This Is So Cute I Love It 😭

This is so cute I love it 😭

carry me back to your bed | folio x reader

pairing: nick folio x reader

cw: descriptions of struggles with depression, bathing together, grilled cheese and soup, sweet caring bf folio <3

word count: 1.2K

note: i always end up writing something real self-indulgent with this boy. @miamore0570 requested our sweet folio helping reader who is struggling with depression, and i think he would be really perfect 🩷

title from "solace" by counterparts

You feel so discouraged.

You don’t want to be like this — to feel like this — but every time you think you’re seeing an improvement, something stops you from taking that next step into being okay.

All of your texts go unanswered, but not unread. Every sweet text from Folio that goes without a response makes you feel more and more guilty, but you can’t bring yourself to reply. To have to explain yourself.

The TV sits idle, having long stopped playing the show you tried but failed to pay attention to. You pull your blanket back over you and sink into the bed, let the sadness claim you.

You aren’t sure how long it is you’ve been sleeping, but you wake up to a body sidling up behind you. You don’t have it in you to feel confused or startled — you know those hands anywhere, the way they feel on your skin, the smell of his cologne and the undertone of unmistakable Nick.

“It’s happening again, isn’t it?” he speaks into the juncture of your neck and your shoulder. He places kisses there, and you should feel soothed, but your skin heats with red-hot shame and embarrassment, a guilt you haven’t felt in a while. You know he doesn’t want you to be embarrassed, but you also remember the last time this happened, the way you’d promised to tell him if you fell back into it again.

It’s so hard to do when it’s happening, to admit you’re not okay. You can only nod. He holds you closer.

“How long have you been in bed, honey?” he asks, gently so you don’t feel like he’s prying or trying to shame you. You feel grateful for that. The truth is a little too much to say, so you shrug, knowing he’ll get the point. “Why don’t you let me wash your hair for you? Then I’ll make you some lunch.”

There’s something so pure, so earnest in his offer that you find yourself not wanting to say no to him. The trip from the bed and into the shower feels a little daunting, like it’s almost too much, but having Nick there helps. Nick always helps, and you know he won’t push you past what he knows you can do. He’ll pick up all the slack along the way.

You turn in his arms to find nothing but openness on his face. There’s no amount of pity in his gaze, just care. His mouth spreads into a grin when you cup his cheek in your hand, and you can’t say no to him.

“Okay,” you respond.

Your head rests on his chest while he massages your scalp, works the shampoo into a nice lather in your hair. The water is just on the right side of too hot, and it works wonders to relieve some of the anxiety that has burrowed its way into every muscle in your body. Your eyes are threatening to close when he speaks.

“Tilt your head back a little for me, baby,” he requests, and you do, making sure to close your eyes, too. He pours the hot water from the pitcher over your hair, rinsing it clean. Your scalp burns just a little with the temperature of the water, but it’s nice. Feels good to feel something pleasant like that.

He works the conditioner through your hair as he makes a little list of all the things you can do tonight. You let the words fade out, knowing that you’re not up for most of them at the moment. You think he knows it, too, and it’s good to just feel a sense of normalcy.

You pick and choose little things to place away — a movie before dinner, having tea and dessert on the porch, a drive along the back roads after the sun sets. Somehow Nick always knows the way to piece you back together, to make you feel like it’s all going to be okay, one step at a time.

You lie on the couch in your robe looking for a movie to watch while he cooks in the kitchen. It smells delicious — you were hardly able to contain your excitement when you peeked into the bag he brought, full with all the ingredients to make your favorite grilled cheese and soup.

You settle on a movie you’ve seen a dozen times before, let yourself sink into Nick’s side when he hands you the plate and sits down next to you.

“You aren’t eating?” you ask, brow furrowing.

He tells you that he ate before he came, just in case you weren’t up for lunch, that he was prepared to stay in bed with you all day if it’s what you had needed from him. You hand off half of your sandwich to him, despite his protests, offer the mug of soup for dipping. A warmth spreads through you, and you feel yourself getting your color back. Sometimes all you need is a little push.

He makes only one mention of getting you into your doctor, seeing about a dosage change or a complete switch. You know he’ll bother you in a few days if you don’t make the call, offer to do it for you, but you promise him that you will and you mean it.

You eat the rest of your food in a companionable silence, comforted by the film you know by heart, soothed by Nick’s boisterous laughter during the parts that always get him. When you start to fall asleep, you feel him shift just slightly beneath you, cover you with a blanket and place a hand in your drying hair.

The drive was a good idea. 

After an hour spent on the porch talking and listening for distant wildlife, he had managed to talk you into getting in the car. He made a promise that there didn’t need to be any destination, that you could drive around listening to music for as long as you wanted, but getting some fresh air on your skin would do you good. He was right.

He put on your favorite playlist and let you pick the direction until you wound up completely and utterly lost, no more than 20 minutes from the house. He decides to put the GPS on, still lets you point him in one direction or another. Just a safety net.

His eyes light up, even in the dark of the car, at your mention of ice cream. He plugs it into his GPS, quickly makes the detour.

You eat your sundaes on the hood of the car, in a parking lot surrounded by people. You knock your knee against his, feeling more okay than you did when you woke up this morning. You can’t deny that there’s still a knot in your stomach, a lump in your throat — the nagging hasn’t completely disappeared, but you’re on the road there.

“You’ll call the doctor tomorrow?” he asks, not pushing, but reading so well. A gentle reminder that he can’t fix everything, but he wants you on the road to it. You do, too.

You nod, holding out a pinky for him to loop his own around. He brings your joined hands to his mouth, pressing a kiss to your pinkies that warms you from the inside out.

tags <3

@circle-with-me @darksigns-exe @baddestomens @sitkowski @ladyveronikawrites

@mysticdoodlez @somebodyels3 @sorrowsofsilence @collapsedglasshouses @cookiesupplier

@spicywhenspeaking @lma1986 @abiomens @agravemisstake @cncohshit

@dominuslunae @poisongirl616 @iknownothingpeople @thisbicc @xserenax-13

@alwaysfightforwhoyouare @theanarchymuse95 @foliosgirl