a wound to close
For @homerforsure 💛 I hope you enjoy this sprawling post-6b Buck angst Allison!!
Summary:
“What happened?” Eddie repeats, and he does touch when he reaches out this time, taking Buck’s arm gently by the wrist and turning it to see the damage. “Did you fall?”
The slightest catch in his voice over fall, there and gone so fast that Buck can’t reliably say it was there at all.
“I took my bike out early, got taken out by some loose gravel. I’m fine, Eds, really. It wasn’t that bad.”
Eddie just shakes his head, gently dropping Buck’s arm only to lift up his shirt like he knows what he’s going to find before he sees it: a mottled mess of dark bruises and angry red scrapes.
For BTHB: road rash
There’s a first aid kit in the Jeep. Two of them, actually, one stocked to overkill strapped into the trunk and a mini one tucked into the glove compartment. There’s a mini fire extinguisher, too, and a toolkit, and rope, and two umbrellas, and a box of disposable gloves sitting snug with a box of protein bars. Just in case .
“In case of what?” Maddie asked him once, her eyebrows lifted in disbelief as she fished a flashlight out of the passenger door along with a spare pair of sunglasses (Eddie’s, Buck was pretty sure, although they’d been there so long it didn’t really matter who they once belonged to).
“I don’t know,” he shrugged, hands steady on the wheel when he really wanted to rub at the flush he could feel crawling up his neck. “Just in case.”
Maddie didn’t push it. When Buck glanced over at her at the next red light, he was expecting amusement, maybe a little sisterly judgement, and he didn’t know what to do with the sadness he saw there instead. He turned back to the road, kept his hands on the wheel, and let the radio carry the silence until Maddie changed the subject and they were back on solid ground.
Maybe it’s that conversation, or all the childhood years between them, or just the fact that she’s his sister, the person who taught him how to fix things, who always fixed him , but Buck’s first thought when the bike lurches on the trail and skids out from under him is Maddie.
Maddie is going to kill me .
Maddie is never going to let me live this down.
I wish Maddie was here .
And then he’s hitting the ground hard, skidding and rolling and rolling, and for a long moment, he can’t think at all.
His elbow takes the brunt of the fall, stealing his breath with the kind of white-hot pain that numbs everything for a moment, for a second that feels like a minute, and then his fingers start tingling before feeling returns everywhere else as well, a wave crashing over him. It hurts. It fucking hurts. Wounded animal instinct has Buck clutching at his arm before his brain is fully online and he can’t say whether it’s the flash of pain or the feeling of gravel pushed further into flesh that makes his stomach turn. Fuck.
[Read on AO3]
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skin | surprise | "You want me and you know it." • 794 words • Smurch fill list
tags: human AU, coffeeshop AU, storage room blowjobs, right in front of the scones, the pining is mutual they're just idiots
“A crop top, Hob? Really?”
“It’s called fashion, sweetie. Look it up.”
Morpheus dumped a bag of beans into the industrial grinder and hit the button, wincing at the noise. He hated opening. He was emphatically not a morning person.
His coworker Hob, on the other hand, was both a morning person and a seemingly incurable optimist. He loved his job, loved their customers, loved trying new things. Including, apparently, very fashion-forward clothing choices for six o’clock in the morning on a cloudy Tuesday.
Morpheus did not like customers, or small talk, or new things, or much of anything about his job aside from dialing in the espresso machine and baking scones. Coffee and baking were predictable. Reliable. There were rules, and if you followed the rules, good things resulted. He appreciated that.
And he appreciated Hob. He appreciated his coworker quite a lot, in fact; perhaps more than was reasonable for a professional setting. He especially appreciated the extra skin on display as Hob stood on tiptoe, his colorful cropped T-shirt riding up as he stretched high to write the special of the day on the chalkboard.
“I am merely pointing out,” Morpheus said, shutting off the grinder, “that it may not be the most appropriate choice for work.”
“Uh huh. And I am merely pointing out,” said Hob over his shoulder, “that you want me and you know it.”
“I think you – what?” Morpheus’s mouth snapped shut as Hob’s actual words registered.
“You want to fuck me so bad it makes you look stupid.”
He turned to face Morpheus and leaned against the counter. The space they were inhabiting, between the espresso machine and the cash register, suddenly felt very small.
Morpheus opened his mouth to protest. Nothing came out. He closed it again.
“And… if I said…” he licked his lips nervously and Hob’s eyes darted down to catch the movement. “If I said you… weren’t wrong?”
Hob pushed himself off the counter and took a step toward him.
“Then I’d probably say…” His voice was low and teasing and sent a thrill down Morpheus’s back. “I’d say there’s a big, mostly empty storage room downstairs. And I’d say that the front door is still locked and we don’t actually open for another twenty five minutes.” He took another step, until they were standing practically toe to toe. “And then I’d ask if I could kiss you.”
Morpheus answered by leaning forward, grabbing a handful of the shirt that had apparently started all this, and pressing his mouth to Hob’s. The kiss was fierce and messy and weeks of longing and not-so-thoroughly tamped-down arousal bubbled under his skin like hot coffee.
Five minutes later they were in the downstairs storage room, and Morpheus’s cock was so deep down Hob’s throat that he thought he might die.
“Why – didn’t you say something – sooner?” he gasped, then immediately regretted the question when Hob pulled off him to answer. His eyes were a little glassy and a thin strand of drool connected his bottom lip to the tip of Morpheus’s prick, which a distant semi-functional part of Morpheus’s brain filed away as the hottest thing he’d ever seen.
“Why didn’t you?” asked Hob hoarsely. “I know you’ve been staring at my arse since Easter at least. I thought I was being pretty damn flirty.”
“I…” Morpheus didn’t know what to say. I’m shy and awkward and everything makes me uncomfortable while you seem to swim through life with the grace of an otter was probably too much. I didn’t think you were flirting with me because you kind of flirt with everybody, likewise. How am I supposed to have a conversation or open the shop in eighteen minutes when all I can think about is the sight of your lips around my cock and all I want to do is come in your mouth and drag you down with me and smell of you for days was a serious contender. “I don’t know.”
His hips twitched forward of their own accord and Hob smiled with those glossy, spit-wet lips.
��Well,” he said, and leaned back in, dragging a deliberate tongue slowly along the hard, needy length of Morpheus’s prick, a wide swipe from root to tip that drew a surprised and whimpering fuck from his mouth. “Why don’t you think about that for a minute while I’m down here?”
Then he sucked him all the way back down and Morpheus couldn’t think about anything for quite a long while.
There was an angry comment on the shop’s Facebook page later that day, all about how they’d been half an hour late to open that morning, with no note left on the door or anything. But neither Morpheus nor Hob could bring themselves to care.
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okay this is so small but makes me really happy. taketora just got done talking about how much he admires tanaka and how cool and "manly" he is, which like makes sense right, both tanaka and taketora are always being shown as these like loud "boy's boys" archetypes who do everything with power, talk about girls, and emphasize "guts" and "manliness," so obviously taketora would respect tanaka
but then he immediately turns to also think about how much he admires fukunaga in the same way—fukunaga who doesn't display any of those same qualities that taketora was just admiring about tanaka. fukunaga is quiet, fairly low-key and doesn't flaunt anything ever. dude just goes around making weird puns that 1 people often barely even hear and 2 apparently seem to baffle everyone. but taketora sees all of that and sees how fukunaga still shows up and gets the job done more than successfully—he's one of the top point getters on the team—and taketora respects him for all of that, still calls him a "man's man" and tbh more than respects him, he admires him and sees him as a rival
and idk that just makes me happy, like 1 it's a nice small way of furudate saying that yeah "manly" is a thing that's important to taketora but it doesn't just mean one stereotypical thing—like it's showing that taketora isn't as one dimensional as we would have thought and that he sees things from multiple perspectives (we also saw this from him back during the whole "guts" thing with kenma and how he respects him too)—and it's also an example of seeing fukunaga from another perspective too. it's because he's so low-key that even we as readers have probably barely noticed how much of a rock he is for the team, but if you got back through their matches you can see how often he does score—he's quiet but he's always there. and i just like that furudate takes a moment to not only acknowledge fukunaga but to do it from taketora's pov in order to really hit it home to us how true it must be
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