#cw flashback joking

[discord-emote-customs]

snow leopard emojis ? :3

hi sorry friend i am infected with animal jam disease and i cant hear snow leopard or arctic wolf without having flashbacks

on a serious note , heres a sleepin snow leopard & a happy snow leopard w/ a speech bubble w/ & w/o the laughing animal jam emoji ^^

[kats-lagoon]

WELCOME

TO

THE GREATEST

GUESSING

GAME

EVER!!!!!!

ON TODAY’S QUESTION…

Is this chronic pain real or is it part of a flashback????!!!!!

Place your bets folks!!!!

[sorry-i-forget-things]

So I have this one friend that knows I'm asexual but I've mostly just explained it as "sex is boring and I dont do it" (we're in highschool anyways). Whenever the topic of sex is brought up we'll make jokes about how 'I wouldn't know' and 'sounds like an allo people problem'

What he doesn't know is the absolute hell of ao3 smut and what being on tumblr has taught me. I never thought it was important enough to correct him and I dont have the heart to say "see actually I've wandered my way into a lot of gay smut fanfiction haha"

But now every time sex comes up I just act a little clueless as the worst shit I've ever read scrolls through my brain

[bi-writes]

bff!roommate!simon comes home from deployment. it is the first time that either of you feel the distance thousands of miles can bring.

more bff!roommate!simon (part 10/?)

word count: 3.4k

cw: mature language and content, suggestive language and content, aNgSt, mean!simon, mentions of simon's canon trauma, military service criticism, pet names (luv, kitty), vague smut (18+) ⚠️🔞

large blocks of italicized text are flashbacks.

she hasn't called.

it was something that simon realized only a week in. normally, he spent his evenings sheltered in his room, his earbuds in, your voice on the other end. even if he didn't talk, you spoke. normally, you would tell him about your day; about the customer that gave you a hefty tip, the kids that left the tables a sticky mess, the meal you made that you think he would like. simon listened, and he would close his eyes and let the lull of your voice put him to sleep. sometimes, it was the next best thing to get him rest; it was impossible to know the comfort of you in your bed across from him when he was so far away.

more recently, those calls had become something else. you would still tell him the same stories, but sometimes your voice would drop a few degrees lower, and you would ask him if he was thinking about you--about all of you. and there simon would be, a pathetic, choking mess as he fucked himself to soft sound of your voice on the other end--so good, simon, miss you so much, need you, need you--can't wait for you to come home, n-need to feel you--

but it was quiet now. there was no one calling him, no one leaving him texts that he couldn't wait to read in the morning. his phone was silent; but the thoughts in his head were not.

the inevitable loneliness faded to anger after the weeks apart; his sergeants were quick to learn to stay out of his way. there was to be no conversation, no jokes, no playful banter before and after their ops. there was complete silence, because if they spoke about anything other then their direct objective, simon was an unleashed dog, and no one wanted to be on the spitting end of his berating.

he thought about you even when he wasn't supposed to. when he was supposed to be focused, when he was supposed to have his eyes on the target, sweeping the horizon--you were there, behind his eyes. remembering the look on your face before he had left.

the gloss of your eyes. the tears that collected at the edges. the drawing in of your knees to your chest, the tremble of your pouty lip. the stain that he was leaving on you--he didn't even have it in him to turn around and tell you that he was sorry.

he was sorry. the things you asked for weren't unreasonable--you wanted answers. you wanted him to tell you what this was, what this would be. it wasn't enough anymore to pretend this wasn't real. the reality was that there was no one else--and his eyes had yet to go anywhere else since the first moment he tasted your sweet cunt. he knew, deep down, that this possessiveness had started long before that--when you were just kids, holding onto each other for some kind of comfort away from what waited for you at home.

you cradled his head in your lap. a damp towel was in one hand, the other holding his trembling face to your chest. when you pulled the towel back, you flinched at the sight of blood.

"simon? y-you...y-you wanna talk about it?"

all he could was shake his head. you picked him up, sitting him back gently against the bench, and you used the towel to wipe at the blood drying under his nose. his eyes were red with the tears he wanted to cry, but he held them back, swallowing them down.

you leaned in, looking down as you rested your forehead against his.

"what was it this time? was it tommy?"

when he just shrugged, you reached down, smoothing your hand over his. his hands were smooth, soft--they had not seen the other side yet.

"n-no one's gonna be at my place," you whispered. "why don't you stay tonight?"

you ate instant noodles on the roof that evening, your head leaning on his shoulder as you both looked out into the dreary city. there were dark clouds overhead, and you knew it would rain tomorrow. fitting, and you hoped then that it might wash away the pain of yesterday.

it was the first night that simon was encased by silence. on his back beside you on your twin bed, staring up at the ceiling as he thought about how he might explain the bruises on his face when he went to his classes the next day--about what he might say this time.

when he turned his head, there you were. eyes closed, face pressed into your pillow as you breathed gently. real. alive. here. some kind of respite that he didn't think he deserved.

the papers he had taken were burning a hole in his desk at home--just waiting for his signature. it was time to take control. to take his life back. that was the only way that he could keep this, whatever it was--this was the only way that he could protect you. protect himself. protect tommy, his mother, his sanity.

the only thing he prayed for that night was that you would forgive him when he left you behind.

you had always been his. you belonged to him. and he could keep pushing you away, but it wouldn't erase the fact that he lived in your bones and you under his skin, and whatever this was meant forever.

and simon wouldn't fucking die--no matter how hard they tried--and he needed to fix this.

but he was angry. and half of him came from something else. something not real. something sour. something that bled dark, not red but black, poison. sometimes he could feel that half of him right under his tongue. he could taste it, the sour and rot that part of him was made of, and he could feel it multiplying under his skin like mold.

he would never be rid of this kind. he couldn't throw away half of himself without losing all of himself; and normally, simon could swallow this down, keep it underneath, but fuck, it's coming, going to be fuckin' sick, it's coming--

when he saw her, he just took her. glaring at her under a dark mask didn't deter her, and when she kept pushing, he let her. he let her follow him home, let her through the threshold of a space that had only ever belonged to someone else.

he let her in. he let her in. he let her in.

she didn't taste like you. she was too loud. her voice was too shrill, moans that made him flinch rather than relax. between her thighs, it wasn't the same--it wasn't warm like it was with you. she was wet, dripping actually, but she smelled like something else. foreign. poison.

her eyes were too wet, too harsh, a glare there that didn't belong. this was wrong, it felt wrong, but he was so angry, and he needed something to bite. maybe something to tear about, he wasn't exactly sure, but as soon as he had her here, under him, knees pressed to her chest as she let him fuck her senseless, he realized that it was painful.

there was a disconnect between what was real and what was not. it was so real with you, and now he just felt so far away from himself. he felt like someone else. and he thought, he really thought, that the other half of him was so fucking real that it would come easy.

to hurt. to inflict pain. to growl and claw and take and eat, shouldn't this be easy? pain was in his genes, it was a part of him. trauma ran in his blood and into his veins, and when his heart pumped, it trickled into every soft place that lived and breathed inside of him.

isn't it? isn't this a part of me? why does it hurt? why doesn't it feel good? why is it worse, why does this hurt, why can't i breathe--

the front door shut behind you. you let out a shaky sigh, shrugging off your jacket and putting your bag down. you tossed everything onto the kitchen table, and just as you went to put your shoes away by the door, you noticed something out of place.

simon's boots were haphazardly tossed beside the shoe bench, laces hurriedly untied, one boot fallen onto its side. strange, and it stood out to you because simon wasn't someone who didn't put things away where they should be. he was adamant about this practice. but the strangest thing was the pair of shoes thrown beside them--heeled suede boots, with a pointed toe.

but they didn't belong to you.

you froze, your lips parting when you heard the shuffle of noise behind a closed door. you stepped backwards in the foyer, your back hitting the wall, and you put your hand over your stomach, suddenly feeling like heaving.

simon had come home; and there was someone else here with him.

your entire body suddenly felt hot, on fire. you looked towards the window, the one that faced the street, and when your vision went blurry, you realized there were tears coming down your face. the heat must've been your falling heart--it was dropping, fast, sliding down your chest and into your stomach, and it was like the acid there was crawling right back up your throat. you couldn't see anymore, warm tears wetting your cheeks and gathering in your mouth and staining your jaw and your neck.

simon had come home--and there was someone else here with him.

it had felt so real. hadn't it been real? wasn't this real? wasn't he real? weren't you real? this was real--it was fucking real.

right?

you hurried. you went right for your bedroom, shoving the door open, and you frantically went for your closet, pushing it open and scrambling for one of your bags. you tossed items off the shelves, blind through your tears, and as you grabbed one that hid behind a box of your memories, the lid popped off of it, its contents spilling onto the floor. you stepped over polaroid pictures, over moments captured in time, and you couldn't focus on them because you were blind--the tears just wouldn't stop, they won't stop, please stop.

you tossed the bag onto the bed, ripping the zipper open, and you flung the drawers open, just scooping handfuls of your clothes into the bag. whatever would fit--anything you could pick up until the bag was full, until you could barely force the zipper closed and swing the bag over your shoulder. you looked around the room frantically, looking for any essentials you might need, and you froze when you heard voices outside your door, the padding of more than one pair of feet. simon's footsteps were easy to point out, but then there was a lighter pair, a voice a little high-pitched wafting after his own.

suddenly, the idea of running away, of crying--it felt so stupid. he wasn't your boyfriend. he wasn't your lover, not your significant other, there was nothing that tied you together. the string you always thought that connected you wasn't that at all; simon had you on a leash, and you just hadn't realized he just let go.

he leaves me behind. he always leaves me behind.

there was nothing in those dark eyes that belonged to you. there was nothing here in this apartment that told you otherwise. separate rooms, separate things--you were just two people that lived in the same place, so what if he eats my cunt and puts his fingers inside of me and calls me a good girl? he's not mine, not mine, he doesn't belong to me.

and the only thing worse than the truth of it was that you belonged to him. and he had ruined you for anyone else.

the door swung open. you stopped moving, your hands shaking as you turned towards the sound of it. you knew how it looked--the bag over your shoulder, a few cherished knickknacks cradled in the other arm. the red in your eyes, the tears on your face--the rawness of your sadness so exposed and so there, right in his face, right where he could see you.

he was dressed down, sweats pulled on haphazard, a wrinkled shirt pulled on so hastily that he hadn't realized it was inside-out. and that fucking mask, crooked and damp on his sweaty face. he was gripping your doorknob tight in one fist, his knuckles white from how hard he held it.

"oi," he looked around your room. disheveled, messier than usual. ransacked drawers from your frantic packing, items knocked over as you searched for your precious possessions. "wot's this?"

you swallowed.

"i'm...i'm going on...on a trip. i..." you tried to laugh through your tears, "i thought i told you. i-i must've forgot."

"'cause i just got home," he muttered, stepping into your room. you stepped back at that. simon had been in your room before, of course he had. but something wasn't the same. something was different, and now instead of feeling like every corner of your apartment was safe, it felt like he was invading this place. he was too big, the room was too small, the distance between you was too short. you were suffocating. you couldn't breathe. and when he reached over and snatched the bag off your shoulder, you flinched.

when simon met his own eyes in the mirror, he nearly choked. he didn't recognize himself. the eyes that stared back at him didn't belong to him. not simon, not ghost, not the someone he pretended to be--no. no, no, no--that isn't me--i'm not like him--not him, not him, not him, anything but him.

he dropped your bag, holding out his hand suddenly. he was careful, slow, as if he might startle you, and you stepped back again, shaking your head.

"kitty--"

"don't!" you cried, and the yell of your own voice startled you, so much that you put a shaking hand over your mouth. you looked away from him. "d-don't call me that."

and just like that, he felt it. the spool of thread, cut. the line connecting you--severed. the apartment you had made a home, the sacred door that you hadn't opened to anyone, fuck, it was gone so quick. the years of trust, the undeniable bond, just gone, it was gone, how the fuck was that possible?

had it really been that easy? had this thing between you that had been so real been so fucking delicate?

your hands were shaking. trembling, and it was hard to read the papers that you held, and it was even harder to read them when the tears you shed was making the ink bleed.

your bedroom door creaked, and you looked up. simon ran an uneasy hand through his hair when he realized what you were holding. his signature so clear at the bottom, and all he had to do was walk back into the recruiting office. he didn't want to take anything with him--he didn't have any possessions, nothing he needed to pack away.

nothing he needed to pack away. nothing he needed to pack away. nothing he needed to pack away, nothing, nothing, nothing.

"when were you going to tell me?" you asked, but it was more of a strained whisper. you let the papers slip back into their place, and when you met his eyes, he was sympathetic, but you knew that look. you weren't going to change his mind about this. it was all made up.

"i...i-i hadn't thought about it. i...no, i just...i don't know."

he swallowed hard, rubbing the back of his neck. he was uncomfortable, but he came closer, settling onto the ground beside you, sitting just next to you.

"when...when are you leaving?"

a beat. and then, "in a few days."

you looked down at your hands, and as you watched them continue to shake, simon reached over, putting his own hand over them and clasping them together, stilling you. just like that, so easy--how much power did he hold over you?

"b-but...but why?"

"need to do this. not just for me," he murmured. "not just for tommy. not just...for mum. you. have you seen the fuckin' news? haven't you seen what's going on?"

and what about what went on behind your closed doors? his own? simon gets to decide to be hero when the real war is right here, right under his fucking nose?

selfish. he's so selfish. i hate him. i hate him. i hate him.

"so...what?" you breathed. "those...those towers get hit, so that means i-i have to lose something, too?"

he turned to face you, frowning. "don't say that. that isn't...that's not what this is. i need to do something. i can't...i can't just keep watching this happen. it's not right." he squeezed your hand. "i can do something about this. i can help."

you had no idea simon had suddenly become some kind of martyr. that he suddenly felt some kind of obligation to saving the world.

he was your world. weren't you his?

"'m gonna come back," he said softly, but it didn't feel like a promise.

it just felt like goodbye.

he was calling your name, but you pretended not to hear. her boots were gone, but the trace of something unfamiliar still lingered in the air. you grabbed your purse, the keys jingling, and just as you were going to move again, reality hit him.

i'm going to lose her. i'm going to lose her if i don't say something.

"would y'just let me fuckin' say something?!"

the sharpness of his voice stopped you, and you turned to face him, your bottom lip trembling.

"what do you want from me, simon?" you breathed. "what the fuck do you want from me? i-i...i didn't ask for this."

"luv--" he came closer, and you sobbed when he gripped both sides of your head. his fingers tangled in your hair, holding you tight, firm.

solid. grounding.

"it's okay," you shook your head. you smiled through your tears, blinking through them, meeting his eyes. "simon, it's okay...it's...it's my fault..."

"..wot?"

"i wanted more," you whispered. the tears were wetting his hands, and as much as he tried to wipe them away, more kept falling. "i wanted more, and i..." you laughed a little, but there was no humor in it. just sadness, echoing and hollow, just how you felt inside. you lifted a shoulder in a defeated shrug. "it's never been that way."

simon shook his head. "no. kitty, 's not true--"

"you've never fought for this before, simon, don't start begging now," you gasped. "just don't. you leave me behind. that's my fucking fate with you, getting left behind, and i keep thinking you'll change, but you won't--"

"that's not--!"

"you won't change, simon!" you cried, choking on it, and you were so sad, and for something that supposedly wasn't real, it felt like a gaping wound, something splitting apart his skin and crawling from the inside-out. "you...you won't change...but it's okay...s-simon, it's okay..." you tried to smile again. "i've always known. i-i think i've just...i've always known..."

the glass around him shattered when you spoke again.

"i-i've always...i-i...i think i've always been yours," your voice was so soft. it was the pain of accepting a truth you never wanted. "a-and...and you've never been mine."

it wasn't true. that wasn't true. you had no idea what kind of things you held over him. you had no idea the power you had, the kind of things that your touch made him feel. you had no idea how tightly he was bound--he had no room to breathe.

if this wasn't love, if this wasn't the kind of pain that love brought, then what the fuck is this? isn't this real? aren't we real?

but half of simon was poison. and when you left, it was quiet. there was no one to hear him scream. there was no one to take the glass out of his mouth, the shards of them that he swallowed, to watch the black of his blood choke him.

when he looked in the mirror again, he recognized those eyes. he had been too afraid to see them for what they were before, but now he knew who those eyes belonged to, and he thought it would be easier to cut them out than look at his reflection again.

a dream, a nightmare, not reality.

left behind.

always yours. and never mine.

[innerfare]

Random Shanks Headcanons 

Summary: A random collection of Shanks headcanons

CW: None // SFW

———

Has a fake arm that he uses for gags. Only he and Yasopp find it funny. Beckman once tossed the arm overboard after Shanks ‘lost’ the arm in a pot of Lucky Roux’s stew, only for Shanks to enter the mess hall the next morning with another attached to his body. 

Can do magic tricks, especially good with coins and cards. A very skilled sleight of hand artist. Also not above using these tricks to cheat while playing cards. (Inspired by the coin game w/ Luffy flashback). Cheating is the only way he can beat Beckman, who’s by far the best player on the crew. But he doesn’t even cheat to win, he just likes the thrill of getting away with it; also enjoys the thrill of getting caught. There was a rabbit loose aboard the Red Force for a solid month after the captain tried to learn how to pull it out of a hat.

The best beer pong player in the New World, probably the entire world. Would challenge all of his enemies to a game of beer pong to settle their disputes if he thought they would respect the results of the game. Good at drinking games in general (has a little too much experience).

Is an infamous gossip. If a member of the crew wants word to get out about something, they just mention it to their captain. 

Enjoys playing matchmaker. Always acts as a wingman for his crew when there’s a pretty bar maid. The only one he never tried to fix up with one of his crew mates was his darling Makino. 

Are soap operas a thing in the One Piece universe? Because if so, he has a favorite that he never misses an episode of (fights hardest on Thursdays so he can be home in time to catch the latest episode of Search for One Piece, a pirate drama based loosely on Roger’s life. He particularly enjoys the harlequin character). 

Loves meddling in any drama that comes up aboard the ship. Sometimes even starts drama just for entertainment, like the time he told Lucky Roux that he saw Limejuice sneaking steaks from the freezer, or when he robbed Beckman blind and left traces of a turkey leg at the scene of the crime. 

Thinks childish pranks are the funniest thing in the world. Pranks prospective crew members to see how they respond; screens them based on whether they find his jokes funny. Beckman insists this is not the best way to do things but Shanks persists. But Shanks isn't just being childish. He's making sure everyone who joins his crew has a good nature as that is, in his opinion, the most important thing. If you can't trust your crew, you're dead in the water.

Was definitely posing when the government snapped the photo for his wanted poster but pretends it was completely candid. Has a habit of comparing his wanted poster to the posters of his enemies.

He also uses his wanted poster to fish for compliments, especially from his crew. “That’s a pretty good picture, isn’t it?” “I don’t look half bad in that, do I?” “The real reason the marines are hunting me- the sight of my wanted poster makes their wives swoon.”  

Refers to himself as, “that handsome devil.” 

Smells like body odor and weed, but in a Matthew McConaughey kind of way (that is to say, it works for him). 

Animals and babies always like him. He insists the trick is to act uninterested. 

He is genuinely good-natured, but he definitely uses his sense of humor to disguise how terrifying he truly is. Is a pro at lulling people into a false sense of security. Definitely slouches on purpose to seem less intimidating.

Secretly paid off Luffy's "treasure tab" at Makino's bar. Didn't do it just to be kind to the poor kid but actually because he believed Luffy when he said he'd pay it back in full and did it to annoy Luffy a decade or two down the line. (When Luffy finally goes back to pay Makino and she informs him Shanks already did, Luffy blows a gasket.)

———

Hope you enjoyed it! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

[moonstruckme]

Hi! Could I request a plus size!reader with James? Maybe where she gets upset because she can’t wear his clothes and she can’t do cute little girlfriend things like him picking her up and stuff like that?

Thanks for requesting babe!

cw: size insecurity

modern au ig because new girl

James Potter x plus size!reader ♡ 956 words

“I’m kind of thinking of jumping back to season four,” you call towards the bedroom. “Jess is about to leave for jury duty, and I don’t like those episodes as much.” 

“Pretty sure you’ve got them all memorized anyway,” James says back. “Why don’t we just watch Friends instead?” 

Your mouth twists even though he can’t see it, but luckily, the feeling behind the expression carries in your voice anyway. “Because it’s not as good.” 

“Okay.” James rolls his eyes lightly as he emerges from your bedroom, now clad in pajamas to match you. “We can do New Girl again, but I need my pillow, please.” 

You sigh heavily, feigning reluctance as you uncurl your legs from underneath you and prop your feet on the coffee table. James hurries over, sprawling out on the couch and settling his head on the cushion of your thighs. He’s due for a haircut. His thick curls spread out around him like the sun’s rays. He smiles up at you, dopey, and you tamp down a grin as you start the episode. 

Not ten minutes in, there’s a flashback about when one character was in college. Bigger, dorkier, romantically inept. It’s played for a laugh. You glance down at James. He’s wormed a hand under your leg and is kneading the fat there like putty. It’s an absentminded gesture, nothing critical about it, but you wonder if he’s correlating you with the actor on screen, bumbling and the butt of the joke in his fatsuit. 

You comb a hand through James’ hair, and he looks up, catches you watching him. He’s never been one to mind being observed. He shoots you a smile, catching your hand with his other and pressing it to his lips. 

You smile back. “Do you ever wish you had a skinny girlfriend?” you ask him. 

If he’s surprised by the abruptness of the question, he doesn’t show it. “Nope,” he answers. “Never. What would I do for a pillow?” 

You consciously keep your smile in place, fixing your eyes back on the screen. The one character is telling the story of how embarrassing it was to lose his virginity. Like sex was borderline impossible, just because he was chubby. 

You feel James’ head shift on your legs, and look down to find he’s turned towards you. “We manage just fine,” he whispers conspiratorially. 

You exhale amusedly through your nose. “Yeah? I don’t near crush you every time?” 

“It’s really cute that you think you could, lovie.” 

You roll your eyes, letting them land on the TV. “Sometimes I wish I could do more…quintessential girlfriend stuff.” You can feel James’ eyes on you, but he keeps quiet. “Like when girls steal their boyfriend’s hoodies and stuff.” 

You look down, and James’ eyebrows have lowered slightly. “You could borrow my hoodies if you wanted to,” he says. “Angel, you know I think you’re the perfect size, don’t you? Do I not tell you that enough?” 

You give him a little smile, shoulders coming up bashfully. (He does. He makes little comments all day long—how pretty you look, how he loves your thighs, how soft and warm you are when you’re cuddling, how lovely and squishable your ass is in his hands.) “It’s not you,” you say, “it’s just hard not to think about those girls who, like, drown in their boyfriends’ clothes, you know? And your stuff fits almost tight on me.” 

James looks at you considerately, nodding. You and he aren’t vastly different sizes, with James’ bulky frame and wide shoulders. You just…he treats you like you’re precious, but sometimes you wish you looked precious standing next to him, too. You wish he could pick you up with one arm or make jokes about you being tiny like a chihuahua or whatever else it is the boyfriends of petite girls do. 

“I realize this is rather selfish,” James says, “but I actually quite enjoy that I’m able to borrow your clothes from time to time.” He glances pointedly down at his shirt, which you now realize has been pilfered from your wardrobe. “And if it’s baggy clothes you’re looking for, I could always get a couple loose-fitting hoodies, wear them around and get ‘em all smelled up, and then pass them on to you.” You must look about as lovesick as you feel, because his smile returns, brown eyes sweetly knowing. “Does that sound like something you’d like?”

“Yeah,” you say, biting your lip to keep from beaming too embarrassingly. “Yes, please. Thanks, Jamie.” 

“Course.” He gives your thigh a hearty squeeze, turning his head to press a wet smooch to your skin. “You know, those other girls are missing out on things, too,” he says. “I doubt their boyfriends spend so much time lounging on them, and I know how much you love it when I make your legs fall asleep.” 

You snicker. “You’re right, I do love that.” 

James’ smile spreads wider at your response. “I know you do, lovie. All for you, of course. Also, I know it’s not a hoodie, but I have that one red jumper that’s pretty big on me. You know the one?” 

“Oh my gosh, yes!” You sit up straighter. “I totally forgot about that. Could I use it?” 

“What’s mine is yours.” 

“Thanks.” You scoot out from under him, and James sits up, upset. 

“Oi! Where do you think you’re going? I was comfy!” 

“To change,” you call back from halfway down the hall. 

“Never change, angel!” You roll your eyes at the stupid joke, grinning to yourself. “I love you just the way you are!” 

[munsonsmixtapes]

Could you do a fluffy cute fic about Eddie being insecure about his scars after being attacked by the demobats, one where he wouldn’t show his body to reader anymore and then finally feels comfortable enough to show reader and reader comforts him!! Thank you!!!:)

Um, yes, I love this!! So sorry it took me so long to get to this!

cw: Eddie has body insecurity

Eddie x gender neutral!reader

You and Eddie had been together for a few months and he had yet to take his shirt off in front of you. It wasn't because he thought you would have judged, but more that he was so embarrassed about what his torso looked that he didn't want anyone to see it. He was so terrified that people would think it was gross and it was. At least to him.

You had been very aware of the situation and assured Eddie that he could show you when he was comfortable. That there was no rush. You had no idea what that felt like, so you thought that you had no room to rush him. But you could definitely sympathize. You wanted him to know that he was safe with you and that it wouldn't have mattered if he never took his shirt off.

The two of you were lying on your bed when he had made the decision. Being with you felt like being wrapped up in a blanket that was fresh from the dryer. He felt more safe with you than anyone else and trusted that you wouldn't laugh him and that you would have assured him that his scars didn't change anything about him. You'd still love him no matter what.

He crawled off of the bed and stood in front of it, completely blocking your view of the TV to get your attention. He felt tears welling up in his eyes as he slowly lifted his shirt up and you were quick to turn the TV off as you got off the bed to stand on front of him.

You rested your hands on top of his, your eyes searching his for any sign that he was uncomfortable, but all you could see were the tears. You wiped them away from his eyes and rested your hands against his cheeks, making him look you in the eyes.

"You don't have to do this," you assured him, wanting him to know that you weren't forcing him to do it.

"I know," he nodded. "But I want you to. I feel like I owe it to you."

"Honey, you don't owe me anything," You shook your head. And Eddie really didn't owe you anything. His presence was always more than enough for you and would continue to be for the rest of your lives.

"I know I don't, but I just want to show you. Please?" The last word came out as a whisper and you nodded and stepped away, but Eddie just grabbed your hands and guided them to the hem of his shirt.

Together, you lifted his shirt over his head and it fell to the floor beside his feet. You let out a gasp as you took in his torso. Not because it was ugly, but because of how deep all the scars were. They looked like they were painful, but he didn't seem to be in any pain, physically, anyway.

"Can I touch them?" You asked, your voice so low, as if you felt like you shouldn't have been asking that, but Eddie nodded furiously. The fact that you weren't disgusted by him made him let out a sigh of relief. The weight on his shoulders had lifted and he was finally free.

"Please," he begged and took your hands, guiding them to his bare skin. As soon as you touched them, you were thrown into a flashback. You remember getting the call that he was in the hospital and that the outcome didn't look good. You rushed down there just as they had assigned him a room.

Eddie was joking around with the nurses as if he hadn't almost just lost his life and you rushed to him and threw yourself into his arms and cried, so grateful that he was still there and that you didn't have to bury him.

"Eddie," you gasped. "They're beautiful," You told him, your own eyes getting misty.

"Really?" His face lit up.

"Really," you nodded. "Now come here," you beckoned him forwards and pulled him into your arms and the both of you cried into each other's shoulders as he reached a big milestone, knowing that you had his back literally and metaphorically always and forever.

[aka-indulgence]

Got a oneshot! Have a fic where Sans rejects your romantic pursuits with a happy twist ;)

CW: Flashback section containing Sans’ ex, where he wasn’t having a good time

(Sans & Gender Neutral Reader)

Sans doesn’t know what he thinks about the whole romance thing after a disastrous start. What happens when a precious friend confesses?

——————

It wasn’t entirely unexpected.

Sans didn’t think much of it when you came that day. Sans would often usually invite you over anyway, though today you were first to ask him if you could visit. Which was fine- he’s never as comfortable with anyone else as much as he was comfortable with you. (Maybe Papyrus, but even then there were things Sans wouldn’t tell his brother because he didn’t want to burden him with problems that Sans would rather burden himself with.)

You were laughing. He always loved it when you laughed.

“so i told him: paper-thin skin? buddy. pal. i ain’t got skin.”

You were in an uproar, slapping your knee. “Oh my god! I’d give the world to see the look on his face,”

“oh yeah. definitely unforgettable. man got so red faced he looked like he was gonna burst. he then stomped out like an angry toddler.”

You were giggling, before the both of you fell into a silence. That was a normal part of conversations, Sans was used to it. Especially with you, the silence was never unwelcome. But this time… something felt different. The air has shifted. Your carefree expression had changed into something more contemplative. He wasn’t sure what it was, then. Or maybe, he just didn’t want to read too deep into it.

You spoke up.

“... Hey Sans? Can I tell you something?”

Why was he nervous?

“... yeah?”

“It’s… um. Give me a second…” you laughed nervously. “Haha, sorry, I feel a little sick.”

Sans’ brows furrowed. “what’s up? you ok..?”

You huffed. “Ok. Yeah. Sorry for ruining the moment? But uh… it’s been on my mind for a while, and I have to tell you. I hope you’re ok with me saying this but. I like you, Sans. Kind of… a lot?”

… Ringing. Sans hears ringing. It feels like something in his soul crashed.

“... Sans?”

Sans wasn’t there. His mind was somewhere else.

“i just… i just don’t know if i like you in that way…”

Her face broke into despair. She wouldn’t look his way. She didn’t even say a word to him.

“w… wait. why are you… where are you going?”

“I can’t be here.”

It was years ago. Monsters had lived on the surface for about a year. She was one of Papyrus’ friends, and their first meeting had been wonderful. It still leaves an ache in his chest when he thinks about it now, how hopeful he was when he met her. She was fun, always got Sans involved in social events, always found her way towards him when he was sitting on the sidelines while Papyrus took the stage.

“hey i wouldn’t recommend the punch.”

“Why not?”

“y’see, i like funny things. and that thing… it ain’t got a punchline.”

“... Are you seriously punning?”

“i think i’m being funny.”

“Hah, that’s so stupid,”

She was laughing. But when Sans thinks about it now, maybe it was a pitying one. Sans wasn’t one to judge, puns didn’t win everyone over.

She quickly became a regular in his life, the first human friend he’s made since the surface, one that seemed more interested in him than his brother. She would even pout and joke when Sans didn’t give her enough attention which was cute, at the time. It was easy introducing her to his friends, with how often she tagged along with him.

She would put her arm over his shoulders, hug him, get so close to kissing but miss… Sans never initiated, but only because he wasn’t much of a physical person to begin with. It was nice to have someone so affectionate with him.

He really liked having her in his life.

And then… came that fateful day.

“I was going to wait for you. But you never asked me out.”

“what do you mean…?”

“I know you’re smart, Sans. I’ve been obvious. I just don’t know if you even like me.”

He didn’t know where this had come from. He was suddenly put on the spot, struggling to give her an answer, an answer that he knew she wanted. But Sans was lost.

“i just… i just don’t know if i like you in that way…”

“...”

She was stoic. She was upset with him, she left him alone in his room after he brought out the games he was hoping to play together. Had he made a mistake…? Was he really that dense? Was he just terrible with commitment?

She… she deserved better.

So he decided to fix it. At least, he thought he was fixing it. Though it turned to be a decision Sans would regret soon after.

He showed up at her door the next night. She hadn’t responded to his texts, his calls. Not even Papyrus’. He felt guilty, like he ruined something perfectly good.

i can’t lose her.

Sans was starting to panic if she maybe had left- then the door opened. Sans soul shook when he saw how her face fell when she saw his face. She was going to retreat back into her room.

“w-wait! please listen to me,” His hand was at the door. “i… i made a mistake. you’re important to me, ok? and i think i want… to be with you.”

His soul sung when she finally looked him in the eyes. There were tears in hers, but she was smiling, and he was happy to have her hugging him again. The tension snapping was a relief. That he saved himself. But even then he wondered… why did it taste bitter to say those last few words?

It… didn’t last long. More and more of Sans’ time was taken up by her, which… should be a good thing. Couples should spend lots of time together, right? But he didn’t have time for his friends anymore. Everytime she went out, he needed to come with.

“Sans, you smell like ketchup.”

“oh… yeah, i put too much on my hotdog.”

“Come on, you need to eat something better. People keep telling me you smell like grease.”

“... really?”

“Yeah. Here, I got you new clothes. Crisp!”

“oh… thanks.”

“Get ready, I’m planning to go at six.”

He was becoming active. He was going out every day, he wasn’t locking himself in his room.

It was for the better, he told himself. She brought out the life in him.

… Sans always thought he was intuitive. He was the best at reading people. He’s the judge. It came to him like breathing.

But apparently, he had been blinded. He had a hard time trusting himself. That maybe his gut feeling was wrong.

“SANS…”

Papyrus had found him alone during a party, having escaped to the bathroom. His sockets had bags under them. His face was dripping with water. He just… needed to rest. Without anyone else around.

“ARE YOU ALRIGHT?”

“yeah… i am. just needed to freshen up is all.”

Papyrus looked so… sad. He hadn’t seen his brother frown so deeply, in a way that made Sans feel guilty.

“SANS. I KNOW YOU FEEL LIKE YOU NEED TO PROTECT ME FROM YOUR FEELINGS EVEN THOUGH I DON’T NEED YOU TO DO THAT BUT… YOU HAVEN’T LIED SINCE WE SURFACED, AND NOW IT’S BACK. AND I THINK… YOU MIGHT BE LYING TO YOURSELF AS WELL. BROTHER… WHAT’S THE MATTER?”

Sans was getting sloppy. He looked away from him, to the mirror- he couldn’t handle that sorrowful look on Papyrus’ face. All that did though, was force him to confront his own expression. His signature smile wasn’t even there. And Sans couldn’t muster the energy to bring it back.

“I DON’T WANT TO PRY, IF YOU’RE UNCOMFORTABLE, BUT… Could This Have Something To Do With Her?”

Sans should’ve said no. Denied it. Told Paps that everything was fine and he was just… just overwhelmed. But he didn’t.

“i… maybe. i…” He exhaled through his phalanges, staring at the bottom of the sink. “i don’t know if i love her, pap. at least… romantically. i’m… i’m trying paps, i’m trying, i should- she deserves to have someone love her. i want to love her.”

Papyrus finishes his thought for him.

“BUT YOU DON’T.”

“... no.”

Sans felt horrible. He felt like he was leading her on. But Sans really thought that he loved her. He did! He cared for her!

… But not in the way she wanted.

And Sans didn’t want to pretend anymore.

“What did it? Did… did you find another person??”

“no. it’s nothing like that.”

“Then what changed?!”

She was shouting. Sans didn’t like the shouting. She never took kindly to him giving anyone- anything else attention. Sans tried to fix it, at first. He thought he was the problem until he got the messages asking him where he was, why he was so absent.

“nothing has, it was just a lot of little things. i’m sorry. i don’t love you in that way.”

“... How could you say something so horrible!?”

It was a good thing they hadn’t moved in together. She had insisted on moving, and that was one thing Sans could put his foot down about. He has a couple of old shirts and pants at her place from the nights he’s stayed, but nothing he’ll miss much. Lots of them were clothes she approved. It smelled like perfume. Even when he thought he was in love with her he thought moving together then was too fast.

She blocked him. Cut him out. Told her friends how Sans didn’t try hard enough when she put in the effort. Sans was never a crier- but he was in tears, hiding in his room. He would talk about it with Papyrus, but right then, he didn’t want anyone to hear. He wanted to throw his phone, he wanted to scream at her. He loved her! Maybe- maybe he never wanted to date her, maybe, if they hadn’t they’d still be friends but she always just… took too much.

It was nice when Papyrus chose to cut her off, to show support for him. It was ironic, even though Sans was the one she always chased, she always seemed to be on good terms with Papyrus. Even would ask him to put in a word for her after their arguments.

Sans was fine now. No- more than fine. Sans was happy. His time with her being a mere bump during his time on the surface.

Then, not too long after, he met you.

He never realized what was missing until he met you. You gave him space, and you never asked him to change for you. You… you liked who he was, you liked Sans.

After her Sans was afraid to attach so fast but… he really, really wanted to keep you in his life. He might even like you, more than a friend would. But he wasn’t ready to start another storm in his life.

As he looked into your eyes, he felt his soul sink. He wasn’t ready for it to end.

“... i… i’m sorry,” Why was the air so hot? “i… i… hhh,”

“Huh?”

It was a little hard to breathe. Which should be impossible. He’s a skeleton… air… air literally moves through his ribcage. He isn’t… uh… what’s happening?

You were frowning. Oh no. Were you upset?

“S-Sans? Are you ok?”

Sans was gripping the couch too tightly, phalanges digging into the couch cushions, close to ripping them. Beads of sweat were rolling down his skull. He suddenly felt pathetic… panicking over you.

“Sans?”

His eyelights darted back to you, bringing him back to the present. You looked so confused… he felt so guilty.

no… i can’t do it again.

“i… sorry. i don’t… mean to panic in front of you but… are you upset?”

“About what? I’m… Sans, you’re not making a lot of sense.”

He presses a hand to his face, then takes a deep breath. His mind was in a frizzle and he had to explain to you now before he goes crazy.

“sorry, my mind is a mess right now. i… i don’t want to make you sad. but i don’t know if i’m ready for a relationship right now. and it isn’t you, it’s… it’s me. i don’t want to take away your hope or anything but… i don’t know if i’ll ever be ready for a romantic relationship.”

You blinked at him.

“Oh,”

 Sans tensed. Expecting you to explode, or cry, or yell at him, run out the house, hate him, oh god he ruined everything-

“Sans, that’s… ok?”

“...”

what?

“w… what do you mean?”

You’re confused. Sans was too. You shift your eyes left and right.

“I mean… that’s ok. I just didn’t want to make you upset is all, and w… why are you looking at me like that?”

Was he dreaming? His eyelight flashed yellow, as if he could find something. He scanned your face, your eyes, your nose- looking for a shudder, a twitch, even a pulse out of place.

Your face was neutral. Was it just hard to read you?

“you know, you can tell me if you’re upset.” Sans was telling the truth. “i can take it. i’d rather you tell me straight to my face if you are. i… i don’t want to lose you.”

You look startled at his sudden pleading, before giving him a pitiful smile. You put your hands on his shoulders.

“Sans? Can you look at me?” You asked in a soft voice.

It was difficult to look up. He knows you, you’re not the type to yell at him or to curse him for little things. He’d trust his judgment but he’s been mistaken before. Nonetheless, slowly, he tilts his skull up to you. When he does, he sees the determination in your eyes, a fierce yet gentle look.

“Sans. Believe me, I’m ok. You’re not going to lose me if you tell me no. Ok?”

“m… mhm,”

Your serious expression melts a little when you start snickering. “Sans, I… I didn’t even get to finish my sentence. I was about to tell you that I’ll understand if you don’t wanna do a whole romance with me, I’ll be fine! I think it’d be great, and I stand by saying I like you a lot. But, I also like where we are right now, and staying like this is pretty nice too. Just being with you is fun, and whether you’re my friend or my boyfriend, that’s not going to change. So… if you’re ok with staying friends after my confession, I think I’d like that.”

The static of panic started to fade away, and a feeling of calm washed over him. The relief was so potent that Sans could feel his sockets start to sting.

h… heh… i was worrying for nothing.

“yes. god, i’d like that too,” Sans wobbles, phalange wiping his socket. “i was scared that if… if i said no you’d hate me.”

“Pfft,” you snort, before you quickly covered your mouth. “Sorry that wasn’t, I’m not laughing at you. I just want to know what made you think that?”

You bump him gently on the shoulder with your fist. “I thought you knew me!”

Sans snickers, a bit more giggly than usual. “i do! i just have doubts when it comes to romance nowadays,” He sighed. “so… you’re really ok with being friends?”

“Yeah! What’s so bad about being friends anyway? As long as you’re not weirded out by me, if I still get to see you, I count that as a win.”

Sans thought the same thing. He smiled.

“yeah… you’re right.”

It was definitely a win having you in his life.

You go oof! When all of a sudden Sans tugs you into a hug, squeezing you tightly.

“i’m… i’m glad i met you.”

You take him in for a moment, before wrapping your arms around him. You squeeze him back.

“Me too.”

[rosyhoneydew]

I'll Cover You

Written for @bucktommypositivityweek | Week 2, Day 2: Scenes from a firetruck | cw for mentions of dissociation, flashbacks

I wrote two entries for today! If mildly steamy fluff is more your vibe it's here -> Stolen Moment

The winds are strong, even days after the tornado’s long gone.

Buck hadn’t seen anything like it before. Tornadoes, sure, but the kind of large-scale damage that came from an invasive cloud of bees droning en masse and descending on the city like a plague? A first. He’s nursing a sting or two himself for a few days.

It’s almost a relief to get called on scene two days later. Almost. Because while plane crashes are, at least, familiar, they’re still grueling.

All things considered, it’s not as bad as it could’ve been. The 737 went down on land this time, but it had only barely made it off the ground before taking a nosedive back onto the tarmac. The passengers were buckled in and the drop itself wasn’t too big. So yeah, they got pretty lucky.

They’re still on the scene now. Hen and Eddie are working at the cockpit last he knew, Chim’s somewhere in the med bay here with him, working on a bigger trauma. Buck’s been handling some of the lower grade injuries and he’s cool, really. Yeah it would be nice to be out there, doing the big boy stuff, but they’ve got a new captain and he’s learning to pick his battles.

He’s just finishing wrapping up a kid’s ankle. He can’t be more than 7 but he’s been so brave, holding his little sister’s hand to keep her from crying. He’s got the elastic bandage just in place when the wind rips the kid’s jacket from where it was draped on his shoulders and under the 217’s truck.

“I gotcha!” he reassures the kid quick. “One sec, you stay right here for me, okay?”

Buck shuffles over to the truck in a walk-run and bends down low to peek underneath. It would probably be easier to grab the jacket from the other side, but he’s already here so he just finishes ducking down, crawls under and reaches out for the corner of the fabric.

He’s still under the truck when the next big wind hits. It leaves the truck shaking and groaning around him. Buck freezes. It feels like all logical thought in his brain shuts off.

The truck isn’t going to tip over. He’s not stuck. If he had the presence of mind he could wiggle his toes, even. But there’s something about being under here, hearing the voices around him, it has him tense all over. He can’t move.

When he looks back on it, he’ll wonder why it set him off. It’s not nighttime, there are no kids with bombs strapped to them, it’s not like he was even under the truck when it tipped last time. It’s a fluke, almost. But it can’t be helped. He’s petrified.

—

Tommy honestly thought his first call working with the 118’s A-shift would have had a little more novelty, but it’s just been long. He’s happy to see Evan, of course, but he hardly sees him. He’s been over in the med bay for the last couple of hours that Tommy’s been teamed up with Viera, pulling passengers out of the wreck.

He had at least been able to drop off an older woman directly to Evan about an hour ago.

Well, Patricia, it looks like your day is looking up! You’re in good hands with this one. He’ll patch you up real good.

Ahh, my job’s the easy part. You’re just lucky firefighter pilot Kinard was here to save you.

She’d only had a sprained wrist, but Tommy had watched them from afar for a minute, ever impressed with the way Evan kept her calm, reassurances and jokes taking the fear out of her eyes. He has to turn back before long, but he lets that moment carry him through the next push. He’s going home to that man.

He’s jogging back to check in at base when he hears crying to his right. There’s a kid standing still, holding the hand of a little girl and he’s wailing at the sky. That doesn’t seem right. Tommy’s eyes track around the area and he spots boots sticking out of the side of their truck. Definitely not right. He changes course, picking up his speed as he approaches the kids.

“Hey, bud, you okay?” He’s got his hands on the boy’s shoulders, grounding him, hopefully. “You hurting anywhere?”

The kid coughs out a few more sobs in Tommy’s face, but he shakes his head. He looks like he’s willing himself not to be scared. Jesus, kids are resilient.

“Alright, that’s good, I’m going to check on my friend here, you gonna be okay for a minute?” A nod. Good.

Tommy turns his attention to the truck behind him, lays flat, knocking his helmet off in the process. The guy’s not moving, but Tommy’s not able to figure out at a glance what happened here. There’s no gas leak, no threat to public safety over here.

“You good, man?” he calls out.

The body of the guy twitches. Not dead. That’s good. He clears his throat.

“Can you feel your feet? I can try to move you but I need to know if you’ve got any injuries I should watch out for.”

No response. Okay. Time to change tack.

Tommy rights himself and walks to the other side of the truck, resuming position on the asphalt. He shuffles in a little closer and finally gets a look at the guy’s face.

Evan. It’s Evan.

“Evan?” he says. He’s not sure it comes out as much more than a breath.

Evan’s eyes do flick to his then, but there’s still something distant in his gaze. He’s dissociated. It comes to mind then, the stories told at happy hours and trivia nights, and the ones told only in the sanctuary that is their bedroom. They're good stories, but Tommy knows better than most the toll that kind of shit can take on a person. Evan's having a flashback.

“Alright, alright, baby,” Tommy says under his breath. He’s not sure Evan would hear him even if he spoke up. He looks pretty gone.

Tommy scoots half a foot closer, puts both palms flat to the ground.

“Evan,” he starts, “can you do this with your hands? Just like mine.” He flexes his hands a bit to demonstrate.

Evan’s own hands are balled up. It looks like he army crawled under here. His arms are bent at his sides, curled in tight half under his body. He blinks a few times.

“Your hands, Evan.” Tommy picks his own up and places them back down again. “Just like this.”

Evan mirrors the movements.

“Good job, that’s perfect.”

“Kinard?” He hears from behind him.

“We’re good here, Sloane.” Who knows if she’ll believe him; she’s a damn good secondary when they’re in the air but she’s nosy as all get-out.

He hears the sound of her turnouts rustling as she shifts around, deciding whether to stay or go.

“Sloane. I got this. Can you round back to the kids on the other side? I’m going to be here a minute.”

He hears the sound of boots squeaking behind him as she does what he asks. Okay, Ev, just you and me.

Evan’s fingertips are curling, his eyes pinched closed.

“Ev, sweetheart, look at me.” He does. “I’m gonna grab your arm okay? Then we can work on getting you over here. Sound good?”

There’s no response, but that’s okay. Tommy’s going real slow. He reaches out and places a sure hand on Evan’s arm.

“Can you push yourself toward me?”

His eyes close again and for a second Tommy falters, mentally jumping two steps back to figure out a different path forward. But then Evan pushes. He digs the meat of his hand into the ground and uses the leverage to slide his body toward Tommy.

“Just like that. Exactly like that.”

He’s close enough now that Tommy can reach his shoulder. He gets a good grip and rolls Evan the rest of the way, pulling him up to sitting once he’s on his back and out from under the belly of the truck. He watches as Evan scrambles to pull his feet out.

Tommy’s got him sat in between the V of his legs, one arm around his waist, and brings the other up to Evan’s face, pushing the damp hair off his forehead. They’re tucked in between trucks, so the sound of commotion from the continued efforts of the other houses is muffled. The loudest thing he can hear is their panting, both going a little boneless with relief.

Tommy places a kiss to Evan’s temple. He’s sweaty there too. He feels Evan’s breathing slow down a bit, but he’s reluctant to break the quiet. He’s not sure that Evan’s flashbacks are like his, everyone’s a little different, but he sometimes needs the silence after. Just to collect himself. So he gives that to Evan, too.

“Did- did you get it?” Evan finally says, startling Tommy just a bit.

“Get it?”

“The jacket.” He’s smoothing his palms over his pants; nervous habit.

Tommy stretches his neck to look behind him, sees the blue rain jacket lying there. He can pinch it with his fingers from where they’re sitting. He drags it out. Troublemaker.

They sit together for another minute. Tommy can hear Sloane marching the kids away to find their parents. If he really tunes into the noises around them, he can hear some laughter and lots of walkies; they're finishing up here. He'll probably get called in soon enough to pack up.

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

Evan nods, then tips his head back onto Tommy’s shoulder. “Better. Thank you.”

Tommy moves his hand down to Evan’s face, just to tilt his cheek a little closer, plants a long, sure kiss there.

“I’ve got you.”

Evan smiles. “Yeah, you got me.”

[lucid-loves]

Taste Like Venom ~ Simon "Ghost" Riley Part 6

Pairing: Ghost x assassin!reader (fem!reader, no use of y/n, callsign “Hex”)

Word Count: 4.8k

CW: angst, violence, blood, strong language, scars, enemies to lovers trope, slow burn, fluff, clear attraction and sexual tension, smut later on, reader POV and ghost POV, minors dni, Soap lives in this AU

Let me know if I missed any CWs.

Story Synopsis: After Makarov gets away once again, Laswell decides to force a favor from you, the world’s greatest assassin and best-kept secret. You are now expected to help the 141 with taking down Makarov in addition to playing nice with them. It’s hard to play nice when you have always worked alone. It doesn’t help that one of the team members, Ghost, gets curious about you in each interaction. 

Chapter Synopsis: Kate calls you with some news about the mole. Ghost stops by your room a couple hours before you are all meant to leave in order to spend some more private time with you. When everyone leaves to board the early train to Paris, he is still adamant about sticking to your side. 

Part 1 ~ Part 2 ~ Part 3 ~ Part 4 ~ Part 5 ~ Part 6 ~ Part 7 ~ Part 8 ~ Part 9 ~ Part 10

Dinner went smoothly. A little awkward for you, but fine. You mainly just listened to the conversations, not feeling comfortable enough to include yourself just yet. The 141 respected your boundary, only cracking jokes and discussing things that showed off their personalities. Kyle was the most mellow out of the group, despite being the youngest. Soap was definitely the loudest, a jokester. At least he was confident. Price was level-headed but sharp. He wasn’t afraid to tease his team when the opportunity was just right.

And Ghost? You got to see a new side of him. One that was more open around his teammates. Considerate, but snarky every now and then. Dry, blunt, caring. The side you were already familiar with though was still there at dinner. The entire time during dinner, he secured himself right beside you, close to you. He didn’t seem all that happy when Kyle sat next to you on your other side too. Every so often, Ghost’s leg would brush against yours, the exuding heat making you shiver. He really ran warm.

At some point, you caught on that he was brushing his leg against yours on purpose. He did it every time Gaz ended up bumping your shoulder during a fit of chuckles, completely by accident. It didn’t bother you too much, having grown more comfortable around the men as time passed during dinner. 

However, it completely bothered Ghost. He knew that Kyle didn’t mean any harm. He most likely wasn’t realizing that he was doing it. Yet, it still bothered him. He’s the only one that wanted the privilege of touching you. By accident or on purpose. It scared him a little, the sinking feeling he got every time Gaz’s shoulder brushed against yours. The feeling of jealousy. He didn’t know that he was the jealous type. 

Once dinner was over, everyone retreated back to their bedrooms to try to get some rest in. Ghost lied in his bed, Soap having taken over the shower as soon as they got back to the room. He closed his eyes, trying to see if he could actually rest up. 

Simon has always struggled with sleep. Whenever he closed his eyes, he would see nightmares. Experiences that he has gone through that he wouldn’t even wish upon his enemies. The flashbacks were a bit more tolerable when his eyes were just resting. They were just images in his mind. It was when he actually fell asleep that his nightmares came to life. There have been plenty of moments where he would jump up in bed, clutching his chest and trying to get his panicked breathing under control. Sometimes his skin even twitched painful from where he would be stabbed, shot, or even bitten within his dreams. 

He’s always dreaded sleeping. However, this time, when he closed his eyes and took deep breaths, he didn’t see his past behind his eyelids. He saw you. You tossing him the book you’re letting him borrow, you starting the fire in the cabin, you listening intently to confidential conversations, you giving him a teasing smile with the sunset behind you. He even saw you on top of him, hips pressed against his and a knife to his chest. Before he knew it, he was imagining a replay of that entire situation, only this time, you were dressed in only your panties and t-shirt like the first day he met you. Your t-shirt would weigh down with gravity as you would straddle him. He would have been able to see your cleavage. The thin fabric of your underwear would drive him crazy too. It would make him want to just rip them to shreds just to see all of you without a barrier. 

All of these thoughts were involuntary, but Ghost was having a hard time trying to stop them once they started. It wasn’t until he heard the sound of the shower turning off that he opened his eyes back up to stop the dirty film in his mind. When he sat up and looked down, he cursed under his breath. Really? A fucking boner? Again? What were you doing to him? 

He got up and shifted his pants just as Soap came out of the bathroom, feeling refreshed and ready for some sleep. When he saw his lieutenant standing and putting on some boots, he raised his brow curiously. “You going somewhere, Lt?”

“Gonna walk around a little. Burn some extra energy.” He made up, hoping the excuse would be enough for Soap to drop it. Hopefully, Soap wouldn’t look too closely at him either. 

Johnny nodded and headed towards the room’s mini-fridge, helping himself to an ice cold water bottle. As Simon left, Soap didn’t notice the slight bulge in his pants. Although, he did notice the lieutenant walking a little differently. Not unlike the way most boys had to walk when they were trying to hide something they couldn’t control due to puberty. He held his breath to avoid laughing. Right up until the door was closed with a click. Soap never thought that he would see Ghost so down bad for anyone.

Simon headed up to the rooftops to get some alone time. He’s been meaning to find some more time to finish the book you lent him. Finding a comfortable spot leaning against the wall, he cracked open the book and began to read, a military-grade flashlight illuminating the words on the page.

~

The time ticked slowly through the night, having you wonder if time had actually stopped. There were still a couple of hours left before it was time to check-out, so you tried to fill the time as best as you could. You just stepped out of the shower, a long, warm one. You normally took quick showers that were lukewarm at best. When it was the hotel paying the hot water bill, however, you didn’t really care about how long your shower was or how hot the water rushed. 

It was heaven feeling the water pressure massage your tense muscles. The scent of clean steam and soap helped you relax as well. You weren’t one for the standard, generic soaps that most hotels provided. You preferred your own scents, your own soaps that you were accustomed to. The scents that helped you feel most comfortable in your own scarred skin.

By the time you turned off the shower, your fingertips had turned pruny and you were craving a cold beverage. Wrapping a towel around your frame, you stepped back out into the beverage to pick a fruit juice from the fridge. As you sipped, the phone on your desk started to vibrate. There was only one person in the world that could call you. If she was calling at this hour, it must’ve been important. 

“Kate.” You greeted nonchalantly. 

“Hex, how are you doing?” She started with small talk. She always started with some small talk with you before discussing the important matters. Usually it was because she had to butter you up so she could ask for a favor. 

Lucky for her, you didn’t mind it. “I’m fine. We’re making good progress with the mission. I’ve been getting to know the boys too. They’re not half bad.”

You could practically feel Kate beaming through the phone at your confession. She was incredibly excited for you. “That’s great to hear! I figured that you would get along with them better than anyone else. I told you they were good men.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves just yet. There’s still a lot to do and a lot I don’t know. I haven’t given them my complete seal of approval yet.” You teased, a small smile gracing your own face as you imagined how happy Kate was. You couldn’t remember the last time you witnessed her smile.

She gave a warm laugh before clearing her throat. “John has told me about what he thinks of you as well as how you’ve been interacting with the team. It was a rocky start, but he told me that you had dinner with them tonight. Really, Hex. I think this is good for you. They’re good for you.”

“Anyway, talking about this isn’t the only reason why I called. I wanted to give you an update on our potential mole situation.” She continued, her tone shifting to proud and carefree to serious and grave.

You took a seat on your bed, preparing to hear the report. “And?”

Laswell paused for a while before releasing a shaky breath. “At the original checkpoint where you were supposed to pick up an armored vehicle, there was an ambush waiting. Makarov’s men. The vehicle wasn’t stolen, so there is no way that they were just there to steal military property. Their only reason for being there was to apprehend the 141.”

“So we have a mole situation after all.” You groaned. When it came to things like this, you hated being proven right. It wasn’t like you liked these kinds of things happening, waiting to brag like a child. This was serious.

“Your hunch was right and you have proven it. The only people that knew where the 141 was going and where they were supposed to be were me and Shepherd. Shepherd doesn’t suspect that I have been turning in false paperwork, but he has questioned me on where you guys were. I think in his panic, he bought my lie. He seemed spooked.” She elaborated in detail.

“Have you told the boys yet?” You inquired. From her tone, it sounded like she hadn't.

“Negative. I figured that you should break the news. Besides, I don’t have anything concrete yet. If tried in court, Shepherd could brush it off as a mere coincidence. Legally, I have to be careful with who I tell and how I say things. I’m going to keep digging on my end, see about getting something on record. You guys just keep going. Take down Makarov.” She decided, her determination clear in her decision. Kate wasn’t one to let these kinds of things brush under the rug. Her sense of justice was too strong for that, even if Shepherd was her superior.

You trusted her to get the job done. She was really risking her job with this one. The least you could do was play a little secretary for her. “Got it. Thanks, Kate. And be careful. If Shepherd is willing to release confidential information to Makarov for his own gain, who knows what else he may do to ensure that no one finds out.”

“Thanks for the warning, Hex, but I don’t think I have anything to worry about. I have an assassin on my side after all. The best in the world.” She claimed, her tone light again.

She wished you good night and hung up, leaving you to process the turn of events. It was going to be tough breaking the news to the team. You could imagine that they were going to get very angry when they finally do know. 

You got up from your bed to finally get changed. Just as you were picking out some underwear, there was a knock on your door. Without thinking much of it, you yelled out. “Come in.”

Ghost unlocked the door and waltzed right in only to see you in nothing but a fluffy towel. He reacted to his surprise with anger. “What the fuck, Hex? Why would you invite me in if you were still naked?!”

“A good soldier shouldn’t get distracted by nudity.” You reminded him with a casual shrug.

“Hex.” He simply warned with your call sign, his eyes roaming your body. He could see more scars covering you than before, your full arms, shoulders, and some chest now exposed to him. God, he wanted to trace every scar you had with his tongue. At the same time, he wanted to strangle you.

You rolled your eyes and scoffed, proceeding to prepare to finally get dressed. “If it really bothers you that much, then turn around for a minute. There are more important things to worry about right now.”

He grumbled curses under his breath. How dare you put him in such a dangerous situation! Either he turned around and admitted that it did bother him, or he watched you change. For him, it meant sacrificing some pride while the other meant sacrificing his cool. And he just recently calmed down his dirty thoughts of you too. 

To you, it really didn’t matter. He had already confessed that he cared about you as a teammate. He wanted you safe. What did you have to worry about in this situation? 

In the end, he opted to turn halfway around. He could still see you just out of the corner of his eye, but he tried to keep his gaze straight. Still though, he ached to see you. Even the blurry figure of you nude was such a fucking tease.

You dropped the towel and slipped on some underwear followed by a shirt with a different band on the front. Briefly, you looked over to Simon who stood with his arms crossed, clearly irritated. You contemplated putting on some pants for a moment before ultimately deciding against it. You preferred to be comfortable at night. When he heard you sitting down on the bed, he turned back around.

He didn’t know what drove him crazier. You completely nude, you in nothing but a towel, or you in pajamas that just left a little something to his imagination. How infuriatingly attractive.

“Might want to take a seat for what I’m about to tell you.” You gestured to the desk chair, waiting for him to take a seat. When he settled himself in, hands strategically placed in his lap, you began with your update.

“Kate just called. She said that Makarov’s men were planted at the original checkpoint, hoping to ambush you. Shepherd is definitely a mole given the circumstance, but she needs time to gather more evidence that would hold up in court.” You pulled the band-aid right off. Your bluntness was usually something that knocked people off their feet. Hence, the offer to sit.

Ghost sat in silence, feeling betrayed. He wasn’t surprised. Not in the slightest. Ever since Shepherd allowed Shadow Company to take over in Mexico, he’s never trusted him again. Soap and himself almost died from that incident. More than once too. When Shepherd disappeared afterward, Ghost thought he was a coward. Lucky though. If Shepherd stuck around, Simon would’ve most likely lost his shit on him if one of his teammates didn’t do it first. 

He clenched his fists, knuckles cracking menacingly. He could kill someone. Specifically Shepherd. All he could think about now was wrapping his hands around his neck and squeezing down as hard as he could. Hard enough to have his eyes pop out of his skull. “Fucking Shepherd. . .”

You weren’t surprised by his reaction. It was exactly how you expected to go. Anyone would be upset about this. Especially the 141. You’ve read those mission reports. You knew about what transpired in Mexico. However, you were worried that Simon was going to pop a blood vessel. You wanted to make sure that Laswell got back her down deposit on the hotel rooms too. 

Simon didn’t notice you getting up, his vision only seeing red. Once you softly touched his shoulder, though, all he could see was you. Your hair still damp, your eyes more warm, and your fresh scent flooding his senses. It calmed him down, his blood pressure going down. Yet, his heart didn’t slow. In fact, it seemed to quicken even more at your proximity to him. Your scars, your hint of cleavage, your thighs. You exposed so much on the surface. But he wanted to explore your depths.

He stood up from the chair, almost causing it to fall over from his force. Your quick step back wasn’t fast enough to escape Simon’s reach. In less than a second, he threw off his mask, grabbed your face, and smashed his lips against yours. He couldn’t fight his attraction to you anymore. He wanted everything from you and he wanted it now.

It startled to be kissed so suddenly. To be grabbed and pulled towards him. He should’ve known better by now. At first, you growled in protest, fight mode kicking in as your natural instinct. You haven’t yet registered what he exactly was doing. Hands gripped his firm shoulders tightly, prepared to push him away. Once your brain flashed with the image of his face, you finally melted. 

You only managed to see his face for a split second, but it was more than enough to know that he was devastatingly handsome. A strong jaw, light stubble, and a couple of scars that told a story. His lips were perfect too, just as you had imagined. Not only to see, but to kiss as well. Mostly soft, just a little rough, all sweet.

As soon as you relaxed, Simon wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to his chest and letting his hand roam your back. Instead of easing up, he just dived deeper, his kisses getting more passionate with each second. It was making you lightheaded, moans threatening to escape as you began to feel your brain go numb. He barely gave you time to breathe as he continued to deepen the kiss, his own senses becoming heightened to how you felt on his lips.

Without warning, his hands slipped underneath your shirt to feel your bare back, causing you to gasp and shiver. Simon took advantage of your shock and slipped his tongue into your mouth, his heart going wild with the sweetness of your warm taste. You let out an involuntary moan as he took over your mouth which was more than just music to Ghost’s ears. It was the sound of heaven on earth. And he wanted to replay it like a skipping record.

Your legs were getting weak with each swipe of his tongue, the fear of having your knees buckle taking over. While you tried to grab his attention by tapping his shoulders, he just ignored you. That, or he didn’t notice. He was too busy exploring every inch of your mouth. Licking, sucking, and even biting. You were trembling with pure pleasure at this point, something that he absolutely relished with all his being. He loved feeling each shudder go through you. He loved being able to trace it up your spine to only cause more quivering. It didn’t take much longer for you to begin feeling your panties get damp with your wetness. You were practically dripping already.

It wasn’t like Simon wasn’t affected either. Pressed up against you was his rock-hard erection. One that was impossible to hide or make excuses for. 

As soon as he bit your lip in a heated impulse, you pushed him back to catch your breath. Your chest heaved, trying to fill your lungs with air. He left you breathless. “Fucking hell, Simon! You’re gonna suffocate me! You gotta let a girl have some air.”

Jesus, you needed to sit down. Your legs were shaking like a newborn deer. If you didn’t take a seat, you may very well fall to the floor. While you caught your breath on the bed, Simon went to turn the lights off. While he didn’t mind showing you his face for a moment, he wanted to return to some of his comfort zone. He had a feeling that you would prefer the comfort of the dark too for what he was about to do to you.

As the lights went out, your eyes strained to adjust to the dark. Your stomach was flooded with butterflies, your heart raced, and your skin tingled. You could hear the rustle of clothing, Simon deciding that his shirt was no longer necessary. Through the dark with adjusted vision, you could see Simon approaching you once again. His whole torso was covered in scars as well. The tattoos covering his whole forearm probably camouflage even more. Besides that, his muscles were defined, his chest and abs revealed in all their glory. This wasn’t just the body of a man. This was the body of a soldier. 

You would be lying if you said you weren’t a little scared of what was most likely going to happen. It has been a very, very long time since you’ve been with anyone. Not since fooling around in high school and a little bit right after. “W-Wait, Simon-”

“I’m not waiting and I’m not sorry.” He cut you off, his voice gruff, unapologetic. His voice was closer than you thought, the deep vibration of his vocal chords going right through you. Before you could protest further, he pushed you down on the bed, towering over you with his ripped 6’3” frame. 

Instead of your lips, he went straight for your neck, quickly finding out just how sensitive you were there as he aggressively kissed it. Your back arched, torso pressing against his as he fulfilled his desires. You bit your lip, trying to mute any moan that may escape past your lips. When his hands went up your shirt to grope your breasts, you whimpered, voice shuttering. You weren’t used to this. This lack of control. This feeling of being consumed. But Christ, did it feel so good. Especially with Ghost. Regardless, you needed his attention in order to let him know what to expect if you were to go further. “S-Simon!”

The sound of you whimpering his name made him freeze. He daydreamed about that sound. Hearing it in real life had him reeling. It had his cock twitch in anticipation too. You really fucking turned him on, whether you knew it or not. As much as he wanted to keep going, he finally gave you a chance to speak up. Hopefully, this wouldn’t take long. “Hex?”

Ghost’s own breathlessness when he said your name made your heart skip a beat. You clenched your thighs together, feeling some slickness that ended up dripping from your weeping pussy. You needed to say your piece before it’s too late. “I. . . I haven’t done something like this in forever. . .”

You trailed off, wanting to say more but you couldn’t organize the thoughts that were scrambled in your head. He made you weak. Excited. As much as you wanted desperately to keep going, there was a small part of you that couldn’t ignore the fact that you were scared. You were scared to be so vulnerable again. More than you were now. You were just beginning to open up about your personality after all.

Simon swallowed hard, noticing your apprehension. He wanted to punch himself for rushing you. For pouncing on you like a wild animal in heat. He wasn’t sorry before, but he was definitely sorry now. It made his heart ache. “You don’t want to continue, do you?”

“It’s not that simple. If I’m being honest, I want more. Fuck, I want it all. I haven’t felt this fucking excited in years. I just. . . There’s something stopping me from giving all of myself away so suddenly. . .” You tried to explain, each word out of your mouth strained. Why couldn’t it be more simple? Why couldn’t you just say “fuck it” and have the night of your life?

Ghost was amazing. Sure, you two have fought. Your fights could cause earthquakes with how intense they got. At the same time, he was strong, confident, handsome, and alluring. He hasn’t minded that you have pressed a knife against him twice already. He hasn’t cared about you biting at him with each attempt of getting close to you. He’s been stubborn and patient with you. Most people would have been scared away by now. Most people would’ve left by now. 

Yet, you still didn’t trust him completely yet due to your fears. What was that fear though? Besides being afraid of being vulnerable, what else did you fear?

His hand landed on your cheek with much more gentleness than before. He helped guide your eyes to look at him. In the depths of the dark, you could still see his blues. Vibrant like a midnight blue full of stars. His gaze has softened too. 

Your breath caught in your throat as he looked at you with such tenderness. Such remorse for what he has done to you. His small smile, though, conveyed optimism. 

Jesus, you could cry. You were starting to fall for him. 

“It’s okay, Hex. I’m sorry for pushing for something you clearly weren’t ready for. I let my emotions get the better of me. The truth is, I find you irresistible. I didn’t kiss you because I needed relief from my anger over Shepherd. I kissed you because I’ve wanted to for a while now.” He explained with full transparency, something you deserved. He wasn’t ready to admit any deeper feelings that were growing within his heart. He couldn’t make complete sense of it yet. For now, we would keep those confusing feelings hidden, but he won’t hide his attraction any longer.

He got up off of you and rubbed the back of his neck, just now feeling slightly embarrassed for his actions. He couldn’t get the kiss out of his head just yet. Nor the sound of your moans or the softness of your breasts. Simon wouldn’t be able to forget any of that any time soon.

Slowly, you sat up, adjusting your shirt that was hiked up pretty high. “Thanks for understanding. I just need more time.”

Your hand was taken up in his, a little squeeze grabbing your attention again. “I promised you that we would take things slow. I broke that promise just now. Not again.”

Relief washed over you like a tidal wave. Finally, you could breathe easier. Being with him still did things to your head and heart. Something that you would address in solitude later. Right now, you still wanted him to be with you. “What did you originally knock on my door for?”

His shoulders fell as you slowly turned back into your calm state. He loved driving you crazy in more ways than one. However, he liked you calm too. It was something he fed off of along with your other emotions. “I finished the book you recommended. I came to talk about it.”

“Well, we still have time before we have to head out. Wanna talk about it now?”

~

The train station platform was deserted. Most people were still sleeping comfortably in their beds. 

Not the 141. Not Makarov’s weapon guys either. 

They haven’t noticed any of you as you dressed in civilian clothes. Even Simon switched his balaclava for a simpler face mask, complete with a lower skull print as part of his brand. The military luggage was swapped out for regular travel luggage as well. Truly, you all looked like tourists. Maybe even residents.

You had told the rest of them about your call with Kate discreetly during check-out. Now more than ever, they wanted to take Makarov down. It would most likely lead to Shepherd’s arrest as well. They were willing to do whatever it takes, even if it meant taking your fashion advice when it was time to wear civilian clothes. You guys were in Italy. American-styled casuals weren’t going to cut it.

Makarov’s men sat in the boxcar two up from yours. Price planned on sneaking into the luggage cart to find their shipment to place trackers on later during breakfast service.You would be on the lookout when he does. Ghost would be the one to place the trackers on the men. Gaz, and Soap would check to see if they worked through their laptops within the safety of their seats. 

As of now, you all sat in a car together, waiting patiently for your opportunities. You took the window seat, looking out at the platform that eventually began to slowly pass once the train started. Ghost was sat right next to you, ensuring that you could feel the warmth of his side against you. He would make sure that this would be his spot for the rest of the ride. 

-

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[love-toxin]

Retrieval - entry II

entry I

plot: forging on through the horrors you've endured thus far, you venture deeper into the plagas cult territory to find something waiting for you there. more than something--someone.

(cws: fem!reader, blood, body horror, gun violence, knives, mention of a car accident, hurt-comfort, wound tending, raccoon city flashbacks, passing mention of smut)

word count: 5.3k

Even if you did plan out a route on your map, you've quickly realized that the landscape has changed so dramatically in your time away that it likely wouldn't have made a difference. In no uncertain terms, you are completely and devastatingly lost.

By now, the afternoon sun has long started beating on you from overhead and the sprinkling of rain this morning has turned the air thick and uncomfortably muggy. Each step up the incline of the dirt path and by extension the shifting of your clothing is a constant reminder of how sweaty you are, your stretchy shirt damp and sticking to your chest while beads of sweat pour down your neck and cling to your eyelashes. Your gloves have had to come off and Leon's jacket would've followed if the alternative wasn't to carry it–but regardless of those small choices you just have to accept the discomfort and keep trudging forward. You've got no idea where you're headed now but you won't get anywhere by sitting around, and at least you can try to peek through the trees and rocky inclines that line the road to see if you can spot any discernible landmarks. While you still have the task of finding Leon, returning to the village is no longer an option after what you saw this morning.

A shudder runs through you merely at the thought of it, your mind fuzzy with the memories like your brain is trying to protect you from the sight of that massacre. And it's almost worse to ponder that act of senseless violence than it was to witness the aftermath of it, not just because you recognize that some of those bodies were villagers that you'd cut down yourself, but also because you can't envision what kind of monster would have spread out such an unholy image for you. None of the creatures you remember seeing would have the patience or planning to do such a thing, and if it had been the work of a particular monster you'd faced off with, you're certain that if they knew you were there they would've killed you outright instead of trying to–what? Scare you?

Your boot meets a rock and you absentmindedly kick it up, watching with a passive interest as it skitters and tumbles its way around the path before rolling to a stop in the grass beside it. Was it to scare you? Could it have been a fluke, and you'd just barely missed the rampage of a vicious and callous monster? Or was it the will of the Plagas that called them there, and either ended them from within or had them hack each other into oblivion? You've got a feeling you would've heard something if either of those things were the case, but then again your sleep had been….preoccupied.

You shift the straps of your bag to ease the weight from one shoulder to the other, your gaze fluttering from one end of the path to the other like the presence of someone else would somehow allow them to be privy to your thoughts. The intense sweating you've been doing for the last few hours has masked over that wetness between your legs that you've been dealing with, the two forces intermingling so you can't really distinguish one kind of dampness from the other. It certainly doesn't make it any less uncomfortable, and it's an unfortunately clear-headed reminder of the shame you often feel after having one of those dreams about Leon.

After all, he is–was–your best friend. You met before Raccoon City went to shit, you lived through it together, and you faced the same hardships that came after when the world around you wanted to forget the cruelty of that horrid night. You knew how to joke around and keep the air light, you could drag each other out of your depressive episodes when nobody else could reach you, and Leon knew every ugly bit and piece of your life just like you knew his. Your friendship had always been something precious and you could never imagine throwing that all away by admitting to him that you're in love with him. He had been the only person in the world that you knew cared about you, the only person that would go to the ends of the earth to defend you, and to lose that would be equal to a death. It's what's made this loss all the harder, feeling like you've lost him twice over and having to mourn it all alone. And the guilt hits you even more when those feelings bubble up inside you again, because all you want is for them to just go away so you can grieve Leon as what he was, not what you wanted him to be.

You're always tempted to think he'd see you as gross for imagining doing those things with him, to him, but in reality you know that if you ever told Leon he would get the biggest head about it. Feelings or no, he'd be so smug he'd tease you until the end of time and it would stroke his ego to the heavens and back–and whenever you think about it, it just brings a smile to your face on instinct. He could be such a bastard sometimes, but there's no better person you could've called your best friend. Which, of course, makes the pang in your heart hurt all the worse when you're reminded that he's gone, and that he took his last breath in a place like this.

Speaking of which, it dawns on your senses that something absolutely reeks. Granted, the whole village smells of shit and blood–but this smell is different, it's almost worse, and it's to the point that you almost feel the need to pull your shirt up over your nose to block out the invasive wretchedness of it all. It's somehow getting worse as you walk, which can only mean you're getting closer to the source of it–and if it wasn't obvious by now, it becomes obvious with the crack of an aging engine roaring up and the sound of tires scraping over dirt and gravel. Fuck.

The raspy chorus of voices reaches you over the crest of the hill, and within moments of you halting in your tracks the vehicle comes barreling into view. On two crooked axles your imminent death approaches in the form of a truck gunning down the hill at top speed, two Ganados in the seats while God knows how many more growl and shout from the back and behind, brandishing their tools like weapons and vying for your blood.

It only takes seconds for your choices to dawn on you, but even that time isn't generous enough to give you much chance for a successful retreat. With two steps back you finally feel the panic whack you in the chest, but it powers your legs before you can think to move them and soon enough you're sprinting back the way you came. Your feet feel too light to control on the slope but you can't just stop, the heat of the engine is already at your back and if you hesitate, you know you're dead.

Fishing down the opening of your top, your fingers jab the secret pouch you sewed in there and two bullets come back out in your palm, warm steel forcing a calmness into your frayed nerves as you frantically load them into your gun. Those bullets are for emergencies, and you've encountered worse outcomes than this, but dying here would mean failure and there wouldn't be anyone left to try and bring you back to life this time.

You throw your arm back behind you to shoot, and everything flashes a bright, hot light to blot out the world–and then, just as swiftly, it all goes black as the ground falls out beneath you, pain shoots up your spine, and your eyes finally snap shut into total darkness as flame engulfs you.

"Officer! Wake up, officer!"

You haven't been called that in a while, but it still feels familiar–the voice, however, is different. There's only a distant wisp of something you recognize as you struggle to open your eyes.

"S'okay, I'm fine-" Your mumbling rings soft and faint over the crackling of fire and rain, barely audible–but the soon-to-be familiar face shakes his head and huffs a sigh as he pulls you back up to sit straight.

"You are not fine, officer. You're bleeding."

You see now what the situation is, your vision coming back into focus as Leon's warm hands steady you against the alley wall. Your memory's still fuzzy, but the pain shooting up and down your left leg is all you need to remind you of what just happened.

You'd been running down the street, escaping from a herd of the zombies with a bag slung over your back–the artillery from the station had been spread out all over the city and the medical supplies had run dry, so for almost half a day you'd been gone from the station to scout for supplies and redirect survivors towards the safehouses you and your fellow officers had staked out. One of them being the station itself, which had just come into view after you'd skidded around the nearest street corner and spotted those bright lights illuminating the front gate.

But after that, your recollection gets a little fuzzy. You'd heard a screeching sound on your left from behind, felt the tremor of something shaking the ground as several pairs of rotted hands reached for you from over your shoulder…and from there everything is a complete blur. A flash and a wave of heat had rushed over you, the blaring of a horn sounding from behind, and you vaguely recall the ground falling out from beneath you–although, based on the stiff soreness of your back, you suspect the impact of the truck that had hit you had sent you flying and you somehow wound up in this alley, or close to it. You've got a pretty good feeling you didn't just end up sitting back against it with your head propped up, else you've got the devil's luck for certain.

"Leon," You rasp, your throat dry and cracked from the heat and your laboured breathing. With that worried expression painted clear on his youthful face, he holds up a bottle of water to your lips–and you drink gratefully, feeling refreshed even by the wasted droplets dribbling down your chin as you struggle to swallow. "You can call me by my name, y'know–unless you don't remember, in which case my feelings are a–nngh, shit–little hurt." You cringe at the feeling of cloth scraping over your open wounds, nails digging into your other leg as Leon grazes the gash on your opposite thigh with a bit of medicine in hand. It's deep, you can tell that much, and if this were a movie you're morbidly certain that this would be the moment your partner has to put you down before you turn. Maybe you're already getting there, if the feverish heat crawling up your chest is any indication.

You shift your gaze over to the lump beside you, and find that your hand has been resting on the same bag you'd risked hide and hair for. It's half unzipped and looks like it's been rummaged through. It dawns on you that the water, gauze, and other medical supplies he's got rolled out are all part of the stash–and how embarrassing is that? You made so many promises to Marvin and the others that you would come back with hope in your arms, and yet you're the one using what you brought before you've even returned. Clipped by a fucking truck of all things. Yet, when Leon rolls your name off of his tongue with the ease of someone that's said it a thousand times before, your heart flutters and calms all at the same time.

"You're pretty relaxed for someone that just got hit by a car." He reaches out to squeeze your hand, and does so even tighter as he presses an alcohol-soaked pad into your jagged, bloody flesh. It stings like shit immediately and rips a string of curses out of you, but it's a necessary evil, so you just grit your teeth and bear it to try and make it easier for Leon to work. Being a newbie, you figured he would freak out…and yet, somehow, he's even calmer than you and he's doing a damn good job of keeping you distracted for him to tend your wounds.

"Truck, excuse you. Get your facts straight, rookie. Sounds cooler if you call it a truck-" Your half-joking reply is cut short as a sharp cry erupts out of you without warning. Burning pain shoots through your leg, tears immediately welling in your eyes and speeding down your cheeks as the searing sensation overwhelms almost every other sense. Your body jolts with it and Leon's hand comes down firmly on your thigh to keep you still, his other hand pressing warmth into your wound over the cloth he's smeared some herbs into. When the agony eventually starts draining out of you, it takes your strength with it and leaves you slumped back against the wall, lungs tight and burning from you panting and gasping for breath. With another wave soon to come and several more to follow, you have nowhere else to brace yourself but on Leon's shoulder, which you grab hard and squeeze tight as he works the medicine in and goes through the painfully considerate process of disinfecting the wound and bandaging it tight with a tourniquet to stop the bleeding.

"Anything in there?" You finally manage to pant out, forehead dripping with sweat that he takes care to wipe with the other side of the cloth.

"No, don't think so."

"Thank fuck. I'd rather die than yank it out. You're a lifesaver, Lee." You're trying not to whimper as you speak, you don't want to come off as weak, but Leon really doesn't look like he minds nor that he's gonna use it against you in the future. His concern is written plainly on his face, thumbs gentle but firm as he wipes your tears like a brother would do for his younger sister. Or a friend for a friend. A partner for a partner.

"...Lee?" He murmurs, repeating the nickname for you both in a teasing way and a surprised one. You've only met a handful of times, haven't even gotten to know each other aside from the general pleasantries–but he seems happy. Relieved, really, that you don't mind his help or his company.

"You prefer 'rookie'?" You huff right back, anticipating a bit of sass or a rebuttal in some way. But he just shakes his head, seemingly unperturbed as he starts briskly packing the medicine back into your bag as the rain patters against it.

"No, no, just…I've never had a nickname before. Call me whatever you like." He speaks with a smile on his face and it would be irritating, if not for how sincere his words are and how much joy he clearly gets from the smallest gesture. As much as you'd like to dwell on it and humour him with a dozen questions, the zzzzip of your bag beside you and the shuffling as he lifts it up and pulls it snug over his shoulder brings you back to reality. Your very, very unfortunate reality, if the groaning and gnashing sounds in the distance are any indication.

"I hate to say it, but there's no way you're walking on this leg." He says that so ominously but his baby face really isn't doing him any favours, and you're not one to just back away when something needs to get done. So, despite his advice, you grip the wall behind you and stagger to get to your feet, bracing yourself against the warm brick as you hiss in pain and raise yourself unsteadily on only one leg–which, of course, has Leon holding out his hands to steady you as you do, exasperation passing over his features as you make no effort to use him to stabilize yourself.

"Hey! What did I just say?" Leon clicks his tongue like a mother hen, but doesn't leave you high and dry at all. He grabs the arm on your bad side and manhandles you into pulling it over his shoulders, his strength and the hand bracing your opposite hip giving you a very inconvenient shiver. Focus. "You're so stubborn."

"I'm not just sitting out here to die."

"I didn't say that. Here," With one step forward, it's clear that you're not gonna move fast enough to make it to the station unscathed. In a case like this, you'd expect to be left here while the more able-bodied of the two of you goes ahead with the medicine and sends backup when he can–but obviously that isn't quite what Leon has in mind. Instead, he bends down to slide his arm up behind your knees, counts down from two, and sweeps your legs out from beneath you with a careful swiftness to lift you up in a bridal carry. "It's okay, I got you." It's embarrassing and humbling all at once, a squeak smothering itself behind your teeth as you immediately cling to him with your arms around his shoulders. But he doesn't seem at all fazed, and doesn't even stumble as he starts walking towards the edge of the alley. If anything, he walks with more balance while he's carrying both you and your precious cargo to safety. "I'm not just gonna leave you behind."

Leon's got more integrity with one day of the force under his belt than most officers you've known. He's a blessing and an anomaly all at once, precious and potent like both an antidote and a poison mixed as one. But however unclear your feelings about him were that night, you know for certain that you would've died cold and alone in that alley if not for him. He rescued you without any inkling as to what he would get out of it–and even if it kills you, you're going to repay that favour by rescuing him.

"Well hello, miss stranger."

Your eyes flutter open, the ceiling of a room the first thing to meet your gaze–and the second being a man hunching over a table opposite from you, your head turned so far you nearly stumble off the makeshift cot you've been laid out on. "Had a nice nap? Figured as much–you took quite the nasty hit to the skull. Lucky you're still breathing!" He cackles jubilantly, and if nothing else that raspy laugh is what clues you in to that small shred of remembrance.

"Merchant? Wh…What are you…?" You shake your head in disbelief, a soft 'nevermind' passing your lips as you just elect to take this all in at face value. You never understood this 'Merchant' guy when you were here before, so you can't expect to pick him apart for answers now. With measured steps you approach his counter and try to shake off your limp in the process, your eyes scanning over the crowded shelves of his wares–and the inner pockets of his coat that he flashes open to take you by surprise.

"Uh…you got anything for my pistol?"

The Merchant chuckles heartily, and out comes several boxes of the convenient ammunition from beneath his rickety little table. With what little you've got to trade that you spread out on his counter, you can get about two boxes with twenty bullets each for most of what you're carrying. The money for airfare, a cab to the station, and some light supplies you picked up once you landed in Spain has cleaned you out pretty good, but he's fair as always and even offers to clean your gun for you while he's at it.

"Ooh, before you wander off–I've got somethin' extra for you, missy."

With a flourish befitting....him, he pulls out a decently sized piece of equipment out from a box behind him, and turns to lay the shotgun flat across your hands, the weight sinking into your palms as his half-gloved fingers retreat and he lets you get a feel for it. It's pretty hefty on its own, polished and substantial with a trigger that's got the kind of resistance you're used to. With a gesture from him to encourage trying it out, you take a decent step back from his table and lift the gun up into the crook of your arm, eyes lining down the length of it towards a very convenient lantern propped up on top of the crumbling stone wall opposite to you.

One cock of the shutter, a breath in–and a bang erupts from the courtyard, the lantern shattering into a thousand pieces and the Merchant's raspy laughter rising like the flock of crows that take flight from further into the castle grounds, cawing like mad at the sound that echoes like thunder throughout the canyon.

"She's a beaut, ain't she?" The hunched man chortles, clearly prideful of his work. You lower the gun back down to your hip, the smell of ashy powder filling your nose, and nod quietly before turning back to him and holding it out over his counter.

"It's great, but you've got all I had. Maybe I'll come back for it."

"Naw, missy–you keep that. S'on the house this time." Your brows raise in shock and a touch of confusion, along with a little seed of distrust that you can't help but entertain. You know better than to trust people blindly, especially strangers, but then again the Merchant doesn't exactly conform to any expectations you could've had. At your hopeful confirmation of "really?" he nods your way, the bandana that covers his face slipping a bit as he tilts his head forward and reaches behind him.

"While you're at it, have this too–not gonna be much use to me, I'm afraid." With a flourish, he unveils a sheath he'd been hiding only god knows where and sets it down in front of you. From just one glance as you strap your new shotgun to your back, a glimmer of recognition wells up inside you and your hands find the hilt in a matter of seconds. Raising it to your face, you gently tug on the handle to slide the blade all the way out….and sure enough, you do recognize it. The engraving on the side is about as familiar as your own handwriting considering how often you've been on the sharp end of this knife–a product of endless close-combat training sessions that your best friend insisted on practicing with you. It hits you right then–Leon would've died before he let go of this precious thing.

"Where did you find this? Here?"

"Just up the stairs there," He jerks his thumb back towards the entryway behind him, hazy memories of that winding path coming together in your mind as you recall going down it before. "Picked it up from a bloody puddle in the main hall. Return it to your friend, would ya? He's my best customer." You can feel his grin from behind the mask, and a pang hits your heart as you consider breaking the news to him….but the adrenaline is kicking in now and you just have to go, you have to briskly bid him goodbye and excuse your hurry as you rush out towards the stairs and mount each set in record time as you make a mad dash for the foyer.

By sheer luck, your frantic sprint through the winding courtyard betrays no hint of activity since you were here last. The cannon still sits perched at the top of the tower for a raven to crow atop it, and while the stairs are littered with bits of crumbling rubble they're still relatively easy to climb as you come out on the other side, mere feet of space separating you from the smashed-open gate you'd both fought so hard to get into. Down the looming path overshadowed by two huge, towering walls on either side, you hurry up the last few steps and brace both hands on the heavy doors, grunts of effort foregrounding the scrape and rusty squealing of the hinges as you slowly push them open to reveal the place Merchant had directed you towards.

"Hngh-!" With one last shove, you swing them out slowly and step back to catch your breath, before clambering through the entrance and slowing your run to a jog and then to a stop, eyes roaming in wide sweeps around the massive entrance room to look for some kind of clue. It's just as misty around the floor as it was before and the lights fortunately haven't gone out, yet the suits of armour, vases, side tables and weapons scattered everywhere don't alert you to anything immediately out of place. You do find yourself plucking a chunk of loose stone off the ground and slinging it at the nearest knight, however, just to watch as the plates of silver armour clatter with a hollow sound before crashing into a heap on the floor. It's better to be safe than sorry considering what you and Ashley went through last time with those things.

In doing so, and in stepping over to kick aside the helmet with a bit of indulgent violence, something catches in your eye in your peripheral. With a glance, you spot a few dribbles of otherwise un-noteworthy blood and slot your gun out of its holster just in case. But when you kneel down to check it out and wave a bit of the mist away, your eyes widen in disbelief as you see the speckles of blood lead toward a puddle–and beyond that, a trail that guides your line of sight all the way towards the set of doors leading to the inner sanctum.

Is this Leon's?

You shuffle quietly towards the pool of it a bit further away, realizing only upon getting closer how big it really is. Aside from the puddle itself there are smears drawn through it and radiating out to paint the unmarred floor, as if someone had either stepped through it and slipped or had sat down completely and let themselves bleed freely where they lay. Based on the trail, it resembles the evidence of an attack, an injury or death, and then the person being dragged off towards a second location. But no matter how weak he might have been, you just can't picture Leon being hurt like this and not fighting back, not winning in general, because when you pull out the knife and hold it over the puddle you can clearly see the spot it had been lying in when Merchant had picked it up.

There's only one other option you can think of, though, which is somehow more gruesome than the thought of your best friend being stabbed and his body being dragged away to be disposed of…

…Did he try to cut the parasite out of his body?

The scene in front of you paints a horribly gruesome picture with that idea in your mind. Did Leon sit here, bloody and injured from the explosion, and attempt to cut the Plagas out from his body? If he did, did he succeed? Or did he simply put himself through more torture before he met his inhuman end, and was dragged off by some other force to be used for more of their sick rituals? Following the trail of blood where it leads is your only option, but it is an option, which is something you've slowly started believing you weren't going to find after all.

"Leon!"

You call out his name as you get back up to your feet, your voice ringing through the hall in haunting echoes. It doesn't matter if you draw whatever's hiding out into the open. At least you'll know what's waiting around the corner to strike–and in the case that Leon hears you, you want him to know that you tried. You're trying. You want him to realize you want to find him, you're thinking about him, you care for him and that you didn't leave him behind just to forget about him. You're here now and you'll do anything if it means getting him back.

"Leon, I'm here!"

The next set of doors part somewhat easier than the ones that lead outside, your shoulder more than enough for you to push through and slip into the next room to track the trails left behind. Your legs stall once you've wound through the interconnected room between and laid your hand on one of those huge doors around the corner–you know exactly what could be waiting there, and what you'd had to deal with last time–but it just isn't enough to stop you, even though it should. You push through it and take a step into the long, massive room that stretches out into many key areas for an ambush, and breathe a sigh of relief at the sight of the wheels still in place and the staircase already lowered. Perhaps you have been lucky and nothing else has really changed aside from Leon's presence, but that still doesn't allow you to give yourself pause as you hurry up the steps and hop over the pedestals with your gun drawn. The blackened, muddy water doesn't scare you, nor do the half-ajar doors up on the catwalks that could burst open and spill out with bloodthirsty cult zombies. The trail Leon's left for you is getting thinner and sparser, however, and that does worry you as you approach the next set of doors and take them each in stride.

You can't lie to yourself, your hope is dwindling just as quickly as it came on. Only splatters and splotches of the trail remain and nothing else has alerted you of his presence yet–no notes, no scraps of fabric torn off his clothes, not even a hair in sight for you to inspect and try to determine whether or not it's Leon's. Maybe it was just a stray dog or a wolf after all. Maybe you really are grasping at straws.

"No. He's here. Don't give up yet." You whisper under your breath to yourself, praying in the very back of your mind that the self-reassurance is enough to keep your feet moving as you head in the direction of the courtyard. You just keep repeating it in your mind. He's here. He's here. Leon's gotta be here. I know he's here. I'll find him. Your inner voice grows so strong as you walk through the chilly air of the night that you really start to feel that way, to the point that it feels like Leon's eyes are piercing into you.

In fact, it really feels like you're being watched when you start thinking about it. It's probably just paranoia, and understandably so considering this place's gruesome past. Your knuckles brush over the handle of Leon's knife at your hip out of habit, but even with that thought in mind you still stop in your tracks right at the gate into the courtyard.

You swear you just heard a cough. It couldn't be. Monsters don't cough. Not like that.

The blade slings out of its sheath with a shiiing that could cut the air itself, and your fingertips are just barely brushing the grip as it flies in an arc out of your grasp–that's the moment you get a glimpse of the person standing behind you, and your breath chokes itself out of your mouth as the tip of that bloodied blade meets their throat.

You could've anticipated almost anything…but not this. Anything but what's standing before you, staring you down with eyes that could burn you down into ashes and blow you away in the breeze.

[hanihazeljade]

Three Weeks

As the snow fell into the streets of Gotham, covering her land with white sheet, he stepped out of the plane. He shivers. He missed the deadly coldness of his hometown. The pollution never seemed to change back when he left 7 years ago. He sighed, white mist blowing out of his mouth. He will only need to stay here for three weeks. Three weeks and he will go back to Japan.

After many years of being away to his adopted family, Tim comes back to Gotham for Cassandra and Stephanie's wedding.

(CW: flashbacks, negligence, swear words, a badass Timothy)

Next Part - Three Idiots

Part Three - Three Hopes

Tim looks outside of the bus. His eyes watch the streets of Gotham. Christmas lights are on as it was 5 days away from Christmas. He watched and watched, like he always did, as classical music blasted to his airpods until the bus hit the stop to Bristol.

In all honesty, he could ask Alfred to fetch him but the man is now too fragile to his liking to be doing him favours. He rather takes the 40 minute walk from the station to Wayne Manor. He doesn’t mind the cold, he actually prefers to be freezing every single moment of his life. He doesn’t want to be reminded of the burning desert in Iraq.

With his suitcase on his tow, he started walking to the peaceful street of Bristol. The snow gently falls into his face and quickly melts but some falls into his lashes and brows and he couldn’t bring himself to wipe it off. He likes the small blur on his sight, it shows that he doesn’t have to stay vigilant in this city. Twenty minutes into the walk, he saw the Drake Manor, still in its pristine shape, hopefully. He walked as he tried to look past the gates of the once house of his, snow is piling up but he will be visiting it once he gets his stuff unpacked.

As he starts to get closer and closer to the Wayne Manor, nostalgia hits him. The good memories flood his mind. Bruce giving them a small pat or rarely hugs, Dick trying to spoil all of his siblings, Cass putting glitter bombs to the most unique places together with Stephanie, Jason joking his death again and again, Damian giving them Alfred the Cat as a stress reliever, and Alfred giving them hot cocoa on the worst days and cookies on the best.

But obviously, if it's all just good memories, he will not leave Gotham. The bad to the worst memories starts to resurface. The threat of Arkham, the throat-slitting episode, the pushing to his death story, the I choose to follow Batman rather than to be honest with you thing, the hellish training with Lady Shiva and many more that he couldn’t remember. He shook his head to remove those memories. It’s been more than a decade since that happened and he has healed already. No need to reopen old wounds.

His time in Japan definitely made him more aware that he doesn’t need other people to love him. He can just do it himself. He starts to sleep for more than 6 hours a night. He eats three times a day, sometimes with a balanced diet, sometimes just pure sodium for ramen or just straight up scooping Nutella out of the jar. He now prioritises himself over others. He works for himself and not to get approval from anyone. He is now him, just Tim. A simple Tim that loves to photograph and now be the object of his photographs. 

Many things change over the course of time. He forgives the Waynes but he will never call himself one. Waynes never treats him like family, except for Cass, bless her pure heart, and he is now giving it back, the treatment of an acquaintance. Not family. Not friends. But acquaintances. That’s all the Waynes are to him now. Because god forbid that his teenage self is simply obsessed with them. He rolled his eyes on the thought.

As he was letting his thoughts wander, he finally arrived at the prestigious Wayne Manor. The gates are open so he let himself into the other five minute walk of the driveway. As he stared at the old oak wood door, he sighed, trying to compose himself as he will be in their presence for the next three weeks. After trying to console himself, he knocks hoping that it will be Alfred who will open the door for him. After a few minutes of waiting on the porch, the door opened, revealing the foyer of the Manor and Alfred standing in front of him.

“Hi, Alfred.” Tim smiled at the old man.

Alfred, still in shock but smiled back to him, “Welcome back, Master Tim.”

And then suddenly there is a commotion behind Alfred, making the two gentlemen on the doorway look. It shows Damian and Jason. Seems like the two are trying to race to see which one will get to the door first. Childish competitions, like what brothers do. Jason and Damian look at them, first to Alfred and next to Tim. And he looked back at them, giving them a gentle smile.

“Hi, Timmerly. You look different.” Jason spoke out of the blue.

“Thank you, Jason.” He said, “You look different, too.” he added. Jason has indeed changed. The white stripe of hair due to the dip is still there but the face and the body itself evolved. Jason looked taller than he last saw him, The tight wool sweater emphasises the bulk body of Jason. And that face of his, is always exceptional but more relaxed.

There he heard a cough and gave his attention to the person. “Timothy, you look alright.” Damian said, standing in his glorious 6 foot 3. His tanned skin is honeyed perfection and his build is more similar to Bruce and Jason. Green eyes looked at him like it was captivating his soul. The Demon Brat is gone and was replaced by a hulking man.

He was shocked for a fleeting second before replying, “Thank you, Damian.”

“Young Masters, as much as I like that the three of you are conversing like normal human beings, Master Timothy needs to go inside first. It is freezing out there.” Alfred interrupts them and tells Jason and Damian that he is still indeed on the porch. Jason without waiting a moment, went and grabbed his suitcase and he proceeded to go inside the manor. 

Tim asked Alfred, “Where will Jason put my suitcase?”

“In your room, Master Tim. I mean, your old room.”

“Oh.” He just said as he took off his scarf and coat and gave it to Alfred, as he left the three on the foyer.

He starts walking into the Manor and walks past the library with the rest that didn’t meet him on the door. Steph and Cass are cuddling each other on the couch while Bruce is on the loveseat fiddling something in the tablet, probably about Wayne Enterprise, and Dick is on one of the bean bags that is scattered in the library. The first one to notice him is Cass, of course.

“Little brother, welcome.” She said as she reached out one of her arms to him. Her acknowledgement of his presence makes everyone in the room aware of his existence.

“Timmy!” Dick shouted as went to him and hugged him. It kinda still startled him a little bit, but he awkwardly hugged Dick back. 

Bruce gave him a smile, “Welcome back, Tim.”

Steph hit his back, “When Cass actually told us that you will come for our wedding, we didn’t believe her.“

Tim touched the spot Steph hit, “I would not miss it for the world.” Then he walked to Cass, “Hey, sis.” Cass smiled back at him. “Winter wedding, really?” 

“Hey, winter weddings are beautiful. And Cass will look like an angel.”

“And you are the demon that made Cassandra fall down from heaven.” A voice joined them, it’s Damian.

“Hey! That’s mean!”

The chaos and noises are relatively relaxing but when he yawns, he excuses himself. “Going to sleep, Timmy?” He nodded and replied with, “Jetlagged.”

Tim tried to remember where his room was. And thank god, he found it with no anomalies. He entered the room and saw the room that he left. The room is completely gone with cans of energy drinks or packaging of junk foods. The bed is comforting as he remembers, he saw his suitcase next to the nightstand. He opens it and gets a fitted cashmere turtleneck and fleece sweatpants. He took a quick shower and changed. He laid down on the bed and let sleep take him.

 He woke up the sun already down and darkness already took the city. He grabbed his phone and looked at what time it was. 8:05 am. Huh?? Oh, his phone is still in the Japanese Time Zone. He quickly changes it and freshens up. He looked at the wide mirror in his bathroom, and assessed himself. He knows he changed when he moved to Japan. His toned body was dissolved into a more lean one. His hair was maintained into a shoulder length, but his hair is shining with a red undertone in the right light. He has an ear piercing. His face was more round and yet still sharp. He got taller but still the smallest to Wayne, even Cass is taller than him. No, he is not salty about it.

He scooped up a handful of water and splashed his face and hair. Once he could feel his rationality and sanity came back to him, he dried his face and went down to the kitchen. He needs something to ingest in his body, anything. He saw Alfred was making something in the kitchen.

“Master Tim, you are finally awake. Will you please call the others for dinner?”

“Sure, Alfred.”

He found everyone in the largest living room. Damian and Dick playing chess, Damian is winning. Stephanie is doing something together with Duke. Bruce is with Cass flipping in the catalogue of whatever they still need to add to the wedding.

“Hey, Alfred told me to get you all. Dinner is ready.”

Dinner is rather peaceful, but rather uncomfortable. Whenever his eyes linger for a little second longer on a dish, Dick is already putting it on his plate. Damian kept on giving him a piece of whatever Damian thought he liked. Jason is spoon feeding him on dishes on what Jason thinks he will like. If this continues, he will be fat and as a model he would rather not have that. The Japanese Modelling World is so strict when it comes to thinness of their own.

But after that dinner, he sighed as walked to his room, he grabbed a velvet box and went to what he thinks is Cass' room.

He knocked, then he opened the door. Waynes are known for just busting your door open before coming in, because apparently, privacy is a social construct. Tim is not a Wayne anymore and also he is one of the decent people who actually knocks before coming inside of someone’s personal space.

“Hey Cass. I got you something.” he said as he looked at his sister.

“What is it?”

Instead of answering, he pulled a velvet box and gave it to Cass. Cass accepts it and opens the blue velvet box, revealing a silver hair comb pin. Cass looked at him with huge eyes. He smiled at his sister, “My mother wore that at her wedding. She says my grandmother and my great grandmother also wear that to their wedding, and I feel like I am not the rightful owner of such a piece.”

Cass hugged him. He missed how tight Cass hugs him. The comfortable warmth that brings pleasant memories only, none of those scorching heat of Iraq. Maybe, maybe he can stay here for three weeks for Cass. For Cass.

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

The Arcana HCs: How the M6 respond to MC getting sick

(Oof, this is probably the angstiest thing I've posted so far, so CW for panic/anxiety attacks, flashbacks, and nightmare imagery)

~ a little background ~

Did you expect that saving Vesuvia/the world would be easy? Of course not. You've only gotten this far because of the people who rallied around you, especially your beloved.

But now - well - now it's over, the threat is past, and you have space to breathe again. Your head is spinning with everything you've learned (you died of the plague and came back to life? WTF???), you're emotionally exhausted from all the highs and lows of nearly losing the lover you just confessed to, and all the stress and adrenaline and traveling and sleepless nights are finally taking their toll on your body.

You just need a nap, that's all, you're just going to lie down for five minutes. Next thing you know, you're opening your eyes through an achy haze to see your beloved's worried face as they take your rapidly rising temperature.

Well, shit.

(A/N: the MC in these headcanons just has a stress fever and they only need a day or two of rest. M6 are all understandably triggered because they recently relived your death from the Red Plague and still blame themselves for it)

Julian

His doctor senses were tingling as soon as he you saw you curled up under a blanket

Your breaths were shallow, you were flushed, and your pulse was rapid when he rested his fingers on your overwarm neck

At first he's just numb and on autopilot. He's seen so many feverish patients before he doesn't have to think to begin treating you

He hauls you up in his arms and gets you into bed, cataloging all your symptoms and taking your vitals

He gets clean water to your nightstand, a basin under the bed, a cool cloth on your forehead, fever and pain meds administered in the proper dosage, gentle foods prepped and ready to be warmed as soon as you feel like eating

The situation doesn't sink in until there's nothing left to do except sit beside you and wait

Suddenly he's aware of his darling MC beside him, calling his name in a hoarse voice and peering at him through glassy eyes, and he can't breathe

You're not that sick, you're a little spacey, but you're still very aware of your surroundings

It's confusing how quiet and expressionless he is at first, and then you see his vision focus and the blood drain from his face and it clicks

You're grabbing his hand and talking as abruptly as you can past your sore throat to pull him out of his head

"Julian, I'm okay. Hey, look at me, you need to breathe. You're hyperventilating. Ilya. You need to breathe."

Once you take a few deep breaths together you start asking him questions, trying to keep him grounded in the moment

He's able to talk now, rambling in sentences that don't end before the next ones begin and sporadically taking your pulse, your temperature, your pulse again, he shouldn't be making you worried like this, he needs to be here for you

At one point you try to crack a joke, "what's the diagnosis, doctor?" and it sends him right back

Now he's having visions of the last time people were calling him doctor, of the cell beneath the palace, of the stench and the hopelessness, of Valdemar's unblinking eyes, and suddenly you're the one being strapped to the gurney next as they lay out their tools, and

You're not proud of it, but you grab him by his ear and yank him down into bed next to you

If being a doctor is triggering for him, then maybe the best way to help is keeping him in bed with you instead of fluttering at your bedside

You're able to pull him out of it by scrubbing your fingers across his scalp and talking him through some breathing exercises

Now he's tangling you up in his limbs, sweating because he just had a panic attack and also because he's cuddling with someone who's warm with fever, and he can't stop apologizing

You realize that talking about it right now will only be more triggering, so you ask him to sing to you instead, something he grew up hearing in Nevivon maybe

You've heard him sing before, but never in a voice so gentle or quiet. He's got his lips pressed to your temple, crooning an old lullaby that he has the faintest memory of his parents singing to him

He watches you slowly fall asleep, listening to your lungs and watching your eye lids twitch until your fever breaks and your breaths are deep and even

When you wake up the next morning, clearly well on your way to recovery, he takes the first free breath he's felt in years

It's the first time in a long time that he's had a patient who recovered

Asra

He's been so excited to take you on this journey and show you the world, he's been at the marketplace until well past lunchtime gathering supplies while you organize the shop

They notice you slumped over the table in the back room, snoozing with your head on your folded arms, and they tiptoe over to press a kiss to your forehead

Only to feel unnaturally warm skin under his lips and notice the furrow between your eyebrows

Their heart sinks into their stomach and they can feel a chill spreading across their chest

Were there any signs before he left? He'd noticed you seemed tired at breakfast, he should have asked you more insistently about it, he shouldn't have gone out, he should have stayed and taken care of you, no no no no no no no not again

They see your eyes fluttering open and they're pulling themselves together in a flash, they are here with you and you need them and they are not going anywhere

When you finally get your eyes open he's looking at you with the softest smile, the backs of his fingers resting lightly on your forehead

"Hey, MC, how about we go lie down?"

That sounds pretty good actually, you're chilly and achy and nobody can warm you up and make you comfortable as well as they can

You're too miserable for it to immediately occur to you how scary this would be for him, and he's acting so casually it takes a good twenty minutes to clue in on the situation

They're studying you closely but somehow they won't make eye contact with you

He's acting so relaxed but his hands are trembling and you can feel the desperation in his touch when he's rubbing your arms and back to warm you up

As soon as you realize why, you're putting your hands on their face and forcing them to look you in the eye so you can tell them that it's just a stress fever, you're okay, they're here with you, you'll just sleep it off

Moments like this are when it's obvious that grief does not simply disappear, because your words are getting through to him and he knows you'll probably be fine by tomorrow evening, but he still left you alone all day and you're still lying in front of him with bloodshot eyes and a fever

You know the only thing either of you can do is wait it out together, so that's what you do

You grab their hand and press it where they can feel your heartbeat

You play along like you being sick is no big deal and he's perfectly calm

You eat and drink everything they bring you

You stay awake as long as you can, getting him to tell you stories from all of his travels

You don't fall asleep until they're piled into the pillows next to you and their ear is resting over your heartbeat

For once, he can't sleep

They spend the night with their eyes screwed shut, memorizing the ridges of your ribs under the press of their fingertips and honing every sense into listening for the next steady thump

Sometime in the hours before dawn he feels the sweat of your fever breaking and the icy feeling in his chest begins to fade

They refuse to open their eyes until the light is red through their eyelids, and when the first thing they see is the sunrise on your chest they finally stop shaking

He hasn't cried yet, he hasn't cried at all, he doesn't cry until several days later when you ask him what the first stop on your trip together is going to be

And then suddenly there are tears streaming down their face, because you're here, you're alive, and they have a future to look forward to with you

Nadia

She already knew you would need at least a week of rest after your ordeal, so she told you to sleep in and meet her for afternoon tea on the veranda and had the staff bring you breakfast in your chambers

You were surprised at how sore you were when you dragged yourself out of bed around noon, but you weren't too bothered about it

You went to the veranda early to wait for her and promptly dozed off again

Now she's elegantly rushing through the halls because there's so much that needs to be done for Vesuvia and it took longer to wrap up her meetings than she expected

She sees you asleep by the tea set and thinks it's the best view of the day so far

Until she sees an all-too-familiar furrow in your brow and an angry flush across your face and her throat closes up

She's laying her hand across your forehead to gauge your temperature, unsure of how or why you're sick and doubting her intuition

You had just faced down the devil next to her, there was work ahead to be done, but she had been so certain that the two of you were out of the woods

She begins looking around wildly, trying to spot someone nearby to help her carry you out of the sun and up to her chambers

Her hand on your face wakes you up, and now you really feel it, your joints are aching, your neck is stiff, the light hurts your eyes, you've got a splitting headache, and you're shivering in the middle of the day

Once she sees you moving to stand it's like the world comes into focus again

She's got an arm around your waist and your hand in hers, half-carrying you up to her chambers

Her eyebrows are knit, she's flitting around the room ringing for assistance, layering blanket after blanket over you, sending Chandra for a doctor, drawing the curtains so it's not too bright, lifting your head for water

Every time you try speak she tells you to hush and not hurt your throat, so you finally grab her hand and pull her closer to you

She feels your warm, clammy fingers trying to smooth the worries out of her forehead and pauses for a moment

It's not normal for her to react this strongly

Once she stops to think about the source of all her anxiety, she remembers what illness and sleep mean to her

She's remembering being trapped on the Lazaret in her dreams, she's remembering the way she hid as Vesuvians went up in flames, she's remembering the cries of the Plague's victims in the Devil's realm

She's remembering the moment you learned of her death, she's remembering the moment you learned that you too had the plague, she's remembering the deep sleep she was trapped in

And oh dear, she's remembering that for all your strength, you are human too

You can see her eyes drooping and tears gathering, and you know that trying to comfort her will only make her feel worse

So you rally together and begin asking her for everything that could possibly help you feel better

She loves nothing more than providing for you

You ask her for another sip of water, you ask her for something cold and sweet to eat, you ask her to help you take your medicine, you ask her for a hot bath, you ask her for a change of clothes, you ask her for another blanket, you ask her for tea, you ask and you ask and you ask

And Nadia, without fail, gives and gives and gives, until there is no room in her mind to believe that she has failed you

You receive such excellent care and attention that you feel well enough to walk around the palace the next morning

She's smiling and laughing with an ease you've never seen before

She was able to help you recover your strength, and if she can do that for her beloved, she can certainly do that for Vesuvia

Muriel

You were studying Khamgalai's tapestries all morning with him, getting better at decoding the intricate designs together

He was busy figuring out how they were made and dyed, while you took notes on reoccurring symbols and common themes

He noticed you hadn't moved much since lunch, and when he looked over properly, he saw you curled around the bundle of art with your head pillowed on Inanna's flank

He walked over to take your quill and papers from you before you got ink all over yourself, and it was when his fingers brushed yours that he noticed how warm you were

There are many things he's still learning about you, but after sleeping next to you for weeks in the tundra to keep you warm, he knows exactly what your normal body temperature is

This is abnormally high, and he's starting to worry

This is also when you open your eyes and feel the full force of a rising fever and splitting headache

But Muriel doesn't say anything to you, because he doesn't want to intrude and make you worry

And you don't want to say anything to him, because you can tell he's concerned about something and you don't want to make him worry

So you stubbornly sit back up and go back to your notes, and he stubbornly takes a seat next to you in hopes that you'll lean on him and he can use that to start taking care of you

He's watching you keenly now, the way your hands move slower and slower, the way your head begins to droop, the way your eyes glaze over, the way you begin to shiver and grimace

But you won't stop writing until he tells you what's bothering him so much

He's getting increasingly agitated as the sun begins to set and the air begins to cool, he's been tracking your symptoms for several hours now and you haven't budged

There isn't any outside stimulus that changes his mind, it just becomes too much for him to watch you suffer and that's when he takes initiative and breaks the silence

"MC? Are you okay?"

When you finally look in his direction and he sees the pain on your face he decides that however comfortable it is to let you steer your interactions, this isn't worth it

So he stands up and ever-so-gently gathers you in his arms

Once he feels how warm you've gotten and sees the way your body crumples as soon as it's supported he realizes his mistake

He takes you back into the hut and starts pulling some furs over you and building up the fire

He doesn't like the heat, but he loves you, and you're shaking like a leaf in the wind, and this is his fault, he knows he's come a long way in building up his courage, he knows that he's capable of taking initiative when he needs to

He knows that he could have done something to help hours ago and he didn't, he knows that he could have asked you but he didn't, he knows how many times he could have helped you when you were struggling while Asra was away and the world was big and scary, but he didn't

He knows, he knows, he knows, but he didn't

And this is why he has always been alone, because he knew he could help others if he wanted to, but he didn't

You're having an easier time focusing on your surroundings now that you're not punishing yourself, and you can see the frustration building in his face

You can tell he's upset with himself for not acting sooner, but you also know that he wasn't the only one refusing to communicate

You can also see the way he's initiating now, checking your temperature, cradling your head in his massive hand to give you water, putting unusual care into the pot he's stirring over the fire

So you come shuffling across the floor of the hut against his glare at you for leaving the bed and climb into his lap

"I'm sorry for not saying anything sooner. Keep me warm?"

And it's as he's holding the bowl of stew for the stubborn Fool in his lap and watching them slowly fall asleep on his shoulder that he realizes, this is why he's not alone anymore

Because he saw you hurting, and it took him a while, but he held you through the night and wiped the sweat from your face when your fever broke the next morning

Portia

Her life is crazier than it's ever been, but it's also better than it's ever been

She met the love of her life, reunited with her brother, reunited with her aunt, traveled through magical realms, saved both the magical realms and the human one from her previously mentioned aunt, and now she's going to be an ambassador!

So she's bustling around the palace, training everyone who'll be taking on her duties so things stay running smoothly

She's also picking up tips from Countess Nadia's sisters on how to negotiate with self-important people

And now she's bursting back into her cottage, full of news, and you're ... asleep on the couch?

At first it's adorable, Pepi's curled up so protectively on top of you, and then she sees how the corners of your mouth are turned down and there's no color in your cheeks

She touches your shoulder to shake you awake, and you are way too warm

Your eyes are opening, and you seem happy to see her, but the spark she adores in your eyes is muted and your voice is too hoarse to speak

You're still a little dazed from your nap but it's always such a gift to wake up to Portia's beautiful smile and joyful spirit

Except that you're watching her face fall the longer she looks at you

You open your mouth to ask her what's wrong, and suddenly she's bundling you into bed and slamming pots and pans in the kitchen and loudly trying to figure out how to get her useless brother to visit and scolding you for not calling her sooner

The noise is beginning to hurt your head but you can tell she's really upset (you're too disoriented to figure out why yet) so you apologize, and that's when she crumples

She's clutching your hand in both of hers and her lips are trembling and all of her words are tumbling out at once

Because no matter how hard she tries, she's never enough

Her brother was shut away in a medical nightmare and then sentenced to death and she wasn't enough

She spent over a year being like a family to Nadia and she wasn't enough

She always wanted to be master of her own fate and she was never enough

And then she met you, and she became the person you turned to for comfort and support and adventure, and the two of you saved the world together, and for you, she was enough

But all it took was you tying your life to hers, and now you're sick, and last time you were sick you died, and what if she's not enough to keep that from happening again?

What happens when you get stuck on the sidelines, always too late for the solution and too early for the fight, because you got stuck with her, and she's always either not enough or too much?

And in classic Portia manner, she's been proving her own doubts wrong as she speaks them

Because by the time she's done ranting and the sun has gone down, you've been hydrated and medicated, you've been carefully tucked in with the perfect amount of blankets, you've been fed the best chicken soup, and you've had a cool cloth pressed to your face the whole time

Your energy is still quite low, so you're not able to stay awake and comfort her as much as you want to

But before you fall asleep, you're able to take her strong, calloused hands in yours and tell her

That until she gives herself the same recognition and value and care that she gives the people around her, she will never think she is enough, because she will not know just how wonderful and life-changing it is to be loved by her

She'll spend the rest of the night waking up every few hours to check on you, wondering what it would take for her to believe your words

And when she sees you the next morning, a little tired and a little weak but completely ready to travel the world with her

Well, maybe this time, she's enough

Lucio

Life after saving the world isn't as glamorous as he always dreamed it would be, but it's not bad, especially with you

Oh, he really does love you, you make the world exciting again

Except, you haven't seemed that excited since you left Vesuvia six days ago

Somehow every morning it's a little harder to wake you up, and every afternoon you walk just a bit slower

You pull him from his lunchtime musing with a tug on his sleeve

You know that face, he's thinking about something, but you also know that his actions are way less predictable when he's lost in thought, and you're too tired to try keeping up

You tell him you're going to need a slightly longer break, and you're plenty close to the clearing with the herbs you've been asked to forage, so he's welcome to start without you

And that's exactly what he does

As soon as he's striding away you're curling up against your traveling pack and dozing off

Honestly, you'd been hoping for a little more of a break before you and Lucio set out to build a new life together

But he'd been so excited for the future and eager to get on the right track that you didn't have the heart to slow him down

And that enthusiasm has carried through - you've barely had a full night's rest since you set out, and you weren't starting out in the best condition anyways

The exhaustion of one event piled on top of another and a week of poor rest catch up to you quickly, and you fall much deeper asleep than you ever planned

It's been a few hours when Lucio comes back to check on you, and now he can tell something is definitely wrong

One sword-roughened hand on your forehead is all he needs to know you're running a nasty fever

Your eyes open briefly when he tries speaking to you, but you're out again as soon as he stops shaking your shoulder

He's starting to get worried now, you're out in the woods, the sun will be setting soon, and he's become self-aware enough to know that he can't take care of sick people

But he can carry you, and that's what he does until he arrives back at the village with the original job posting four hours later

He doesn't bother with the herbs he gathered, he marches straight into the first inn he spots and gets a room for you

Well now what

You're still not waking up

The closest doctor's one village over delivering a baby, nobody knows when they'll be back

He stays up with you through the night, doing his best and becoming increasingly concerned

How was he supposed to know you weren't feeling well, you never said anything - well ... it was kind of obvious

But how was he supposed to know how to take care of you? Nobody told him to - well ... he didn't take care of you because he had to, he took care of you because he wanted to

This definitely counts as an oopsie

But you're always there for him now when there's an oopsie, you'll help him figure out how to fix it

Except that you're not waking up, you're not waking up and your fever is getting higher and higher and all he knows about fevers comes from the Red Plague

And that was his fault, the Red Plague was his oopsie, and it killed you, and now you're sick again, and he hasn't taken care of you like he wanted to, and now you're going to die because of him - again -

And you're still not waking up, you're not waking up, and he's scared

He keeps watch through the night, pacing around the room and squeezing your hand and convincing himself that your fever is worse each time

The doctor arrives the next morning, tells him that it's an exhaustion-induced illness, explains what an exhaustion-induced illness is, and shows him how to take care of you

He listens like he's never listened before, and he follows the instructions as well as he can for the rest of the day until evening rolls around and your eyes open

There are bags under his eyes and his eyeliner is smudged and you can tell he's been crying, but he's so happy to see you smile

You take a week at the village together to rest up and set a slower pace after that

He still wakes you up in the night sometimes because he's worried about you getting sick in your sleep, but now he knows that there are oopsies he can fix even when you're not awake to help him

(A/N: sorry this is later than normal, it took longer to write than I expected lol. I would also love to know if you'd like to see this level of hurt/comfort again, or if you prefer my usual fluff/humor!)

[innerfare]

Sabo’s Type 

Summary: A collection of random headcanons describing Sabo's type

Genre: Angst

CW: None // SFW

———

Sabo is such a show off, it’s no joke. It’s for this reason he has such a thing for a damsel in distress. He really enjoys the opportunity to flex his powers. (Flashback to Dressrosa arc and him swooping in to rescue Rebecca but leaving poor Bartolomeo lmao.) But he likes it even more if showing off doesn’t work, since it works on basically everyone else. 

Someone who is unimpressed, or at least initially hides it from him. Sabo lives for a challenge. While he loves it when people fawn over him, he’ll become a little obsessed with someone who shrugs at his dragon claw and fire fruit ability, who brushes off his pretty face and muscular body, who doesn’t care that he’s the second in command of the Revolutionary Army and is going to tell him exactly what they think of him.  

Someone with a voice like honey that makes him want to kick his habit of hanging up the transponder snail in the middle of the call and instead stay on the other line for hours listening to them talk about nothing. 

Someone powerful. Someone who can not only hold their own in battle so he doesn’t have to constantly worry about them but also someone who can spar with him. Someone who has undergone rigorous martial arts training and insists their style is more powerful than his dragon claw. Someone who triggers his competitive side. 

Someone who will make fun of him, even going so far as to poke fun of his heritage (without going too far). The odd joke about Sabo being a pampered aristocrat will get his blood boiling. He’s the type to ignore all the people fawning over him and go straight for the person who seems uninterested (side note: Sabo does not respect the ring; if you’re married and he wants you, he’s going for you). 

Someone with as much a reason to hate the World Government as he does, perhaps even more of a reason. Someone who wants to see the world burn. But also someone who starts out as his enemy, so maybe a marine or member of Cipher Pol with a traumatic backstory working as a double agent for the Revolutionary Army. 

Someone who likes his scars. He’s come to view them as a symbol of his failure to escape Goa on his own, and even as a symbol of the reason he couldn’t be there for his found family, so he doesn’t feel proud of them the way a warrior should. But if you’re proud of them, if you run your fingers over them, he’ll grin like a fool. 

Someone who is well read and a good enough writer to read his manuscript and offer feedback, someone who can edit some of the pages and offer him some direction when he’s not sure which direction to go in. Someone who agrees with his point of view on the subject matter (typically the corruption of the World Government) and can aid him in getting that across. 

Someone who makes him feel safe enough to ask for affection. Sabo isn’t really used to positive reinforcement. Though he received some once he joined the Army, a rough childhood without a drop of real softness has left him a little thirsty for someone to run their fingers through his hair while he vents about everything wrong in the world. 

Low-key has mommy issues, craves a woman who will make him food, take a bath with him, and tuck him into bed. Refuses to admit it, though. This folds into him craving a more feminine partner because he's been surrounded by so much roughness. One of his guilty pleasures is definitely crushing on the young noble women he's supposed to be usurping.

Someone who doesn’t hesitate to make his family their own, who falls right into the ranks of the Revolutionary Army and makes themselves at home with the Straw Hats (I think it goes without saying Sabo's SO has to have Luffy's stamp of approval). 

———

Hope you enjoyed it! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

[miniwheat77]

Family pt 2. (141 x Reader.)

!CW! flashbacks, PTSD, mentions of SA, depression, violence, blood (let me know if I missed any.)

(Summary): Reader is struggling after the incident and 141 is trying to pull her away from her dark thoughts.

Blurb? Kinda? Mini fic? XD



Since the incident, you locked yourself in your room. Only coming out for an occasional meal and whatever your Captain needed you to do. He asked the others to leave you alone for a while, give you some time to adjust and feel better about everything. They worried about you so much, worried about your well being after you’d opened up about what happened. Price didn’t tell the others much, other than you were assaulted and you were going to need time to adjust because these were dark times. Everyone was there for you, you knew they were. But your favorite thing about them was the fact that they didn’t change how they treated you because of what happened. They joked with you, talked to you like normal. They didn’t tip toe around you or anything. They didn’t make you feel like an alien for something that happened to you.

The only thing that really changed was how protective they were over you. On missions, you were surrounded by a few members of 141, they kept you safe. When you met Los Vaqueros, it was no different. Every single one of them kept you safe and took to you right away.

“Emergency mission, everyone pack up right now.” Price barges into the mess hall. “What’s going on Captain?”

“4 American Soldiers were kidnapped from a military base a few hours away, Cartel. Took them to a warehouse in Mexico. Alejandro and Rudy and some of his men are meeting us there. This is personal.” Everyone gathers their gear in a hurry, meeting at the infil chopper immediately. It doesn’t take long before everyone is awaiting orders as the chopper lands. “Alright. Alejandro and Rudy are finding a way inside from above. They’re going to give us a signal and tell us which ways to get inside. We cannot rush this, there’s hostages involved.” Everyone nods their heads and wait patiently for some kind of signal from Alejandro or Rudy.

“There is a door and a window on the south side of the building. There’s a kitchen, no one inside. I can cover you while you come in.” Rudy says through their radio. Everyone forms a line, walking quietly along until you’re pressed up against the building, Rudy opening it. Everyone creeps their way inside. “Nobody downstairs, assuming they have them upstairs.” You nod your head, each of you creeping upstairs. “I came from there, didn’t see anyone.” Rudy nods to a window.

“Cover a door each of you.” Price orders and everyone moves along. Soap behind you as you aimed your pistol at the closed door. “3…2…1-“ each of you kick the doors open, guns pointed at the members of the cartel.

What you see in front of you makes you sick. A girl is lying on the bed, tear stained cheeks. The man is half naked and her shirt is ripped. You came in the nick of time. You freeze, gun pointed at him.

It happens in slow motion. Soap’s eyes are wide. He tries to get you to put the gun down, he’s surrendering. Your eyes burn into him, the innocent girl suffering on the bed would never forget this day. She’d never forget his face. But him being dead, is the only way she’ll rest at night. No other gunfire is heard except for you. Your finger squeezing the trigger, his head jerks backward, a bullet right between the eyes. “Y/N- he was surrendering!” Soap says. “Him being dead will only bring peace to her.” You mumble, finally stepping forward. You quickly work to pull off your jacket, passing it to the American Soldier. She was dirty, dirt and blood covered her skin. Shirt torn. Pants still in tact- thankfully. You grounded her with a heavy hand. “You’re okay now. He can’t hurt you.” She nods her head. You’re pulling your first aid kit out of your bag, patching up her wounds. “Cmon, we’re taking you home.” You help her up. The rest of the men gathered the rest of the soldiers, who were battered. After saying your goodbyes and shipping them out to the nearest healthcare facility in the United States, you were on the exfil chopper, heading back to base.

Your eyes bore into the side of the chopper. Elbows resting in your knees as you stared ahead. His head jerking back, the bullet right in his forehead.

As fucked up as it was, it’d bring peace.

“Why did you shoot him if he was surrendering?” Captain Price stands in front of you. “He was trying to rape her.”

“He was surrendering.”

“He’s a rapist.”

“Y/N-“

“He’s a fucking rapist.” You seethe. “He kidnapped them, beat them and tried to rape her. Which is the worse war crime?” You growl. “Y/N.” Your Captain kneels down on one knee in front of you. “Look at me.” He grasps your chin, forcing you to look at him. “I will cover this one up for you. But you have to pull yourself out of this okay? You’re completely unstable. I worry about you and your health, but if you can’t get this together, I’ll have no choice but to send you home. Do you understand?” You look him in the eyes, it’s unsettling. Almost as if you look straight through him. He sighs. He places his forehead to yours, eyes shut as you take a deep breath. “We’re your family Y/N. We’ve got your back. Nobody can hurt you while we’re around, do you understand?” He says. “Yes.” You close your eyes. “You’re okay. We have you now. Nobody will hurt you like that, not ever again.” He holds your hands in his. “I’m putting you on another break. A week. If you can’t handle it anymore, I’ll send you home.”

“I’ll be better Captain. I promise.”

“There’s nothing wrong with you now love, we all agree. We want to kill rapists too. But.. there are rules. We’re on your side of this.” You nod your head.

“You’re going to be okay Y/N. 141 has you now.”

@ellouisa17

[munson-blurbs]

@corrodedcoffinfest Day 15: Let's Talk About That

Word Count: 877/Rating: T/Pairing: None/CW: mention of vomiting and getting sick (not described), stage fright, takes place in 2024, older Corroded Coffin, loosely based on Joseph Quinn's Tonight Show experience/Tags: Eddie Munson, Jeff, Grant, Gareth, talk show, flashbacks

Divider credit to @silkholland

“Our next guests need no introduction,” Jimmy Fallon says from where he sits at his desk. “They’ve been rocking the heavy metal scene since the ‘80s, and their newest album comes out this Friday. Please welcome—Corroded Coffin!”

Eddie, Grant, Jeff, and Gareth make their way from behind the blue curtain, giving the cheering audience a polite wave. Nerves flutter in Eddie’s stomach as he takes a seat on the spot closest to the host. Talk shows have never been his strong suit; he’s not exactly known for his smooth lines. He much prefers songwriting, where he can edit and erase until each lyric is perfected. 

“Great to see you guys,” Jimmy says. “This is a busy time for you, isn’t it?”

Eddie nods, scratching at the gray stubble on his jaw. “Yeah, so, our tenth album drops on Friday, and tickets for our tour go on sale next week.”

The crowd cheers again, only quieting down as Jimmy asks the guys more questions about their upcoming shows and the creative process behind this album. 

“We’re a lot older than we were when we started out,” Grant jokes, “so there’s more stretching involved.”

“Yeah, now we warm up our vocal cords and our quads,” Jeff chimes in. 

Their banter earns a laugh from the audience, as well as one of Jimmy’s signature over-the-top cackles. 

Okay, Eddie thinks. This is good. This is fine. We’re getting through this. 

“Speaking of your younger years,” Jimmy says, “my producers found a clip from your first-ever Tonight Show appearance, way back in 1989.”

Oh, no. No. 

The host looks directly at Eddie as he grins and says, “let’s have a look.”

Eddie squeezes his eyes shut and hopes it’s all a bad dream. To his dismay, the clip is rolling when he dares to open his eyes again. 

A screen displays the guys sitting there, 35 years younger than they are now, and listening intently as Johnny Carson asks them questions. Well, three of them were listening—Eddie was as white as a sheet, sweating bullets and trying not to hurl. 

“Now, Eddie, I understand that you wrote most of the songs on this record.” Johnny leans in, forearm on his desk. “Was there something—or someone—who inspired you?”

“Well, um, th-there’s my uncle. He’s, y’know, always s-supported me.” Eddie plays with the frayed tear in his jeans. Sweat drips down his temples and pools at his collarbones. “And then some of the, um, angrier stuff is about, um, m-my dad, and, like, assholes at school—shit, can I say ‘assholes’? Oh, fuck; I probably can’t say ‘shit,’ either.”

Jimmy cuts the clip and turns back to where Jeff, Gareth, and Grant are poorly stifling their laughter. Meanwhile, Eddie is hoping the ground will open up and swallow him whole. 

“Let’s talk about that.” Jimmy grins. “You seemed a little nervous there.”

Eddie nods, willing the redness away from his cheeks. “Yeah, it was our first talk show, so…”

Gareth shakes his head. “Nah, that’s not what happened.” Ignoring Eddie’s scowl, he plunges ahead. “This idiot was complaining about a stomach ache all day and didn’t eat. We go out to dinner before the show and we finally convince him to eat something. Tell them what you chose, Ed.”

“I, um, decided to eat oysters,” Eddie mumbles, silently vowing to kill his drummer. 

Jimmy raises his eyebrows. “Why oysters?”

“That’s what we said!” Jeff speaks up. “He’d never had them before, and he chose that moment to down, like, a pound of them.”

“He can’t even look at an oyster now without getting nauseous,” Grant adds. 

Jimmy brings the focus back to a now-humiliated Eddie. “So what happened after the show?”

“Nothing.” Eddie shrugs. “Went back to the hotel room and relaxed.”

“Oh, nuh-uh.” Gareth cuts in, wearing a shit-eating grin. “Tell him what happened before that.”

Eddie has to stop himself from lunging across the couch and strangling Gareth right there. He wants to play it off as nothing, but the audience is already too invested. 

Better to hear it from me, he thinks. 

“Well, on the way back to the hotel, I bumped into a fan. Gorgeous young woman with a huge…heart.” He clears his throat. “Anyway, she asks for an autograph and invites me out for a drink. And I’m not gonna say no to that.”

Eddie rakes his fingers through his hair and continues. “So we go to this fancy bar, we’re sipping our drinks, and I’m about to close this deal. And then—”

“And then a waiter walks by with a tray of oysters, and Eddie just books it outta there!” Gareth nearly falls out of his seat trying to finish the story. “Like, Olympic sprinting.”

“I didn’t know he could run that fast,” Jeff muses. 

Jimmy shakes his head. “You guys better hope that he doesn’t tell any of your embarrassing moments.”

Eddie perks up at this. “Actually, Jimmy, that’s not a bad idea.” He glances over at Gareth, the one who started this crusade to embarrass Eddie on national television. “Have you heard about Gareth’s Explosive Diarrhea Fiasco of 1996?”

“Eddie, you wouldn’t dare—”

“It all started when someone thought it was a good idea to participate in a chili-eating contest before we played the Indiana State Fair…”

--