio’s body stilled. The contact lingered half a second longer than it should have.

Agatha let go and walked out without looking back.

Thursday.

That morning, there was a chocolate bunny on Agatha’s desk.

Wrapped in gold foil. No note.

She didn’t need one.

At 3:07 p.m., she passed Rio in the hallway and said only, “Thank you.”

Rio blinked. “For what?”

Agatha fought a smile. “It had caramel.”

Rio’s eyes sparkled. “You seem like a caramel person.”

“Is that an insult?”

“Uh, no. It’s a compliment. Chocolate people are emotionally avoidant.”

Agatha didn’t say anything, but she walked away with warmth in her throat she couldn’t quite swallow.

The next morning, another bunny appeared—this one with dark chocolate and raspberry. It was their thing now. She’d never admit it, but she looked forward to it.

After practice, Agatha stopped by the gym.

Nicky sat on the bleachers, rabbit on his lap. He wasn’t talking. He was watching.

Rio was coaching the 6–8 girls—running layup drills, calling encouragement, laughing when someone missed wildly and blamed the ball.

Agatha leaned against the doorframe. She couldn’t hear what Rio was saying, but her gestures were expressive—gentle corrections, soft claps, a fist bump with a nervous sixth grader.

Nicky turned to Agatha and whispered, “She’s nice to everyone.”

“She is,” Agatha said.

“I like when she laughs.”

“Me too.”

The words came out before she could stop them.

Nicky tilted his head. “Do you like her like her?”

Agatha blinked. “That’s a complicated question.”

He hugged his rabbit. “You smile more when she’s here.”

Agatha felt it like a slow exhale. “You’ve been watching me too closely.”

“Only a little,” he said. “She watches you too.”

Friday.

It was raining lightly by dismissal. Agatha stood outside under the covered walkway, waiting for the last wave of carpool.

Rio approached from the staff parking lot, hoodie up, curls clinging damp to her cheekbones.

They stood in the quiet, just the sound of water tapping against metal.

“You walk in the rain?” Agatha asked.

“Better than traffic.”

Agatha exhaled through her nose. “You’re reckless.”

Rio stepped closer. “You’re careful enough for both of us.”

It wasn’t flirtation. It was truth.

Agatha looked at her. Really looked.

Her mouth. Her eyes. The drop of water on her collarbone.

Rio didn’t move—but she didn’t step back either.

Agatha shifted. One inch closer. Another.

Then her phone buzzed.

She flinched.

Rio took a breath. The moment folded in on itself.

Agatha looked away. “I have to go.”

Rio nodded. “Of course.”

But as Agatha walked off, she heard Rio’s voice—low, certain.

“I wouldn’t have kissed you. Not unless you wanted me to.”

Agatha’s throat tightened.

She didn’t look back.

But she did want.

She just wasn’t ready to want out loud.

That night, she found a drawing in her bag. A rabbit in a gym jersey. Labeled “BunBun Coach.”

Nicky’s handwriting. Crayon.

Agatha sat on the floor of the kitchen, her knees drawn to her chest, and held the drawing in both hands.

She’d gone so long without feeling wanted by someone who didn’t need her.

And now—here it was. Quiet. Consistent. Sweet as caramel.

Monday.

Agatha had started leaving the seat next to her open during staff meetings.

Not on purpose. But she noticed when Rio sat there. And she noticed—more carefully—when she didn’t.

This time, Rio arrived late, her curls still damp from early drills, hoodie sleeves pushed to her elbows. She slid into the seat just as Agatha closed her laptop.

“Sorry,” she whispered.

“You’re fine,” Agatha said without looking.

But her pulse betrayed her.

They didn’t talk during the meeting. But when it ended, Rio stayed seated. So did Agatha. Just long enough for it to be noticed.

Just short of giving it away.

Tuesday.

It was a nothing moment. A hallway crossing near the gym between fifth period and sixth. Rio leaned against the wall beside the drinking fountain, hair tied up, cheeks pink from effort. She was talking softly with a sixth grader who looked ready to cry.

Agatha paused at a distance.

She didn’t interrupt. Just watched.

Rio crouched to the student’s eye level, said something that made the girl nod and wipe her face, and gave her a small fist bump.

The girl walked off.

Rio stood slowly. Caught Agatha’s gaze across the hall.

Agatha didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to.

But she held Rio’s gaze a second too long.

And she didn’t look away when Rio smiled.

Wednesday.

They were alone in the gym after a board meeting ran late. Rio was cleaning up stray cones and water bottles. Agatha had lingered, notebook in hand, the only sound the soft creak of sneakers on hardwood.

“Do you ever get tired of it?” Rio asked.

Agatha looked up. “Of what?”

“Being the one who has to know everything. Solve everything.”

Agatha paused.

Rio sat on the edge of the bleachers, cradling a ball in her hands. “You always look like you’re bracing for impact.”

Agatha stood still for a moment. Then: “That’s not entirely wrong.”

Rio rolled the ball between her palms. “I used to fake injuries to avoid scrimmage. Not because I couldn’t play. Just… I was tired of pretending I liked who I was supposed to be.”

Agatha crossed the court. Stopped a few feet away. “And now?”

Rio looked up. “Now I’d rather be underestimated and honest than impressive and empty.”

Agatha swallowed hard. “I don’t think you’re either.”

There was silence. The kind that didn’t demand to be filled.

Then Agatha sat beside her. Close—but not touching.

They shared the silence. And something in it felt warm.

Friday.

It happened in the hallway near the side entrance. The one no students used. The one that always smelled like lemon wax and felt too quiet.

They had walked there together after a late fire drill review. The air was cool. Rio’s hoodie sleeves were pushed up. Agatha’s blazer hung unbuttoned.

Rio reached for the door.

Agatha touched her wrist.

Touch #6.

Rio stilled. Turned slowly.

Their eyes met.

It was barely anything—just a flicker. A moment folding in on itself.

Agatha said, “I shouldn’t.”

Rio said, “Then don’t.”

But neither of them moved.

Then Rio stepped in—not bold, not timid. Just close. Close enough that Agatha could smell citrus shampoo, could hear her breath catch.

Agatha didn’t think.

She just leaned.

And then they were kissing.

It wasn’t perfect—angled too quickly, breath uneven—but it was real. It was heat curling between ribs. It was the sensation of falling into something she’d already been halfway inside for weeks.

Rio cupped her face, not to hold her in place—just to feel her.

Agatha broke the kiss first.

Not because she wanted to.

But because she had to.

She stepped back like it cost her.

Rio didn’t chase. Her voice was steady. “You okay?”

Agatha nodded.

Lied.

That might, Agatha sat in the dark of her kitchen, Nicky asleep upstairs.

She hadn’t told anyone.

But the kiss was still there.

Pressed into her mouth. Her throat. Her ribs.

She hadn’t kissed anyone in years. Not since the divorce. Not since she stopped hoping someone would want all of her—the mother, the principal, the complicated woman behind all that control.

And Rio had wanted her.

Not despite all that.

Because of it.

Which was exactly why it scared her senseless.

Saturday.

Nicky crawled into her bed before sunrise, rabbit tucked under one arm.

He yawned against her side.

“Coach Rio’s nice,” he mumbled.

Agatha ran a hand through his hair. “She is.”

“She likes you,” he said.

Agatha closed her eyes.

“She likes you like you,” he added sleepily.

Agatha didn’t speak.

Not for a long time.

Thursday.

Agatha had started letting it show.

She didn’t pull her hand away when Rio’s fingers brushed hers during dismissal. She stopped pretending her smiles were for students when they weren’t. And she started carrying a chocolate heart in her coat pocket like it meant something. Because it did.

She still hadn’t said the word girlfriend. But she’d stopped pretending she wasn’t thinking about it.

Rio didn’t ask for more. But she noticed the shift.

She noticed everything.

Friday.

Rio drove them north to the coast—somewhere outside Westview, where no one knew who Agatha Harkness was or what she was afraid of becoming.

They ate shrimp tacos on a candlelit patio, drank two glasses of wine each, and argued playfully over whether pineapple belonged on pizza. Rio said yes. Agatha said obviously not.

There was lightness between them—uncomplicated, real.

But Agatha kept feeling the weight of everything unspoken.

The boardwalk was cool beneath their bare feet. The wind carried the smell of salt and warm sugar. They passed a carousel, quiet now. A couple kissed beside it, tucked into their own world.

Rio’s hand brushed Agatha’s once.

Then again.

But didn’t stay.

Agatha stopped walking.

Rio turned. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

And then she saw Agatha’s face.

Still. Focused. But cracked wide open.

“You keep pulling away,” Agatha said, voice low and trembling. “Like you’re doing me a favor.”

“I just didn’t want to put pressure on you,” Rio said carefully. “Not when you’ve come so far.”

Agatha stepped forward.

“I’m not scared of pressure,” she said. “I’m scared of wanting something I might lose. I’m scared of how much I feel when you’re close.”

Her throat closed around the next words.

“I’ve spent years pretending I was fine being alone. And then you show up and I start… cooking again. Laughing at lunch. Remembering how it feels to want someone.”

Her voice cracked now—honest and breaking.

“So if you’re going to keep touching me like you mean it—”

Her fingers closed around Rio’s hand.

“—then fucking commit to it.”

Rio stared at her. Breathless.

Then, quietly she smiles. “You think I haven’t wanted you since I spilled coffee in the hallway?”

That was all it took.

Agatha leaned in at the same time Rio did.

The kiss wasn’t neat. It was slightly off-center, a little too fast—like they both forgot what it meant to hold back.

But it was good. Real. Deep.

Agatha’s hand curled around Rio’s like it had that first week in the hallway. This time, she didn’t let go.

Halfway through, Rio pulled back just enough to breathe. Her forehead rested against Agatha’s. “I never stopped thinking about that coffee spill.”

Agatha smiled. “You spilled it.”

Rio grinned. “Exactly.”

They kissed again. Slower. Warmer. And when it ended, they stood there silently, listening to the ocean and the echo of their hearts.

Later, in the passenger seat of Rio’s car, Agatha pulled something from her blazer pocket.

A crinkled foil heart.

She dropped it onto Rio’s lap.

Rio looked down. Then back at her.

“I kept it,” Agatha said softly. “The first one you gave me.”

Rio closed her fingers around it. “I’m keeping this one.”

Monday.

They walked into school together.

Agatha carried her coffee in one hand. Rio’s arm brushed hers.

A seventh grader looked up. Whispered. Giggled.

Agatha reached up and gently tucked a stray curl behind Rio’s ear.

“You have lipstick on your neck,” she said, low enough to be private. Then she kissed the spot just below Rio’s jaw—soft, quick, certain.

The student blinked.

Agatha smiled. “Morning.”

After school and over apples and cheddar slices, Nicky looked up and asked, “So… is Coach Rio your girlfriend now?”

Agatha nodded. “Yes. She is.”

Nicky reached into his backpack. Pulled out a foil-wrapped bunny.

“I saved it,” he said. “You can give it to her.”

Agatha took it, heart tight.

“You don’t have to tell her it was mine,” Nicky added, grinning. “But she’ll know.”

Then, quietly, “You used to only make eggs. Now you make waffles again.”

“You started doing nice things again.”

Agatha didn’t answer.

Tuesday.

Agatha didn’t flinch when Rio stepped into her office without knocking.

She looked up from her desk, hair loose, glasses slipping, and smiled before she realized she was doing it.

“You’re not bracing anymore,” Rio said softly, a smile curling at her mouth.

Agatha set down her pen. “You noticed.”

Rio shrugged. “I’ve been looking at you for a while.”

Agatha leaned back in her chair and said, without deflection: “I like when you do.”

Rio stayed leaning against the doorway, casual, but her gaze was full.

“You want dinner Friday?”

Agatha nodded. “And breakfast Saturday.”

Monday.

Agatha emailed HR.

In a relationship with Coach Vidal. No supervisory connection. I’ll recuse from evaluations if needed.

She copied all parties needed and moved on with her day.

When she told Rio that night, Rio said nothing at first—just stepped into her space and pressed a hand to Agatha’s waist.

“You’re making a place for me,” she said, forehead against Agatha’s cheek.

Agatha closed her eyes. “You were already here.”

Friday.

Wanda met them at the market after work—her and Rio, hands full of oranges, and Nicky skipping ahead with BunBun slung over his shoulder like a soldier.

She eyed them both. “You’re holding hands in public now.”

Agatha didn’t let go.

“I’m proud of you,” Wanda said, voice low but firm. “Not because of her. Because you look… happy.”

“I am,” Agatha said.

Wanda looked between them and said, “Want me to take Nicky next weekend?”

Agatha blinked. “Seriously?”

“You two deserve a night where you get to be women, not just moms and educators.”

Rio grinned. “She really is a good ex.”

Agatha gave Wanda a small, sincere smile. “Thank you.”

Wanda touched her arm once, brief. “Just be kind to each other.”

Agatha didn’t cook. She ordered Thai food and changed into leggings and one of Rio’s old college basketball hoodies.

Rio kissed her on the mouth before the food arrived.

“I’ve thought about tonight in so many ways,” she said simply. “I want you.”

Agatha exhaled, shaky and warm. “Then take me seriously.”

“I already do,” Rio whispered. “I have since week three.”

Agatha pulled Rio to her, kissed her again—deeper, longer.

Their delivery driver knocking broke them apart. Agatha grabbed the food, slightly flushed and hungry for something not in the white takeout bag. They ate on the floor with reality TV murmuring in the background. Later, they curled into each other on the couch, Rio’s hand over Agatha’s heart like it had always been meant to rest there.

Saturday.

The next morning, Agatha poured two mugs of tea. Left Rio’s on the nightstand without waking her.

She padded down the hall, barefoot, robe dragging, and found Nicky in the kitchen smearing cream cheese on half a bagel.

“Is she staying for breakfast?” he asked.

“She’s still asleep.”

Nicky nodded. “You smile more when she’s here.”

Agatha kissed the top of his head. “She makes it easier.”

Sunday.

They didn’t make an announcement.

But Agatha started saying “we” when Rio wasn’t in the room. She brought her to a school event. She slipped her a piece of chocolate during a meeting. She reached for her hand in the parking lot and didn’t care who saw.

Rio started keeping a hair tie in the bathroom drawer. Left one of her college hoodies on the hook behind the bedroom door. Made waffles or omelettes or oatmeal with Nicky on Saturdays like it had always been part of the plan.

One evening, after they’d eaten and Nicky had fallen asleep between them on the couch, Agatha looked at Rio in the low light and said, “You’re not just someone I want. You’re someone I trust.”

Rio leaned in, pressed a kiss beneath her jaw.

“I know,” she whispered. “That’s why I’m still here.”

Agatha’s office door was open.

Rio stepped inside without asking, hair wind-tossed from recess, clipboard tucked under one arm.

“You busy?” she asked.

“No.”

Rio stepped closer.

Agatha stood.

She cupped Rio’s jaw with one hand and kissed her once—gently, like a question.

Rio kissed back like an answer.

They pulled apart slowly.

“I love you,” Rio said, finally. Without armor. Without performance. Just truth.

Agatha didn’t speak for a moment. Then she smiled—full and warm.

Rio tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Say it back when you’re ready.”

Agatha kissed her again.

The hallway bustled just outside. Papers shuffled. A student laughed.

But inside the room, everything was still.

The door stayed open.

It was late July, and the heat had settled thick over Westview, the kind that made everything feel like it was moving underwater. School had been out for a few weeks. The lawn was already half-browned. The pool in Agatha’s backyard was filled with Nicky’s inflatable animals, one of Rio’s sports bras, and a towel that had no business being that damp.

Agatha sat in a lounge chair, sunglasses pushed up into her hair, the condensation from her margarita dripping down her wrist. She had a paperback open in her lap but hadn’t turned the page in twenty minutes.

Rio walked past—still damp from her shower, bikini top swapped for a tank she hadn’t worn in years, low on the sides, scandalous in all the right ways.

Agatha watched her move toward the patio with the lazy satisfaction of someone who now had the freedom to stare. “You wore that to distract me.”

Rio didn’t even look up. “I wore it because your kid used my last clean shirt as a cape.”

“He’s a genius.”

“That’s what I said.”

Nicky was gone for the night—Wanda had picked him up with movie snacks and no agenda. Agatha had offered a list of acceptable bedtimes. Wanda had ignored her.

It was quiet now. The house was golden with dusk and half-silence. Music played low on Rio’s phone in the kitchen—something rhythmic, slow. The kind of background hum that suggested dancing or kissing or both.

Agatha found Rio folding towels in the bedroom like it wasn’t the hottest day of the year. She leaned in the doorway and watched her, bare-legged and barefoot, hair still wet down the back of her tank.

“You doing laundry?”

Rio looked up. “Is that rhetorical?”

Agatha crossed the room. Slid her arms around Rio’s waist. “You’re ruining my fantasy.”

“Oh?” Rio said, letting her hand rest just above Agatha’s hip. “And what’s your fantasy?”

“Something a little more horizontal.”

Rio laughed, deep and soft. “That can be arranged.”

They moved slowly. No rush, no choreography—just warmth and skin and familiarity. Agatha’s swimsuit peeled off like a second skin. Rio’s hands were steady, reverent. They kissed like they had time.

Outside, the sky faded purple. A sprinkler clicked on two houses over. The sheets smelled like lemon detergent and salt.

Rio shifted under her, just enough to glance down.

“You love me,” she said.

Agatha’s voice was quiet, but sure: “I do.”

Rio kissed her forehead.

“You make it easy,” Agatha added, then looked up. “Even when you’re not.”

Rio grinned. “Say that again when I bring up the new staff dress code.”

“Babe” Agatha murmured, already leaning in, “no school in the bedroom.”

She kissed her again—slow, deep, unapologetic.

And this time, Rio didn’t argue. Just wrapped her arms around her and pulled her closer.

Later would come. There’d be policies and practice schedules and morning traffic and new routines. There would be school and snacks and scraped knees and evaluations.

But not tonight.

Tonight, the bed was warm.

And love, finally, had nothing left to hide.

#agatha all along #agathario fic #modern domestic agathario makes me asdfghjkl #agathario #agathario au #the coven has spoken

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rollercoasterwords · 7 months ago

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marauders mutuals dashboard simulator:

[mutual 1]: i LOVE reggie he’s my little scrungly 💓🩷💕🩷💝🩷💓🩷💞

[mutual 2]: here is my 4 paragraph-long analysis of why regulus is an incel fascist & it makes no sense to interpret his character the way most of the fandom does these days

[mutual 3]: *six gif-sets in a row of a show you’ve never watched in your life*

[mutual 4]:

anon asked: hey it’s actually really toxic and homophobic that u just completely erased wolfstar’s queerness in {fic title} and basically made them a straight couple

they’re literally a gay couple in {fic title}?? they have gay sex?? is this because i said sirius was 5’8

[mutual 5]: *fanart that looks like it could be a painting in a museum* just a quick lil sketch! lol

[mutual 6]: can everyone please shut up about these randomass side characters oh my godddd who gives a fuck about a name mentioned in ONE scene

[mutual 7]: guys wait what if these 3 side characters who were only mentioned one time had a crazystyle threesome that would be so in character for them….

[mutual 8]: *picture of the saw bathroom* anyone else wanna have sex here. lol

#i love my beautiful mutuals <3 #this isn’t even that much of an exaggeration. honestly #txt

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circeyoru · 1 year ago

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Unwanted Soul = Requested

[Yandere!Alastor x Owner of his Soul!Reader]

The Request

Part 1 (here) — Part 2 — Part 2.5 (ask) — Part 3 — Part 4 — Part 5 — Part 6 — Part 7 — Part 8 — Part 9 — Part 10 (END)

You weren’t a powerful Overlord nor were you the weaker ones to have their souls owned by other demons to survive in this hellhole. You’re merely capable enough to get by your everyday life. Like always, you’d stay clear from any of ongoing battles or powerful demons that were out and about. Your keen 6th sense to pinpoint potential dangers was always your go-to during your outings

You kind of treated Hell as your paradise to shut-in in your room and read all the comics you want plus watch all the TV shows you want. You were one of the rare demons that get connection to the Earth realm where you can enjoy the guilty pleasures you spend your days doing. Of course, your death was a suicide as you saw no life ahead of you

But you really really should have stayed in that day. It started out as any other day in Hell and you were on your way to the usual supermarkets for the junk food and drink you love. Normally, it was uneventful, until you caught sight of a dying demon, no, ‘wounded’ would be the right word since demons would only demon by angelic blades, even you knew that. Still, the demon was heavily wounded

It must have been a good few minutes since you caught weaker demons attempting to take advantage of the weakened demon as easy prey. You immediately took out your notebook, scribbing a phase before tearing it out and blow on it lightly. The page turned to white sparkles before taking shape of a row of angelic spears around you, it launched at the weak demons before they could do anything to the wounded one

You took went to the wounded demon quickly as your spears faded to nothing after doing its damage. You held his limb hand and closed your eyes, visualizing your cozy apartment and the ground swallowed the two of you up. In the blink of an eye, you were back home, sighing in relief

Not even a moment, you were knocked to the ground and pinned down by your shoulders and thigh. You struggled a bit before you realized it was the wounded demon that was pinning you down with radio dials for eyes

Without thinking, you reached into your coat pocket and took out a piece of paper, slamming it onto his face and blew at it. The paper faded to nothing but sparks then the demon stilled before closing his eyes and slumping forward onto you. Unconscious. But you invited someone you shouldn’t have into your home

This had to be Alastor, the Radio Demon

You grimaced, eying Alastor on top of you sleeping like a harmless deer. You thought of throwing him back out into the streets, but you didn’t exactly have the heart to. You came to the conclusion of healing him as fast as you could then sending him on his merry way! Yes!

Noooo!!! Why is he still here!?!?!?!?!?!?!??????!!!!!

“My dear, you really should be taking more care of your diet. This is hardly filling or healthy for you.” Alastor eyed the cup noodle you were about to open up like you were holding trash “But it’s fast and gets my hunger sated.” You eyed back, “It’s not like I’m feeding you this. I cook for your meals anyways…” You continued roaming around the kitchen, rubbing a fork, and setting a timer for your food. Ignoring the closeness of Alastor. “As long as it doesn’t concern you, it’ll be fine. I’ll treat you better since you just healed up. These are my own indulgence.” “And I appreciate your hospitality, dear, truly, I do. The matter at hand is your consumption!” Alastor grabbed your precious cup noodle lunch away, “I shall take over your meals from now on.”

Yes, you have fully healed Alastor and he’s back to full health. No, you didn’t tell him to stay. In fact, the moment his wounds were all healed, you showed him the open door, waiting for him to leave. He didn’t exactly let you make him leave. He said he was staying to repay your kindness, but all he was doing was inserting him into your afterlife and really making it Hell

At first, he praised your unique power to summon anything you write with a gentle blow, especially the part where you put him to sleep the first time. Then he urged you to make a name for yourself, but you really just want to shut yourself in your room and indulge in your time-wasting hobby. You told him off and shut yourself in your room, but he would just appear through the shadows and apologise, saying he’d leave the matter

When that whole business was done, Alastor got worse. You’re positive some other demons would love to be treated this way, but you’re just weirded out. It started out small, Alastor making meals like he said, shifting your schedule to a healthier one. Then taking care of your needs whenever you are about to do something. Even as simple as getting a glass of water

Then it escalated to touches. A handholding here, maybe he’s lean into you while reading. Or he’ll lay next to you in your own bed. Shift closer to you while on the couch. Stare at you while you were busy reading manga or watching animes and shows. Plus you could feel him staring at you while you sleep from the shadows even though you told him not to

But the most unnerving thing was when you would go restock on your food and other supplies. Alastor being the gentleman would carry and pay for your stuff. That you’re used to and didn’t care since either way, you had your methods. It was what happens during the two of you walking

“Alastor…” You hugged your coat tighter as your lips pressed together tightly from the scene, your eyebrows furrowed from the tense situation you were in. You had just left the shop to get new books and volumes, only to be met with such a sight. “What…” “My darling, your timing is perfect.” Alastor threw away the torn body of what used to be a demon. The street was covered with a layer of thick red and black blood. Hellborns and sinners alike were all brutally ripped away by the fearsome Radio Demon. “These pest dares to look at you wrongly, surely they deserve a good, limb pulling.” He walked over to you with his ever-present smile, offering his clean hand. “Shall we head home, My Doe?” You feel yourself tense as you firmly told him, “Just because they stare at me a little long and spat out rude remarks, it’s not an excuse or reason to torture them like this. I’m… I don’t exactly mind unless they attack.” Alastor grabbed your hand and kissed it, “Dearie, why give them the chance to harm you when I can prevent it? You can name and point fingers, I’ll be your killer.”

Trapped was what you felt at home and anywhere, as long as Alastor was there, you didn’t like it. Those sweet romantic gestures and attention from him that you would only see in your books and shows left a bad taste in your mouth.

At the 4th year, however, something changed. Alastor sold his soul to you as the ‘last’ act of pure devotion and loyalty to you. Since the contract was all by your rules, you made use of it

Limit Alastor’s powers because it scares you how much he could do and the destruction he could cause. Forbid him from devouring or owning souls because he does it so easily when he thinks you were wronged in any way. And most importantly, forbid him from disobeying your words, whatever they may be, that way, you can finally have peace

How Alastor was still able to be this unnerving, you didn’t know and you didn’t want to know. Somehow, the contract was something like a declaration that the two of you were romantically involved with ecah other? If it made sense. It didn’t, really

Alastor still stayed with you because he had told you a long time ago that his home was destroyed in a brutal battle, hence why you found him that battered. So you offered yours. You did manage to set some firmer ground rules with the contract’s help. Like no entering your room or throwing away your junk food

Though Alastor still plays a big part in your life just because. You had wanted a lover before, but Alastor had proven how bad a relationship could go, and you two didn’t even established anything! You love fiction, fiction is life or afterlife. You can just drown yourself in the world of fiction and never leave

That’s the basis of your power. It’s like summoning through writing and the faint blow from your lips. You have to be aware of the components though, the hardest to summon was definitely the angel spears. It was the day after extermination and a spear was stuck into a demon, you were curious and took it back with you. You studied it and tested it out, knowing its strength and limitations before actually attempting to summon it. Works well enough, since it was easy to study

In the blink of an eye, 7 years had already passed. While Alastor was out on buying new ingredients for your celebration dinner of surviving another extermination, you caught the Princess of Hell and her promotion on the ‘Happy Hotel’. A place that welcomes anyone, a place that gives anyone a chance. It sounds lovely, but you didn’t have the mentality and energy to help out

A foolproof plan came to mind. You could, no, should send Alastor there. He loves entertainment! He wouldn’t be bored there! The hotel is much bigger and there’s more people there for him to hang out with. Plus he would definitely get a room there since he’s going to be staying. Even when he disagrees, because you just know he would rather stay by your side, you can use the contract as a last resort

“My dear!” Alastor greeted the moment he came back from his little shopping. He gave you a peak on the crown of your head when he walked past you, then headed to the table to place the bags of items down. “Did you hear about that ridiculous plan the Princess told in the picture box? Hahaha! It’s sure to fail! No way in any universe would just a silly and childish thing happen! No, sir!” “I want to help her with it, it sounds like a good plan. It’s better than annual exterminations.” You spoke while coming over to check the things Alastor brought. “But you know I’m more of a home person and not the go-out and help-others type.” “Exactly, dearie, we need not care for such fantasy.” Alastor nodded along. “That’s why you’re going in my place.” You stated firmly without blinking or shifting in your spot, at the growing static, you looked up to see Alastor’s eyes turned to radio dial. Very rarely are those directed at you since he swore he’d never do you harm or wish you harm. “You’ll go and help the Princess to make it a success.” Alastor’s eyes shifted back to normal, narrowing as he asked, “Till how long, my dear?” You had to control yourself to hide a smile as you spoke, “For as long as it takes of course. You can’t rush redemption, right? And it’s the first of its kind too.” The static grew again, you knew Alastor was getting annoyed with such a wish (order) from you. “But this would take a long while. I’d be returning to check on you, yes?” “Oh, no. Can’t interrupt your work.” You said, carrying your pile of snacks to your little comfort corner and dropping it with huff, there was a skip in your step as you returned back to the table. “You can’t come back here nor see me when in the service of the Princess. Well, you can see me when I’m the one to approach you or call for you, that’s the only exception.” Alastor would have a frown on by now if it weren’t for his insistence on the power of smiles, “Who would take care of you? Who would watch over you? Who would tend to you? Who would protect you while I’m gone, sweetheart?” You laughed, “Don’t be so dramatic. I can handle myself. It’s just like before I met you,” You didn’t miss the radio crackling like it broke connection, “But this time, I have you as a backup should I need.”

Making Alastor leave you wouldn’t have been possible without the contract and the fact that his soul was yours to control. Very pushy but you had to do what you had to, it was all to regain that quiet and isolated shut-in life you love. Never have you missed the silence in your home and the void of a watchful gaze all around you

You squealed and smiled brightly, “Time to chill and laze around!”

Oh how the Radio Demon was fuming as he made his way to that ratchaed hotel. He shouldn’t have let you know of such a news. If that inferno picture box was broken, then you wouldn’t know. No, you have your phone, so that makes no difference. Maybe it was the fact that that cannibal chef was gone that Charlie had time to promote that idea of hers?

This would be his first appearance since 7 years ago. He kept his presence gone from the public eye just to hide his connection and fancy towards you. If demons knew you had his soul, who knows what danger you’d be in? He can’t let that happen to you. No, you were the kind soul that saved him and gave him a place to belong. Truly belong

Never had he felt such a sense of comfort around someone so lazy and chill. The fact that you were average but powerful in your right that you humble yourself to blend in with others. To live your afterlife as you please and like without a care in the world. So long as your interest was sated

He just couldn’t help but want to be yours. You deserve it, after all

But now. Now he had to provide his attention and care to some princess’ dream! What joke is this?!

Were you sending him away because he wasn’t strong enough? You limited his powers to see if he could still be as strong as before. Was that the reason? What other demon held your attention? As far as he knew. You have no interest in forming connections. He was the first one you actually cared for and hosted your home for! You don’t even own other souls and you’re strong!

He was your only one. Only!

In front of the hotel, he knocked rhythmically, waiting patiently for the door to be opened and for him to introduce himself. He’ll show you. “Hel—” The door closed shut in his face before it opened again, “-lo!”

His ears twitched as he heard the ruckus inside. These souls don’t deserve your time and attention spent on them, he’ll deal with the problem like always and return to your side. He’ll show you just how powerful and cruel he is and can be

The door opened again and he introduced himself with his plan in mind. “Alastor! Pleasure to be meeting you, princess. Quite a pleasure!”

Note: I really really didn't mean to do this so long... I could have put it into 2 parts, but I was too lazy to. There was actually some more I wanna add, but then it will be a literal essay. Anyways~ How you like this one?

Circe Y.

Other Works: MASTERLIST

Taglist:

@aconfusedwonderland

@crowleysthings

@donustellaron

#Circe's Nighty Writings #Circe's requested writings #alastor imagine #alastor x reader #alastor x y/n #alastor x you #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor headcanons #hazbin hotel fanfiction #alastor #hazbin hotel oneshots #yandere alastor #yandere alastor x reader #yandere hazbin hotel #alastor fanfiction #hazbin hotel imagines #Unwanted Soul

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xmalereader · 11 months ago

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— Endless Pt. 1 —

Bruce Wayne x Endless! Male Reader

☆ — MASTERLIST — ☆

SUMMARY: The endless family is made up of 7 children, so why is their an 8th? Reader is the black sheep of the family with no purpose to fulfill the human realm. He spends his days locked away in the Dreaming where he stays under his brothers watch. It wasn’t until one of Dreams new nightmares escapes the realm and starts causing problems in the Waking, giving reader a chance to show that he can be helpful in his family by tracking down his brothers nightmare, not knowing what awaits him.

WARNINGS/CONTENT: Angst, slow burn, MDNI 18+, language, endless family, dream trying to be a good brother, mentions of abuse, black sheep, self esteem problems, mentions of death, family secrets, friends to lovers, post riddler chaos, mentions of new villains, foreshadowing, reader and Bruce balancing each other out, Gotham is shit, slight kissing, trauma mentioned, OC nightmare, non-canon works.

WC: 5k

TAGS: @circusdexxter @lordzachariah0-0 @apolo1808 @i-cant-sleep615 @kayden1 @boylicious143 @h-ib @kik1010 @toxic90sboy @multifandomsimp69 @moththesadmage @stalker0

NOTES: Finally! After a very long break I’m finally getting back into writing again! I will mainly be focusing on my series that I’ve been planning for quiet awhile and really want to focus on this Endless series that I’ve had in mind for months. I’ll try my best to update as much as possible since each chapter will be between 5k-8k words or longer in order to have fewer chapters, but other than that, here is the first part and thank you for being patient on my writing!

Blinding - Florence And The Machine

The Endless had 8 children, each with a purpose in life.

Destiny with the purpose of defining all that is, Death was destined to put the universe to rest, Dream with the creation of stories and imagination, Destruction with the power of not only destroying but of making and producing, Desire with the purpose of wanting and lust along with their twin Despair who is the personification of despair and hope, and Delirium who can create realities and manipulate the human mind.

They all had an important purpose.

All but one.

The eighth child was the youngest of them all, having been born eons later after Delirium resulting in the last sibling of the Endless family. His siblings figured that he would have a purpose just like them only to have none. The last sibling wasn’t special nor was he given a proper name that would fit his so called ‘purpose’ instead both Father Time and Mother Night left their last child in the hands of their other children.

He expected his brothers and sisters to help him find a purpose that brought balance to the human realm, but neither sibling was much help. The twins simply teased him, mocking his existence while the others grew to busy in their own duties to give him the attention he needs, a few of his other siblings were busy searching for the ‘Prodigal’ who had left his duty many years ago and was being searched in order to restore balance again.

The youngest Endless could only watch from the sidelines holding onto hope that he too, would have a purpose of his own.

As he was passed around from sibling to sibling he spent most of his time in their realms watching their work and staying in line from overstepping into their duties. He spent most of his time in Dreams realm feeling his heart warm in joy when he walked through his brothers creation. The creation of stories and imagination was a powerful thing for many humans something that his brother found joy in doing.

There were times that he spent his time in his brothers library, hidden behind many rows of books, watching from the corners as his brother speaks with Lucian and Marvin. No matter how long he spends in this dreaming he never had the chance to actually create a bond with his brother, growing afraid each time he approached him when returning a book or when trying to ask a simple question about his creations.

Delirium was technically the baby in the family before he came into the picture and Dream already struggled with creating a bond with his sister and he didn’t want to get in the way of their bond. He spent years without knowing his duty that he’s grown used to being an outsider from his siblings, spending his ‘family’ dinners alone in Dreams realm, trying to stay out of their business as much as possible.

Even if his sister, Death, tired to convince him to join them for dinner he’d refuse and continue on with his day. What was the purpose of him being there? He can’t stand their whispers of pity, so why even bother.

He felt like a burden to his own family, so instead of trying to fit in he’d slowly pushed himself out of the picture and allowing them to have the spotlight while he stood out the frame. There were times that wished to disappear like his brother, Destruction. He didn’t know much about him and the others didn’t talk about him, not because they hated him, but because of the pain it brought them when reminded of their brother leaving without a word, abandoning his duty and hiding from the world.

When wandering around Dreams library he had found a book hidden deep in the shelves that contained a photo of his brother, Destruction. He looked older than the others and with a rugged expression on his face, having facial hair on his face and perhaps a grumpy like exterior. He kept the image of his brother in mind before putting the book back where it belongs in order to keep his brother, Dream from knowing his findings.

“A nightmare has escaped.”

He was doing his usual routine, hiding in the library and nose buried in a book before his ears perk at the sound of the ravens worried tone when landing near Lucians desk and letting her know about the situation.

“Does Lord Morpheus know about this?” Lucian had asked while she looked through the new plans of the realm, showing very little interest towards the situation since she had no control over dreams and nightmares.

The raven, Matthew tilts his head to the side. “He does—“

“Then I don’t see what this has to do with me.”

“It’s that new nightmare.” Said Matthew, voice laced with worry and concern.

His words causes Y/n to look up from his book, eyes widening when hearing Matthew. He knew what nightmare he was referring to and knew how messy the situation can turn out if a nightmare were to abandon its duties. Dream always kept an eye on his dreams and nightmares and had been making changes in his realm, more like improvements. He had been changing his nightmares into dreams and leaving him with time to make new nightmares for the dreamers, having created one that lurks on your deepest fears named Pitch.

Y/n never liked the nightmare when first meeting him, his tall structure and sharp yellow eyes always made him shiver and whenever he was alone the nightmare always found him.

“Pitch is nothing but problems.” Sighed Lucian while removing her glasses.

Matthew lets out a small sound of understanding. “He reminds me of the Corinthian in some way.”

The name was familiar to Y/n, having heard about him and the troubles he’s brought into Dreams realm the nightmare was so bad that Dream had to destroy his creation and store him away. His brother had claimed that he will restore the Corinthian again, one day when he deemed the time right.

Y/n doesn’t stay longer to listen to their conversation and closes his book, leaving it on the table and standing from where he sat. He doesn’t spare the librarian and raven a glance, having grown used to their silent glances when his presence is made known, leaving the library and making his way towards his brothers chambers where he finds him pacing around the room while reading a book in hand. He’s noticed the stack of books scattered on the floor with different names from many dreamers.

He can’t help but raise a brow at his brothers mess, but doesn’t point it out when approaching him.

“I suppose you are busy?”

Dream doesn’t look away from his book and keeps pacing. “I am always busy.” His voice echos back before stopping mid pace to look over to Y/n who stood a good distance from the other Endless. Dream looks at him up and down before asking. “Is there something you need?” He’d usually brush off anyone’s needs and focus on himself, but after his imprisonment of 100 years and spending more time around humans he’s grown to change.

Showing some compassion for once.

The younger endless stares at Dream and then down at the books that surround them both. He wants to jump in and help his brother with finding his missing nightmare to be able to do something for once. “I heard that Pitch left the realm.” He starts, noticing the slight frown appear on his brothers face which makes him bite the inside of his cheek in a nervous manner.

“I can help with finding him?” He finally asks.

Dream shuts his book which causes Y/n to flinch and avoid his brothers eyes, looking away nervously after asking. He would expect his brother to be upset for wanting to step in and provide assistance to his mistake when it was his duty to fix the problem and not Y/n’s.

But his brothers words surprise him. “I’d appreciate the help.”

Y/n’s eyebrows raise in surprise when he’s accepted to help, nodding slowly as he takes a few steps closer and a bit hesitant on what to do. “What are you looking for in these books?” He asks and bends down to pick one up, reading the name of the dreamer before flipping it open and skimming through the pages.

“Pitch lurks on fear. Since I no longer have my ruby, I am unable to find my nightmares and must doing things a bit differently.” Dream being to explain as he walks over to the other side of the room to toss the book he was currently reading on top of another pile. Y/n guessed that it’s the finished books he’s read. “If I wish to find Pitch I have to find out which dreamers are most likely to be targeted by him.”

Y/n looks back at the stack of books with wide eyes. “You’re trying to locate a dreamer who could possibly lure Pitch in?” He says in disbelief and turns back to Dream. “That could take hours or days, all dreamers have nightmares so Pitch could be going after anyone.” He sets the book down and steps back to stare at the different piles, reading off names and trying to figure out his brothers outrageous system of locating his missing nightmare.

Dream lets out a dry chuckle when hearing his little brothers worries and shakes his head. “Then,” he walks over to Y/n and hands him a book. “Lets get started.” The little Endless can only mentally groan as he takes the thick book in hand and watched Dream get back to his own reading.

The room falls into a comfortable silence as the two read for what felt like hours. The sound of flipping pages echoed in the throne room and the placement thud of the book beings piled up as the continued their reading. As much as he enjoyed spending time in his brothers library he was slowly growing tired of reading dreamers lives and how they spent their time in the dreaming realm when sleeping. Even though he doesn’t have a purpose he’s starting to realize that being a Dream lord wouldn’t be for him.

It wasn’t until he breaks out into a yawn that it gets the Dream lords attention, eyes glancing up from his book and towards his brother who was half asleep at this point. Dream sighs through his nose and closed his book, setting it aside from where he sat on the steps. “You're tired, get some sleep.”

Y/n snaps his head up and shakes his head at Dreams words. “I’m fine I can keep going.” He waves him off and tries to concentrate on the book o his lap, but Dream had quickly taken the book from him and closed it. “I can tell when someone doesn’t sleep.” His voice is low as he towers over Y/n who sits on the floor and sighs to himself, rubbing his eyes and nodding his head slowly. “Okay, I’ll get some sleep.” He mumbled in return as he stands from where he sat.

Even though he wanted to help Dream in finding Pitch he’d need to get some rest if he wishes to keep going. When letting Dream know that he will head off to his room and get some proper rest for the night he makes sure to sneak at least one book back to his bedroom in order to keep helping out of his brother sight and not get into any trouble.

He holds the book against his chest when leaving his throne room and down a different hall in his castle. He yawns again when reaching his own bedroom, its big and spacious when entering a few books are on the shelf and small little valuables are sitting near the balcony not having a lot since he spent most of his time in the Dreaming with his brother.

He tossed the book on his bed and falls face first into his pillow, moaning tiredly and closing his eyes for a few seconds, letting his body relax against the soft blankets and pillows. The silence wakes him back up, opening his eyes and glancing over to the book he had snuck into his room.

It was surprisingly thin and the binding is all black, getting his attention as he sits up and turns around to lie on his back. He grabs the book and holds it up, reading the name on the front cover.

“Bruce Wayne…” He whispers the name to himself and flips the cover open, starting at the beginning like every other book he’s read. He knows he’s suppose to be sleeping or else his brother will use his sand on him, but he can’t help but grow eager to continue helping his brother, to be able to do something for once as he reads the book in hand.

He’s nodding off little by little and trying to concentrate on the words on the pages, shaking the sleep away and sighing as he adjusts his sleeping position and groans before flipping to the next page only to freeze, his eyes full of confusion as he sits up, fully awake as he stares down at blank pages. He’s never seen something like this in the books, finding half of the pages blank.

The mans life ends in nightmares, but the blank pages had to mean something. He quickly pulls the blankets back and slips out of bed, rushing out of his room and holding the book in hand as he heads back to his brothers throne room to ask him about the strange book.

“Dream—?”

“Aren’t you suppose to be sleeping?” Dream cuts in and slams his book shut, setting it aside onto a pile. The time that Y/n spent reading had resulted in the shift of books, having less around the throne room since his brother had finished reading a few on his own. Before Y/n can ask about the blank pages in the book his brother had approached him and takes his wrist in hand, dragging him back to his room.

“Wait—!”

“I’ve told you many times that you are to be asleep, unlike me you need the rest since your body isn’t adjusted to the dreaming realm quiet yet.” He began to explain, disregarding Y/n’s protests as he’s dragged back to his room. “But Dream—!?”

“Enough talk.” They make it back to his room where Dream shoves him back into bed and takes the book from his grip, setting it aside and ignoring the title of the book since he was focused on Y/n.

“But the book!” said Y/n as he reached out to grab it only for Dream to push him back into bed.

“You can tell me about it tomorrow, now you sleep.” He doesn’t give Y/n the chance to speak again as he uses his sand on his little brother, watching as he yawns and his eyes slowly flutter closed.

—

Y/n doesn’t dream.

He knows that his own brother does since its apart of him, but Y/n never had dreams or nightmares. He always wondered if it was because he wasn’t an Endless like his siblings with a purpose in the human realm. His siblings had dreams, but never spoke about them. Dream had their books with their dreams and nightmares written locked away from prying hands, he never read their books in order to keep the privacy and respect, never lurking in their dreams to see what they think of when sleeping. He made a rule to never do such thing, but Dream was surprised when his little brothers book wasn’t on the shelf.

He had given it time since he was still young, but after eons, nothing.

That’s why Y/n had woken up without feeling anything, falling asleep in darkness and waking up as if nothing ever happened. He’d stare at the ceiling of his room, quiet and still as he thinks about last nights discoveries. He turns to his left where his brother had left the book. He would have expected Dream to take it back instead of leaving it in his room.

He takes the book into his hands again and reads the name to himself once more. His fingers opening the book as he flips through the empty pages in hopes of finding new words only to find nothing, ending in the same way as last night.

“You can’t be dead.” He says to himself when closing the book, he’s seen how their story is written before death comes for them. It always ends with a dream before their story reaches an end, but Bruce’s didn’t have that and it made him question it.

He holds the book in hand when leaving his room, heading off to see his brother only to find the throne room empty when arriving. The books that were scattered around were gone, leaving the place empty and clean. He decides to check the library, perhaps he could find his brother there if the books were all cleaned up.

Only, he doesn’t find his brother there other than Lucian.

“Lucian, have you seen Dream?” He speaks up softly towards the librarian as she organized a few books and puts them in their designated space in the shelves. She looks up from her work and sighs. “Lord Morpheus had to attend a family dinner.” She responds back which makes Y/n’s heart race at the statement, forgetting that family dinners were every few years.

He was always invited but rarely went since he didn’t want to deal with the usual conversations.

“Found your purpose yet?”

“Still staying with Dream?”

“Why even have another endless when you can’t figure out why you are here.”

The past conversation makes him shudder, hating the feeling of being different.

Lucian can easily see the sadness hidden behind Y/n’s eyes as if showing that he’s fine when deep down inside he was hurting.

“I was curious about something,” He began to say, holding the book under his arm. “have you ever dealt with a dreamers dreams not showing in their books?”

Lucian raises a brow at his question. “Lack of dreams?”

Y/n shakes his head. “More like, disappearing from the human realm when they aren’t really dead?” He winced at his own question, unsure if he was making sense towards the librarian.

“Oh,” Lucian gives him a look of surprise. “Well, we once dealt with a boy who went missing in the dreaming. We couldn’t find him in his books and it looked like he had disappeared from the world.” She explains while shelving books. “Turns out that a nightmare was keeping him hidden, using their power and work to hide the boy from the real world. A way of escaping reality and hiding in the dreaming.”

Y/n takes in her words, glancing down at the book he had. Thinking that perhaps this Bruce is suffering from nightmares, making him easy bait for Pitch. He isn’t sure if he’s right or wrong, but he knows he should let his brother know since its an urgent matter due to pitch leaving his duties and causing a problem to his brother.

“Thank you, Lucian.” He leaves the book on the table and quickly leaves the library. He doesn’t usually attend family dinners, but perhaps this once he can make an appearance only to let Dream know about his discoveries and then leave. His siblings always took turns in hosting dinners, sharing each others realms for a short period of time together.

Last dinner took place in Deaths realm, today it’s Destiny’s.

In order to enter his brothers realm he’d have to ask permission, but since its a family dinner he doesn’t need to ask. He’s only been in Destiny’s realm a few times, liking his garden that he walked through in order to make it to the clear opening where a dining table is set and finds his siblings conversing amongst each other.

He always felt nervous around his other siblings. He’s known them for eons, but he didn’t really know them. He only saw them as his siblings who took care of him when he was a child, but as time went by and he continued to age things had changed between them.

“Look who decided to join us.”

Desires voice floats through the air as he looks over to his sibling, giving them a small nod of acknowledgment. “Desire.”

“Endless.” They said back.

Y/n mentally flinched at the name. He’s Endless, but Endless of what?

“That’s a surprise, you usually don’t come to these dinners.” They continued on, taunting him with a sly grin on their face. “Oh!” They gasp out. “Are you here to tell us that you’ve finally found a purpose or did you just come to ruin the dinner?” They and Despair laugh at their comment which leaves Y/n quiet.

“That’s enough.” Dream cuts in, stopping his siblings mocking. Desire clicks their tongue and rolls their eyes when their fun is ruined.

Dream looks over to Y/n. “Are you here to join us?”

He doesn’t know what to say, his mind feels fuzzy and can hear his heart racing in his ears. His eyes glancing over to the twins who murmured to each other, his eyes then shift over to Death who looks at him with eyes full of pity and concern—he hated that look. His brother Destiny didn’t even look at him and and Delirium was lost in her own world.

It wasn’t until his eyes land on the empty chair across from Dream. He’s confused at first, asking himself why they would have a chair for him. “Oh…”

There was 7 seats, one for each sibling.

The seventh wasn’t for him. It was for his missing brother, Destruction.

He’s now realized had he’s never had a seat amongst them.

“Y/n?”

Dreams voice pulls him out of his thoughts, looking back at his brother and noticed the small hint of concern in his voice.

“Is something wrong?”

Y/n gives his brother a fake smile. “It’s nothing.”

He doesn’t stay much longer and turns his back, leaving his brothers garden and heading back to the Dreaming where he belonged. Did he really belong to the dreaming? Dream was only being a kind brother and letting him stay in his realm until he’s found his purpose but its been eons and he still hasn’t figured out what kind of endless he is. Thinking about it makes him feel like a burden, having bothered his brother for years not asking himself if Dream has perhaps grown tired of having him around.

He found beauty in his brothers work always amazed by his creations and ideas that he can’t help but think that he’s a mistake wandering around his brothers creation.

“You are just Endless.”

Dream of the Endless.

Death of the Endless.

Desire of the Endless.

They all had a name, but him.

“How can I know who I am…” He whispers in the emptiness of his room, staring at the pile of books that he had left forgotten in his room only to remember last nights book.

“Bruce Wayne.”

He may not be someone who can lead him to Pitch, but he could be a start. He’s curious to know why his book ended in blank pages, waiting to be filled with words. Even if he was wrong at least it was an excuse for him to leave the realm to perhaps find himself something out in the Waking.

Y/n had seen the Waking and had very little interactions with mortals, but perhaps he’ll get the chance to know them at a better level. There isn’t much for him to take other than a notebook with notes regarding his brothers dreams and nightmares and his time here in the dreaming. His room never had anything valuable only a simple bed and a few books, nothing else.

He flips the book open and reads his last page.

“Gotham City.”

#male reader #Bruce Wayne x male reader #Endless Series #Bruce Wayne #Batman x male reader #Batman imagine #robert battinson #battinson x reader #the batman 2022 #the sandman #dc imagines #lord morpheus x reader #lord Morpheus #Dream of the endless #endless family

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pixlpxie · 1 year ago

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Ranking how fuckable, rideable and suckable ateez's hands are:

As someone with raging hand fetish/kink, hands are extremely important to me and one thing I will say is every single member of ateez is blessed with gorgeous hands so all of them are technically #1 already

1) Yunho

Do I even have to say anything yall knew what was going to happen. Ofc he takes the first place his hands are literally my fetish objects. I have a whole post abt his hands. They are long, boney, extremely veiny and big. Literally perfect, like take the mold of his hand make it into a sex toy idc. Will make you feel extremely full and can make you cum and squirt multiple times in a row. Also extremely suckable. I could suck on them all day long im not joking.

2) Mingi

Big, long and pretty. His hands are so gorgeous and he has thicker fingers. Would easily make you feel full. I love his nail shape.

3) Yeosang

I don't think anyone actually understands how pretty and sexy his hands are. Not only are they perfectly sized, they are also extremely veiny and boney. The texture would just be immaculate.

4) Seonghwa

Ngl I had to move him at 4 bc suddenly he was in the 6th place which would be such a waste. They are long and thick too that's why I moved him up

5) Wooyoung

Veins👨🏻‍🦯Literally enough explanation. Also boney. Must feel perfect 😣

6) Jongho

Def shouldnt be at 6 (initially he was 5 but I moved shw up) I love his hands they are so pretty and his hands don't get enough appreciation like I don't know I need them inside me that should give you an enough explanation his nail shape is perfect too looks delicate but literally can drill into you considering his strength

7) Hongjoong

Again, does not deserve 7 bc his hands are so fucking pretty like everything is so perfectly shaped his nails, fingers, bone structure... veiny too so you'd definitely feel that texture in your mouth and in your insides. Had to rank a little lower bc his hands are smaller compared to other members

8) San

Pretty mf hands. More on the chubbier(?) and shorter side. They are extremely fuckable and rideable bc again they would easily fill you up but ranked the last bc his hands has less texture(?) to them compared to other members

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starlight-and-whiskey · 4 months ago

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Seams are Torn

When a hunting trip with Arthur goes bad, you find yourself holed up miles from camp and inches from death. This story takes place in the cabin you take refuge in, with fear burrowing into your bones, Arthur's honeyed reassurances, and the threatening icy embrace of death's hand looming at your shoulder.

Tags for: hurt comfort, angst, fluff, caretaking of reader, and Arthur Morgan crying. A03 Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

For the second morning in a row, you woke to the soft rustling of wind through the trees. The hunting trip Arthur had persuaded you to join him on had come as a welcome respite, and as you woke once more to the lack of clanking of pots and pans, the absence of shouting and a day’s rigid plans, you hoped you wouldn’t have to turn back too soon.

Stretching the stiffness from your limbs, you sat up and brushed back your hair, stealing a glance at the sky as it bled into soft blue and gold. Arthur was already up and pottering by the small fire, but that was hardly a surprise. With a deep yawn, you pushed yourself up on your elbows to watch him. It was something you’d never admit, not to him, not to anyone, but you enjoyed watching Arthur more than you should.

Arthur had been an enigma when you’d first joined the gang. A gruff, taciturn presence that people either feared or dismissed. Some thought him mean; others thought him stupid.

You knew better.

After eighteen months of riding together his wariness of you had waned inch-by-inch, replaced gradually by a trust that you felt sometimes even teetered on the edge of respect. Long hours spent on watch had taught you how to tease out the lighter side of him, how to coax a smirk or a chuckle when no one else could. Hushed conversations by a campfire when sleep just wouldn’t come had forged a bond. A bond that month by month had blossomed into teasing that bordered on flirtatious. Over a year and more, Arthur had grown on you like a limpet, latching on without you even realising.

Sometimes, you felt like the only person who truly saw him. He wasn’t cruel, and he certainly wasn’t dumb. Not to you.

When you’d first met, he seemed this sullen mountain of a man, but about eight months ago you’d noticed him. Really noticed him. And then his self-deprecating humour was no longer funny to you.

Amidst the bustle of the camp, you found yourself noticing the way his shoulders shifted as he hauled hay bales, each ridge of muscle flexing beneath the taught confines of his shirt. The way his hands moved with practiced ease as he saddled his horse, gentle fingers stroking along her neck. The way the corners of his eyes crinkled in the rare moments when he laughed – really laughed – the sound full-bodied and rich. Even now, crouched with his back to you, hat tilted low over his brow and brewing coffee against the backdrop of a painted sunrise, you found yourself noticing him.

Feeling a blush rise to your cheeks, you scrubbed the back of your neck and tossed off the blanket, hauling yourself to your feet.

The sun had fully risen by the time the two of you reached the patch of land Arthur had been keen to hunt. Dismounting and leaving the horses to trail languidly behind, the crunch of leaves and twigs beneath your boots filled the quiet as you moved through the dense forest, the air thick with the scent of pine and damp earth.

Arthur walked ahead of you, rifle slung over his shoulder, his broad frame cutting an easy path through the undergrowth. You followed a few steps behind, not because you needed to, but because, well… the view wasn’t half bad.

“You starin’ at my ass again?”

Your eyes snapped up, his words jolting you from your thoughts.

“What? No!”, you retorted a little too quickly, your voice coming out a touch higher than intended.

Arthur glanced back, smirking.

“You sure?” He slowed his pace just enough to fall in beside you, that knowing grin still tugging at his lips. “’Cause I swear I felt your eyes burnin’ a hole back there.”

You rolled your eyes, huffing for effect. “Arthur Morgan, I do not spend my time ogling your backside.”

Arthur chuckled, low and warm, clearly enjoying himself. “That so?”

“Damn right,” you shot back, stepping over a fallen branch. “I’ve seen better.”

Arthur let out a soft hum, his smirk pulling at dimples in his cheeks as he nodded thoughtfully. “That’s right. Didn’t you see Bill drop his towel last week?”

“Ugh! Arthur!”, you grimaced through a whine, barging your shoulder into his as you pulled a face. “I only just got that image outta my head!”

Arthur’s grin spread wider, and a deep rumbling of laughter emanated from his chest as he adjusted the rifle on his shoulder, turning his gaze back to the narrow path winding through the trees. You side-stepped a patch of brambles, the sharp thorns tugging at your pant leg.

“Yeah, well,” he said after a moment, “I still say you were starin’…”

“Oh, you sure are full of yourself today.”

The trees thinned slightly as the two of you moved into a small clearing, and that’s when you saw it – a small house, isolated and nestled against the slope of the hill. It wasn’t grand, barely more than a cabin, but there was something about it that made you smile. It looked as though it belonged there with its moss-covered roof sloping down in such a way that it seemed it had grown right out of the hillside, settled into the land rather than imposed upon it.

Arthur let out a low whistle. “Well, look at that.”

You tilted your head, intrigued. “Huh. Wonder who lives there?”

Arthur didn’t even pause. “No one.”

You frowned, looking up to Arthur with knitted brows. “How do you know?”

“’Cause I know things.”

“Oh, well, that’s specific.” You narrowed your eyes at him and crossed your arms. “What is it? What do you see?”

Arthur’s eyes flicked to you, then back to the house with the tugging of a smile at the corner of his lips and an exaggerated shrug. “Nothin’.”

Leaving you with mouth hanging open, he adjusted his rifle and flashed you that shit-eating grin once more before trudging back towards the trees.

With an exasperated sigh and a final glance at the house, you followed after him, jogging a little to catch up to his long strides.

“You seen it before? That’s it, isn’t it?”

“Nope.”

You narrowed your eyes at the back of his head, quickening your pace until you were walking beside him again. "Liar."

Arthur smirked but kept his eyes ahead. "Ain’t lyin’. Swear on my life, I ain’t seen that house before.”

“Alright. So, Hosea or someone’s seen it?”

“No. I told you, I just know things.”

“Oh sure, you obviously have some ancient cowboy wisdom”, you drawled with a scoff, waving your arms.

Arthur turned to you with an exaggerated, patronising smile. “Finally, you get it.”

You groaned. "You are impossible."

"I dunno why you’re gettin’ so riled up over my knowledge of homesteads”, he chuckled.

"You just like seein’ me annoyed," you muttered, kicking a rock out of your path.

Arthur grinned and nudged your shoulder. "I do enjoy that, yeah."

“Fine”, you huffed. “Keep your spooky cowboy secrets.”

Arthur huffed another laugh, his smirk softening. “I plan to.”

You’d just about opened your mouth but before you could speak, a sound shattered the tranquillity of the woodland, sharp and unnatural against the soft rustling of the leaves. Twigs snapping, louder than any deer could have made it. Deliberate. Close.

In a split second, Arthur's smile faltered, his body tensing like a coiled spring as he swung down his rifle. You hesitantly followed suit, eyes flicking through the trees.

Like shadows shifting, three men stepped from the trees with slow, casual arrogance and weapons drawn. Their grins wolfish. Hungry.

“Ain’t often we see folks wanderin’ out this way.”

Arthur exhaled slowly through his nose and shifted his stance ever so slightly, placing himself just a step in front of you.

The rustle of boots against fallen leaves behind you made your stomach twist. Slowly and steadily turning your head to look over your shoulder, your mouth went dry as a fourth man took a few steps closer to the rear of you.

“Arthur…”, you murmured through trembling lips.

Arthur’s gaze flicked behind you for just a second before snapping back to the three men in front. His jaw tightened, and you could almost feel the tension rolling off him.

“It’s okay”, he said firmly, just loud enough for only you to hear.

For a split second, everything was still. The trees themselves tensed. The wind held its breath.

Then… everything happened at once.

Once again, you’d failed to see something could Arthur sense before it happened. As one of the bandit’s fingers moved to squeeze the trigger, Arthur reacted in the same heartbeat. Rifle coming up, braced tight, the crack of the shot split the air.

Arthur shoved you down behind cover, bullets splintering bark around you as chaos erupted. Adrenaline surged through your veins as you ducked behind a tree and fired back. Time seemed to slow along with your breath as you aimed and fired again. Missed. The yell that echoed through the leaves told you Arthur hadn’t though.

Your world tunnelled into a blur. There was shouting, but it didn’t make sense. Just noise, just static. Bullets tore into flesh. Bullets missed. You didn’t think, didn’t feel, as you reloaded and took aim again, losing your sight of Arthur. Men lunged. Men fell.

Your bullet hit its mark, and a figure jerked, crumpling into the dirt. You didn’t register his face, didn’t watch him fall. You were already moving.

Spinning from behind the tree, you spotted Arthur on the ground, a man atop him. Grunting through bared teeth and biceps flexing, Arthur struggled for leverage against the man straddling him, boots digging into the dirt. Both broad hands were wrapped around the man’s wrist, around the hilt of the knife that was edging ever closer to his chest, fighting against the downward force of the blade.

You didn’t hesitate.

The shot rang out.

The impact snapped the man back, his body slumping sideways onto the ground as silence fell.

And just like that, it was over as quickly as it had begun.

Arthur shoved the man’s dead weight from him off with a grunt, chest heaving as he pushed himself up. His eyes darted up, catching yours for the briefest of moments, before chuckling under his breath and hauling himself to his feet.

"Well, ain't never a dull day with you around”, he exhaled, wiping the sweat from his brow and shaking his head as he retrieved and shouldered his rifle. "We better get outta here before more –“

Arthur stopped dead in his tracks when he saw you.

You were stood still as stone, staring down at the hand clutching at your side.

Arthur's expression shifted instantly. The breath he had just exhaled, the tension he had just begun to shake off, all of it returned in a crushing instant.

His steps were cautious - deliberate - as if moving too fast might make it worse, his eyes not leaving you for a beat and palm outstretched. You didn’t hear your name when he said it, only the unfamiliar tinge to the softness of it.

You forced a weak smile as you looked up at him, now inches in front of you. "I… it's okay."

Arthur’s jaw clenched. "Let me see," he murmured, gently wrapping his hand around your wrist.

You resisted for half a heartbeat, eyes stinging, but then you let him guide your hand away from your side and saw the exact moment his stomach dropped.

“Goddamnit”, he muttered, voice low and tight. “You’re hit.”

The blood seeped freely now, darkening the fabric of your shirt, blooming like ink on paper. You barely registered the way it painted his fingers as he pressed your hand back over the wound, his own palm tightly covering yours.

Funny. You hadn’t even felt it.

If Arthur felt panic, he certainly didn’t show it as his eyes darted over his shoulder, locking onto the house just through the trees before exhaling a cool, measured breath and turning back to you.

“We’re gonna get to that cabin, and we’re gonna fix you up.”

“You just wanna prove you were right that it was abandoned…”, you half smiled through a hollow chuckle, but Arthur didn’t seem to hear you. That or he chose to ignore you as his hand searched your back for an exit wound.

“You’re gonna be alright.”

“Well,” you blinked, feeling your lips twitch, a sickening heat rising upwards through your body, “that’s… good news.”

Arthur huffed, shaking his head, but the usual amusement that danced in his eyes wasn’t there. “Ain’t funny.”

Your breath stuttered, a weak chuckle escaping even as blood oozed, hot and sticky between your fingers, even as the edges of your vision dimmed. “S’a little funny.”

Arthur’s jaw tightened but his voice was soft. “Not even a little.”

It wasn’t even cold out, but suddenly you couldn’t stop shaking. The tremors started slow - just a slight shiver in your fingers - but within seconds they were rolling through you, unstoppable. A deep, bone-deep chill settled in, creeping outward, numbing your limbs.

Your breaths were coming faster now, shoulders shaking as you suddenly felt the cold. Your heart pounded in your chest, the blood rushing too loud in your ears, your limbs buzzing with a strange, disconnected kind of numbness. You felt the shivering now, the way it rattled through your limbs, making it hard to think, hard to focus.

You blinked again, slower this time, trying to focus through your narrowing vision on the lines of worry etching his face as he gripped you tighter. Arthur never looked worried. For some reason, you found it deeply amusing.

“It…it doesn’t even hurt…”, you whispered just as your treacherous knees gave out beneath you.

Arthur grunted a curse at the sudden weight, adjusting quickly, one arm scooping beneath your knees, the other locking around your back as he pulled you against his chest. As he started towards the house, your head lolled against his shoulder, staring up at him with half lidded eyes.

“You’re gonna be just fine”, he said, readjusting his grip and casting a quick glance down at you.

A pulse of warmth flickered through you - somewhere between panic and a strange, deep sense of safety. Your lips trembled, and you swallowed hard before whispering. “…Okay…”

“You look at me, darlin’”, he said firmly. “You just keep lookin’ at me.”

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illubean · 4 months ago

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JJK Men with a S/o in Musical Theatre

Characters: Satoru Gojo, Suguru Geto, Kento Nanami, Toji Fushiguro, Ino Takuma, Aoi Todo

Type: Headcanons, Gn!Reader

self indulgent af (im not even in theater anymore)

Warnings: it’s mentioned that reader plays female characters but other than that relatively gn

Satoru Gojo

he INSISTS that you practice in front of him (he just wants to hear you sing any chance he gets)

his favorite musical after you introduce him to it is Legally Blonde no I will not be taking criticism

sometimes walking past you in the hall he’ll sing the little musical theater song lyrics he knows very bad and very loudly

“Hi Toru-“ “A TOAST TO THE GROOM”

he comes to every single one of your shows and every show date

your production is being put on for a week? he’s got tickets to go all 7 days

and since he’s already watched it so many times he likes to snicker and gossip with you about your cast mates and how he noticed them mess up one night

without fail Satoru is always front row with his camera pointed directly at you (terrible theater etiquette I know)

if theres ever a point where you get to interact with the audience he eats it up every time

hes you’re #1 supporter and he gets you the biggest bouquet he can find every time

your cast mates are always gossiping about him, telling you how lucky you are and how they wished they got flowers every show night

very supportive but if you get in the car to go home with your stage makeup on he WILL laugh at you..

“Help me, why are your eyebrows so dark!?” “The stage lighting washes me out!”

Suguru Geto

HE’S SO JD HEATHERS CODED IM MFFHGHGNGGJGNJG

he appreciates performing arts but has never spent much time thinking about it or seeking it out if that makes sense?

he’s reluctant but he will sing parts of songs when you need to practice and can’t meet with whoever the part originally belongs to

MAKE HIM DUET SUDDENLY SEYMOUR WITH YOU. HE CAN SING EITHER PART.

if you beg and cry hard enough he might just audition for a show with you

but if he get’s casted as anyone else but your character’s love interest or worse, the love interest of SOMEONE ELSE he’s rejecting the role

he doesn’t think he’d actually ever get casted, he just auditioned because you kept bugging him about it

but if he does? god damn it now he’s stuck

you’re directors love him, and since you guys have good stage chemistry they are almost always going to cast you together if he auditions again

Kento Nanami

out of all of them I think he’s the only one who was interested in the arts before meeting you

he probably likes Les Miserables and The Phantom of the Opera

he never asks you to sing for him but if you offer or ask him to watch you practice he will gladly do so

he’s impressed by how well you perform

it amazes him how you’re able to move around, dance, and sing all while in character

he attracts the attention of your cast mates, always being so respectful

especially when he waits for you to finish getting out of costume with a bouquet and his jacket to offer you if it’s cold

he’s always invited to your open rehearsals even if its not by you 😭 your directors love him too

Toji Fushiguro

doesn’t care much for the arts but he’d be damned if he missed seeing his baby perform

no matter if you’re a lead or ensemble he WILL be there

he tends to keep to the back as to not block people’s view with his broad shoulders..

he likes watching you play characters that are so far from your usual personality

especially if you’re usually quiet, like wow he didn’t know you could project like that

he teases you after the show if you have a love interest in the show, especially if you complain about the person casted as them (no because why did I get casted as love interests with my mortal enemies 3 times)

if the show is suitable enough, he’ll bring little Megumi along to see you perform

I don’t think he’d be one to buy bouquets for you but he’d buy a single rose and let Megumi give it to you

he’d watch fondly as you pick up his son and bring him to meet the other cast members

GAH I LOVE THEM SO MUCH

Ino Takuma

he does the “raise your ya ya ya” thing around you 😭

he gets jealous if you have a love interest especially if theres a scene where you get freakay

this makes him consider auditioning for the next show you’re going to be in….

he’d watch you take photos with them and pout until you walk up to him

his favorite roles to see you in are the ones like Heather Chandler or Regina George

he may or may not be joking when he says you should be mean to him after seeing you perform…

if the show is sad he will cry then try to deny it when you point out the tear stains on his face

and if YOU’RE crying on stage? he cries even harder

he makes you karaoke with him, even though he’s getting absolutely mogged but he doesn’t mind

he just likes hearing your voice

he brags about you to anyone willing to listen

Aoi Todo

the audience hates him.

he always insists on sitting as close to the stage as possible and his large body blocks the view of the people behind him (luckily the stage is raised…)

and he’s so loud… you can always hear his shouts and applause over everyone else’s

your cast mates don’t like him either…

“Wow, your boyfriend is so…supportive”

even after the show is over and it’s time to meet you people give the two of you side eyes

“YOU DID SO GOOD MY LOVE!” “Shhh! But thank you…”

he’s so bad at being quiet 😭

another one who likes watching you play mean characters…

he has so many photos of you on his phone of you in costume and on stage

and they’re ALL in his wallpaper rotation

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ladykailitha · 3 months ago

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You're a Dream to Me Part 7

We are sooo close to them meeting, but we aren't there yet.

In this we have Steve having an existential crisis and Eddie and the boys rock out.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

Steve was back in the wings of a huge stadium watching Eddie play. He really got into the music and seemed to channel it through him.

But he also loved the camaraderie between the rest of the band, too. Eddie and Jeff were leaning up against each and howling into the microphone.

That was when he realized that he wasn’t the only people waiting in the wings. There were two women and another man and they were jumping up and down and cheering too.

Steve frowned for a moment and then his face cleared. He was in the soulmate section. These were the other band members’ soulmates. He looked across the stage to the other wing where two women were also bobbing up and down to the music. There was just some that told him that those people were also important to Eddie.

Then he looked out on the front row of fans and there was Robin and Vickie, Dustin and Suzie. All the kids, too. They were holding up signs and cheering Eddie on.

He smiled and looked back at Eddie who was smiling at him. Like he was fond. Fond of Steve. God that was addictive as fuck.

He was happy here. Waiting in the wings for his rockstar soulmate.

Suddenly Eddie was sprinting across the stage and pulling Steve out into the limelight. Pulling him in for a searing kiss and announcing to the world, Eddie had found his soulmate. And that he was perfect. Steve had never turned so red in his life.

But he doesn’t feel embarrassed. He feels like he’s flying. Eddie kisses him again, this time to a roaring crowd.

When Steve woke up the day of the concert it wasn’t with the usual pep in his step and excitement to start the day like he had been all week. He frowned as he swung his feet off the side of the bed. He wasn’t unhappy with his life.

Was he?

As he got ready to drive up with Robin to Indy, he really thought about it. They were going to spend the whole day there before the concert.

He thought about all the problems from the townspeople about their little bookstore. Seeing everyone find their soulmates and leave. Like all but Robin and Vickie had left Hawkins and Vickie was seriously thinking about moving to Indy for better pay.

And if she did, Robin would have to go with her, leaving Steve all alone in a town so closed-minded, Fort Knox could ask for tips on security.

He loved his little bookshop. He loved its history and the people who came in, that kept it in the black. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized he had stagnated. He still had the same apartment he had when he was still just an employee at the bookstore.

He could have moved into a house. He could afford it. But he just didn’t. The other kids had either finished college or were in their last year. They had all moved on. So why couldn’t he?

But the bookshop was important to a lot of people and he couldn’t just close it and run off with his rockstar soulmate.

Could he?

By the time he got to Robin and Vickie’s house, he had twisted himself in knots. He thought he had everything but his soulmate, but what did he have really?

Robin slid into the passenger seat and then cocked her head at him. She smacked him up the side of the head. “Stop spiraling. You haven’t even met him yet.”

Steve let out a shuddering breath and then another. “Am I happy? Like in general. Not liking finding out my soulmate is finally ready for me. But in life, am I happy?”

Robin looked at him a moment and then pursed her lips together. She knew he was looking for the unadulterated and unvarnished truth. “No. I don’t when it started, but I would say that you haven’t been happy in awhile now.”

Steve’s lips quivered. “I thought I was. But as I was leaving the apartment after finding out it was Eddie, I realized that I had been staying the apartment that we rented when we first bought the shop even though I could afford to move. Should’ve moved after you married Vickie. But I’ve been stuck for so long...”

“And then your soulmate comes along and shakes your life up for the first time in years,” Robin said gently. “You want to leave Hawkins, huh?”

Steve closed his eyes briefly. “Yeah. Something I never thought I’d say that after coming back. But I really, really do. My dreams lately have been watching him on stage from the wings and just loving every minute of it.”

Robin gave him a huge hug. “This is me giving you the okay to run away from home, okay? Maybe finish the tour with him and see how you feel afterwards. Then if it is something you want to keep doing we’ll see about me buying you out on the shop.”

“Okay,” he said, nodding. “Yeah. We can do that. Plus this isn’t the 80s. We have fucking cell phones and video calling and all that shit. I can text you and while it won’t be the same as seeing you every day...”

“We’ll make it work,” she said fiercely. “We will. I promise!”

Eddie loved Indy. It was the first place that ever really felt like home. He loved his Uncle Wayne and wouldn’t give up living him growing up for the world. But Indy was where his mama taught him to how to play and sing. And where she was buried.

And he loved playing arenas here too. The crowd was always amazing and energetic. As he tuned the three guitars he used to perform, he told his friends about his latest soulmate dream.

“Sounds to me like he’s going to be happy touring on the road with us,” Gareth said, twirling his sticks in his hands for something to do.

“Which, holy shit, Ed,” Brian said, not even looking up from his bass, “not even Sophie is willing to do that full time. Like we’re talking about finding a place that allows her to be close to her family and I can still be close to you guys.”

“Oof,” Eddie agreed with a wince. Because technically none of their soulmates traveled with them full time. Leon and Georgia had their own bands and Miranda, who had been their number one groupie had grown up past wanting the late nights and long roads.

Steve coming along with them would be the actual fucking dream. Like, not touring and just living in Steve’s pocket for the rest of their lives would be the ideal, but if they were still touring musicians then of course he would want Steve with him for every second he wasn’t on stage.

Chrissy knocked on the door. “They’re ready for you.”

They all got to their feet and shuffled out the door. It was time to do what they did best. Make music. They stepped out to a roaring crowd and that’s when Eddie felt it.

The pull of his soulmate.

Steve was out there. Somewhere in the crowd was Steve Harrington. Eddie could feel how close they were. But the lights were too bright in his eyes, he couldn’t see jack shit. But what he could do was put every ounce of his soul into his playing.

He closed his eyes and stepped up to the mic. He opened his eyes slowly and took a deep breath. He listened as Brian started on bass, then Jeff and Gareth joined in.

“You sleep in my soul,” he crooned. “You heart fills a hole, one I was born with, from my mother’s first kiss. You’re my soul’s inner flame, brighter then fortune and fame. There is nothing I wouldn’t do, do, do, I would bring down the very sun for you.”

Eddie had actually written the song about his soulmate before all of this. He had wrote it when he realized that he was gay and that his soulmate was a man. That first verse was about the pains of having been born to parents who would both abandon him in their own way. Al when things got tough and Elizabeth when she passed away when he was seven.

But now he was singing it, he felt like he was singing to Steve. Like he was pouring his heart out to the man who was out there trying to make contact with him. That he was here, wanting to be with Eddie, however that looked.

His heart straight up melted.

As the night wore on, there were a couple of times he thought he spotted Steve in the crowd, but the person was always looking away, talking to the person next to them, so he could have been sure.

During one of the drum solos of one the last songs, Eddie leaned over and whispered in Jeff’s ear. Jeff nodded and gave him a thumbs up.

After the song ended, Jeff stepped up to the microphone. “Just a slight change of plans the finale tonight will be one only our biggest fans will remember. Back when we first started to play in bigger venues then clubs and bars, we would do metal covers of love songs because none of us had our soulmates yet.”

The crowd roared back. They knew something amazing was going to happen. They could feel it.

“Well, as of about a week ago,” Jeff continued, “the last of us got his soulmate dreams and while they haven’t met face to face yet, Eddie can feel him out in the audience tonight and wanted to dedicate this song out to him. Somebody, by Depeche Mode.”

Jeff didn’t usually sing on songs, but his voice worked better for the song. Like Martin Gore singing on the original instead of Dave Gahan there was just something about the quality of Jeff’s voice that was better suited for it.

“I want somebody to share,” he began, “share the rest of the rest of my life. Share my innermost thoughts, know my intimate details...”

The song took on a harder edge and a metal heavy riff and the crowd went wild.

Eddie laughed out loud at the crowd’s enthusiastic response to the song. Maybe they should put out an all metal cover of famous songs.

After it was over and they did a couple of encores, they went back to their dressing room on a high.

“Holy shit, Ed!” Brian said pounding on Eddie’s shoulder. “That was the best concert we’ve ever done!”

Eddie grinned back. “Hell yeah, man! It was awesome. I talked to Chrissy between encores and she said there was no way to find in a crowd of literal fucking thousands, but she did get the name of his shop so when we get to Hawkins, I’m going to find a way to meet up with him there.”

Jeff hugged him tightly. “That was inspired! He’s going to know how much you want to meet him with you starting with ‘Soul of my Heart’ and ending with ‘Somebody’. Everyone in that arena felt how much you can’t wait to meet him. It was fucking electric!”

Eddie blushed and ducked his head. He really hoped that was the case because he meant it. He meant every bit of it.

Part 8 Part 9 Part 10

Tag List: CLOSED

1- @itsall-taken @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @sadisticaltarts @dolphincliffs

2- @gregre369 @a-little-unsteddie @irregular-child @cryptid-system @kultiras

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji @dreamercec @blondie1006

5- @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @genderless-spoon @fearieshadow @thesecondfate

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

9- @themoonagainstmers @eyehartart @tartarusknight @chaotic-waffle @dotdot-wierdlife

10- @stedestielfrattficlover @steddieislife @riotrose8 @bunnybens-blog @watermelonmite

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailitha writes #soulmate au

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saveyourblood · 7 months ago

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Pretty Boy - Ch 7 (Buddie x Reader)

Summary: You can feel Buck staring. When your eyes meet his, you realize he’s staring at your hand, which is still on Eddie’s knee. You slowly retreat, which makes Buck turn his attention to your face. You smile softly. He just looks out the window. The one where you’re an advanced paramedic, Buck and Eddie are firefighters, and you think you might be in love with both of them.

Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 | Ch 5 | Ch 6

Chapter Summary: You and Buck are officially a couple, but it isn't an easy start for either of you.

Word Count: 3k Warnings: none

It’s strange how effortless it is to go from being Buck’s best friend to his girlfriend. Maybe that’s because you’re still best friends, only now, you can make out with each other. Buck being on medical leave is kind of perfect timing, too, because none of your coworkers suspect anything. They aren’t surprised you spend most of your time at his loft. When they wonder how Buck is doing, they ask you; they know you know him best.

“Woah, hey, be careful!”

You and Buck are sitting around his table. Well, you’re sitting at the table, and he’s off to the side, sitting in one chair while another elevates his leg.

You look up at Buck and roll your eyes. “What, you’re gonna sew it back together?”

You’re holding a pair of his navy slacks and ripping apart the left pant leg.

“It doesn’t mean you had to rip them,” he chastises.

You lift up the pants, and you have to admit: it’s not your best work. It’s even, but the edges are frayed.

“Yep, looks terrible.”

“It’ll be fine!” you assure, setting them back down. “We’ll just tuck it in the top of your cast.”

You sit in an uncomfortable silence.

“Are we ever gonna talk about it?” Buck eventually asks.

You sigh. He had a follow-up appointment with the surgeon today, which wasn’t great. Granted, it could have been much worse. The fracture isn’t healing as expected, so he wants to perform another surgery. It wouldn’t be a minor surgery, either — he’d be replacing the rod and using bone grafts instead.

You lean back in your chair and cross your arms. “You already know what I think.”

You and the surgeon think Buck should wait a few more weeks before surgery. Buck, being Buck, disagrees.

“The sooner I have the surgery, the sooner I can get back to work.”

“We’re talking about your ability to walk, Buck,” you say slowly. “We’re talking about your health, your life.”

“No, being a firefighter is my life!” Buck shouts. “It is the only thing I have ever done that was important and that mattered, okay? Without that, I-I don’t have…”

His eyes are red, and his voice is breaking.

“You will still be Buck, okay?” You say, kneeling in front of him. “We’ll all still love you. There are lots of other important things that you can do with your life.”

He stares at you, then looks away and clenches his jaw. “Do you know how hard it is to watch you walk out that door every day? Leaving me behind to just sit here and stare at a wall? Knowing you get to go do the one thing I want to, but can’t?”

You press your lips together. “Buck, I’m sorry, I never thought about it-”

“I’m not trying to make you feel bad,” he interrupts. “I-I want you to keep working. I just want to be working with you.”

You move closer, setting a hand on his face and pressing your foreheads together. “I know. I know you do.”

He reaches up to hold your wrist. The two of you stay like that for what feels like hours.

“People assume we choose this life; I'm not so sure. Sometimes, I think this life chooses us.”

Everyone is gathered around foldout tables in the station loft. There are two rows: on one side sits the 118 staff, and on the other side is Eddie’s family. Bobby and Eddie stand in front of everyone.

“For those that answer the call, there can be no doubt, no equivocation,” Bobby continues. “It's not just the lives of those we serve that depend on us, but our own. The lives of our fellow firefighter and first responders. Today, we welcome a new brother into those ranks. After a year of hard work and dedication, I am proud to officially declare that your probationary period is at an end. Welcome to the Los Angeles Fire Department, Firefighter Diaz!”

The two men shake hands as everyone claps and cheers. Christopher stands up and approaches Eddie, offering him his helmet. Eddie picks Christopher up into a hug.

Something draws your eyes to Buck, who’s sitting next to you. He doesn’t see you looking, so you watch as he claps and smiles for his friend.

It’s crazy to think that Eddie’s only been in your lives for a year. In 365 days, he’s become the third closest person to you, right behind Buck and Hen. Something about him, in both a personal and professional sense, fits so perfectly into your life.

Everyone disperses to converse and get lunch from the catering table. Eddie makes his way around the small crowd. Eventually, he makes it to the table where you and Hen are sitting.

Hen pulls him into a sideways hug. “Congrats, Eddie. This is well earned.”

He thanks her and pulls her in a little tighter.

You rise out of your seat and pull him into a hug. You turn your lips to his ear in a whisper. “I’m proud of you.”

Eddie squeezes you tighter. This is the closest you’ve ever been to him. For a brief moment, the only thing between your bodies is a held breath.

You separate, but he keeps his hands on your arms. He chuckles and dips his head down.

“What?” You ask, lips curving into a confused smile.

“I’m just… I’m glad I met you.”

You smile warmly as you pat his arms. “Ditto.”

You hear some shouting and laughter. Across the loft, Buck and Chris are playing a game on the TV console. You see Christopher laugh and rest back on the couch while Buck leans forward, pointing at the screen. He gives Chris a gentle push, which makes him laugh harder.

“You two are a thing, aren’t you?”

You turn back to Eddie. You look him up and down. His hands are now buried in his front pockets, and his smile isn't as wide.

You could try faking it, but he’d call you on it in five seconds flat. “We’re that obvious, huh?”

Eddie shrugs a little. “To me, I guess.”

Your smile softens a little.

‘I’m not saying it can never happen.’ The sound of your own words keeps bouncing around your head. You essentially told this man that you could see sharing a life with him… if the timing wasn’t wrong. A strange sensation settles into your stomach. You wonder why it’s the right timing for Buck. You wonder how Eddie feels, knowing he has time to spend with you while also knowing his best friend’s time is just a few minutes sooner. You wonder if it’ll ever be Eddie’s time, and wondering this makes the feeling in your stomach more than a little bit worse.

“Well, you seem happy,” Eddie says, cutting into your thoughts. “I’m happy for you both.”

Part of you hopes he means it, and the other part sort of hopes he’s lying.

You and Buck spend the next few months growing closer. He has the second surgery, and you’re there to help him recover. For now, you’re not sharing work hours, but you’re sharing time. You’re telling your stories, and he’s telling his. Your relationship sews itself like a quilt, each day getting cozier and heavier. The extra warmth is worth the extra weight.

It’s still weird not working with him. Now that he’s going through re-certification, he at least has something to keep himself busy. Before that, he was always at his apartment when you got off work. You’ve been spending most of your free time at his place. You can’t remember the last time you spent the night at your own place; you just pop in occasionally to grab something.

You blink awake, rubbing at your eyes as you yawn. You slowly sit up, and the pleasant smell of fresh coffee greets you. You rub your eyes again, and when you open them, you see Buck standing at the top of the stairwell. He’s already dressed, and he’s holding a mug.

“Hey,” you smile. “You’re up early.”

Buck smiles back. He sits on the edge of the bed, handing you the mug. “I’m heading in now, wanna get a jump on things.”

“Today’s your final eval, right?” You ask as if you don’t already know the answer. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come?”

“Nah, watching me pretend to save lives isn’t as important as actually saving lives.”

“Well, you’ll be done with pretending by the end of today,” you remind. “You’re gonna do great.”

He grins. “You’re just a twelve today, right?”

“Yeah, I’ll be back around 8 tonight,” you confirm. “I’ll make dinner! We can celebrate.”

“Sounds perfect,” Buck smiles again.

You return the expression. God, you can’t remember the last time you were this happy.

He looks at his watch. “I gotta go. I’ll see you tonight, then.”

You nod and bite your lip to hold back a massive grin.

Buck springs to his feet. He kisses you on the forehead before trotting down the stairs. “Love ya!”

Before you can say anything, the front door opens and closes. He’s gone.

“It was just… weird,” you say, tapping your finger against the steering wheel. “I mean, we’ve implied it, but we’ve never said it, you know?”

You’re chatting with Hen in the rig. You’re on your way to a scene call, but it’ll be a few minutes before you arrive.

She figured out you and Buck were dating a few days after it started. Hen’s always been able to read you like a book, so you didn’t even try to deny it. Truthfully, it’s nice to have someone to talk to. The only other person on the team that knows is Eddie, and you’re friends, but not kind of friends. Talking to Eddie about Buck would feel like talking behind Buck’s back.

“So you said it back?” Hen asks.

“He was gone before I could.”

“Do you want to say it back?”

You sigh. “I mean, I kind of feel like I don’t even have to. He knows I love him. He has to know. …Right?”

Hen shrugs. “Just because he knows doesn’t mean you shouldn’t tell him. He might need to hear it, even if he knows.”

You pull up to the scene, and it effectively ends the conversation. A car ran through a crowd of pedestrians using the crosswalk and T-boned another car. Once you’re out of the rig, Bobby assigns you and Hen to the most critical pedestrian while Chimney and Eddie check on the driver.

“Hey there,” you greet, grabbing a C-collar from your bag. “What’s your name?”

“Shannon,” the woman musters. Her lips are pale and her voice is raspy.

“Hi Shannon, my friend Hen and I are going to look you over, okay?" You say as you start an IV. "Where does it hurt?”

“Nowhere,” she answers. “That can’t be good, right?”

“You’re in shock; we won’t know the extent of your injuries until we get you to the hospital,” you assure. “Can you wiggle your toes for me?”

You look down at her feet. They aren’t moving.

You place your hands in hers. “Can you squeeze my hands?”

Her hands sit limply in yours.

“I’m not doing anything, am I?” Shannon asks. She shakes her head as much as the collar will allow. “That’s bad. My husband, he’s a paramedic. He’s said that people with severe spinal cord injuries either die or probably wish they were dead.”

“No one’s dying, you hear me, Shannon?” You say, squeezing her hand, even if she can’t feel it.

Shannon. Her husband is a paramedic.

“Eddie,” you whisper before whipping your head around.

He’s already barreling towards the three of you. You stand up, taking a few quick steps forward. You place a hand on his chest to stop him from moving closer.

“Eddie, let me handle this,” you say in a low voice.

“How bad is it?” he asks, staring at his wife. “Spinal injury?”

“Maybe worse.”

Eddie pushes past you and kneels beside Shannon.

“Vitals are trending downward,” Hen says as she pulls her stethoscope from her ears.

“We need to get her out of here, now!” You order, ushering in some paramedics and EMTs.

Eddie stands by and watches as you and some other first responders transfer her onto a backboard and gurney. He then follows you and Hen as you load her into the rig.

“I’m riding with her,” he says, leaving no room for argument.

You turn to him, pressing your lips together. “Eddie, it looks like a cervical spine injury. We’ll probably have to intubate her. If we do that, there’s a good chance it’ll never come out.”

Tears form in his eyes. His jaw sets. He nods slightly.

“You need to say goodbye,” you whisper.

You end up intubating her in the ambulance. When you’re hitting the ER, her heart stops, and you begin chest compressions. They code her for about half an hour before Eddie says enough is enough. They call her time of death. Eddie goes to fill out paperwork while you pace around the waiting room.

He comes out a little while later, holding a plastic bag full of Shannon’s belongings. You stop dead in your tracks and just stare at him.

You rub your hands up and down your thighs. “Eddie, I’m so-”

Eddie pulls you into a bone-crushing hug. You return it in full force.

You open the door to Buck’s apartment. He’s in the kitchen with his back facing you. A bottle of champagne sits in a bucket of ice on the island. You hear a sizzling sound and watch his arms move. You close the door a little louder than normal.

“Hey, you’re home!” Buck says after he turns around. He’s holding a skillet in one hand and a spatula in the other.

“Sorry I’m late,” you say, dropping your bag and jacket on the floor by the front door. “I thought I was supposed to cook.”

“Well, since you were running behind, I figured I’d get a jump on things,” Buck says.

You smile. Even though it doesn’t feel genuine, you hope it looks it. “So you passed, huh?”

“In record time,” Buck adds, returning to his cooking. “Cap should clear me in no time.”

You kick off your shoes and take a seat at the kitchen island. “I’m proud of you. …I love you.”

Buck stops what he’s doing. He turns to face you again, a puzzled look on his face.

“You said it this morning, on your way out,” you say. “I say it in a lot of different ways, but I realized I never told you directly. So… I love you. I need you to know that.”

Buck folds his hands together and leans on the island. “Did something happen at work?”

You smile sadly. “Yeah. Uh… you know Shannon?”

“Eddie’s wife?”

You nod. “She got hit by a car when she was walking in a crosswalk — C-spine injury. We had to tube her in the ambulance. She coded and died in the ER.”

Buck takes his hands in yours. “Are you okay?”

Tears start to form, but you quickly blink them away. They aren’t yours to shed. “I’m fine. I mean, I was just doing my job.”

“How’s Eddie?”

You clear your throat. “Um, about as well as can be expected, I guess? He kind of just… took off. I called him a few times, and he texted me back saying he’s at home with Christopher.”

“That poor kid,” Buck mutters.

“Yeah,” you say quietly, playing with his fingers. “Life is short, so… I just needed to know that you know.”

Buck smiles softly. “I know.”

He begins to cough.

“Are you okay?” You ask.

He steps away, waving a hand as if to tell you he’s fine. He cups the other as he coughs into it.

“I’m gonna get you a glass of water,” you say, already standing to go to the cupboard.

Buck puts his free hand on your shoulder, stopping you. When he pulls back his hand, it’s spattered with blood. Your eyes widen as you look up at him.

“Buck?” you ask, setting a hand on his waist.

He starts coughing again, but this time, a flood of dark red blood flows out of his mouth and down his chin. He stumbles backward.

“Evan?!” you shout, helping him to the floor.

“You got lucky. Most people who suffer a pulmonary embolism aren’t in the same room as a medical professional. It saved your life.”

You’re sitting beside Buck, who’s lying in an ICU bed for the second time this year. You keep his hand in yours, your thumb gently rubbing the back of his hand.

“What caused the blood clot?” you ask.

“Clots, plural. There's the one that hit his lungs, and then there's two more in his leg,” The doctor explains. “As to the cause? It's unclear.”

“Yeah, but he just got a clean bill of health last week,” you argue. “This came out of nowhere.”

“Did it?” The doctor counters. He looks at Buck. “No pain or tenderness in the leg? Any skin discoloration, swelling?”

“...I thought I just pulled a muscle or something.”

You run your free hand over your face.

“Okay, um, well, great. Look, I'm not dead. You found the clots. When can I get out of here?” Buck asks.

“We'll move you to a room and keep you on the anticoagulants. Tomorrow, we'll run some more tests. And then we'll see.”

You thank the doctor for his time, and he dismisses himself from the room. You stare at Buck.

“I wasn’t ignoring this,” he says slowly.

“When did the symptoms start?”

“...A day or two ago.”

You stand out of your chair. “Dammit, Buck.”

“I didn’t know what it was,” he argues. “I thought it was a leg cramp or something.”

You start pacing. “If this happened when you were alone, you could have died.”

“But I-I didn't, okay?” Buck says. “Can… can you just sit down again? Please?”

After a moment, you sigh but ultimately listen to him. You take his hand again, this time with both of yours.

“The last time you were in the hospital, I told you I was scared of losing you. I hope I don’t have to repeat myself,” you say quietly.

“You don’t,” Buck assures. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Ch 8

#911 abc #evan buckley #evan buckley x reader #911 show #911 on abc #911 reader insert #evan buckley/reader #eddie diaz x reader #eddie diaz #evan buckley x eddie diaz x reader #Buddie x reader #buddie x reader #i can write #pretty boy fic

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