#just of him digging himself out and then being taken to the hospital

[retiredteabag]

Dog-sitter!Toji - chapter 9

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Synopsis: Toji was quite accustomed to objectifying himself for a check. And to be frank, far worse actions as well. Now he’s not sure what to do with himself after meeting the kind and generous owner of the dog he pet-sits for.

read along as Toji learns that you don't need to lose yourself in order to love and be loved.

Toji has never been the type to hold back.

He's honest and dislikes waiting to express his thoughts, even so, he had been holding in these feelings for a long time now.

How could it be that it took working together with you under extreme stress for him to realize that no one had seen him as a human quite like you had.

And for you, in the midst of your anxiety and strain, you consider him, in the small things he does such as ordering food, and in the large, working by your side to fight this battle day and night.

Dark evening nights bled into fresh mornings, unearthing the man who had threatened you had been the both of your main goals but along the way Toji grew more and more comfortable thinking of you as a friend.

In the past, when you had asked him to consider you as a friend, he would mentally roll his eyes. You were his employer, it was out of the question. But now? He found himself wondering why "friendship" seemed too gentle a term. Why is it he was wanting more?

You on the other hand, you had learned long ago to be honest with yourself. Even before, when you felt giddiness at his appearance or when you noticed yourself fixing your hair in the car, you were able to recognize your attraction to the man.

This attraction was not just physical though, he was dedicated and kind, humble and brave. You wouldn't say it, no matter how much your heart melted when you saw his nature.

Especially not now, when you needed to prioritize your dog.

--

Your hands shook as the attorney described the process of what defending you in court would look like. As it had turned out, despite there being a real case against your dog, there was still but a little evidence to suggest that your dog had initiated anything.

You also learned that the plaintiff not coming to you for months after the event was not a good look for them. Each passing hour, the ache in your heart would lessen. The beginnings of your chest easing helped you prepare yourself for the proceedings.

What you had not expected was how the dog that had attacked Toji was an unregistered working animal.

This would suggest that the work the dog was trained for was illegal or nefarious in some other nature.

In all honesty, you had expected the man who had shown up at your door to have been running a puppy mill of some sort.

Far from your realm of possibility was how dark the world could truly be. Toji had taken it upon himself to "do some digging", only to find that the Tosa Inu that had put your dog in the animal hospital over night had been an underground fighting dog.

The more you listened to what that could possibly mean, the sicker you felt. You were even more grateful to Toji though. He insisted that he hadn't hired a PI or anything, simply stating that he "knew a guy" who could uncover whatever had been happening behind the scenes.

Gambling was illegal in all areas of Japan but even worse was dog fighting. Several prefectures, including Tokyo had the act banned and on the level that this ring was operating, it was fair to assume other crimes were occurring behind the scenes. Betting on dog fights merely scratched the surface it seemed.

Even knowing all this, it wasn't until animal welfare organizations got involved, promising to back you in any way, that you began to rest easier at night.

--

You had spent what felt like an eternity yet somehow a blink of time making legal arguments in your office. You worked until your brain hurt and your eyes strained from the light of the computer screen.

During working hours, your attorney would occasionally be at your residence, working with yourself and Toji. Witnesses to Toji's injury, and your dog's behavior needed to be called forth, receipts and bills from the veterinary hospital needed to be located and confirmed for court proceedings, photographs of the scene in which the dog fighting ring was located needed to be confirmed. It all took far longer than you were expecting.

After working hours you would find yourself writing down your thoughts, hoping your lawyer was right to presume a positive fate. With the only companion you had known for years on the line however, it was a challenge to remain calm.

With his constant and unwarranted vigilance, you insisted Toji stay with you at the house. He had stayed in the guest room before and if he was so determined to help, the least you could do is offer him a place to stay.

It didn't take much convincing on your part, he stood by you through the whole ordeal.

One night, after a particularly grueling day of unburying evidence of animal abuse, you sat on your couch, tenderly stroking your dogs neck as tension built within your own.

It was funny to think that not even a month ago taking off this much work would be unthinkable to you. For the first time in your life, you had burned through all of your PTO, vacation, and sick leave. You were lucky enough to have an employer, though unperturbed by your usual overworking nature, was willing to be lenient with your schedule due to the nature of the issue at hand.

You had been mindlessly playing with the dogs ears, staring at the noiseless television before you when the gentle steps of the man you had come to appreciate so much found their way into the living room.

"Care if I join you?" He spoke softly, perhaps worried to startle you.

Attempting a carefree manner, you tried for a grin, "Of course, come, sit down."

He shuffled closer and sat to the other end of the dog, the beast, who had all his life (to your knowledge) been inconsolably frightened by men, did not hesitate to lay his head atop Toji's thigh.

The man laced his fingers through the dogs fur, smiling softly. "How are you feeling?"

Your shoulders jitter slightly as his hand brushes your own. Your dog lifts his head a moment to look at you. Huffing he plops his head back, returning to rest on the man's leg. Your heart races like a silly schoolgirl. "Good, good, everything is really looking up, you know?" You swallow a bit, "Toji, really, I know I said it before but I just wanted to make it clear how grateful I am to you. You really don't have any obligation to be here, helping me-"

The man by your side seems to straighten a bit where he sat. His hand as stopped moving and he just looks at you.

"-ever since that day at the animal hospital, when you put the needs of my boy here over your own, before that really, I have been in your debt. I hope it was never a burden... I hope you know what a comfort your presence has been."

"No." Toji's spine is taught and he takes a gulp of air before continuing on quickly, "no- no its not a burden at all. And...owe me? How could you owe me?" He laughs a bit at the notion.

Before you interject to make some painfully sweet comment, he pushes on, "You must not know-" he stares at you now, only a few breaths away, "how...lucky I am to be able to do this job, to be of some help...to...have even met you."

He's stumbling over his words, he never does that, but you make him weak somehow. You make him want to take care with his words. You make him feel so very human, so very alive.

"Well..." You fiddle with your hands, having long since moved them to your lap to avoid the strange thumping that occurs when your fingers cross. "I feel like the lucky one."

--

After weeks of scouring information, preparing documents, and developing exposé's, the result you could have only prayed for arrived.

The very next morning your attorney practically bounded in through the front door. She was laughing and flinging around a written notice as if it was a ticket straight to the pearly gates of heaven. Upon the address line, in bold letters, was a miracale in ink.

"COURT FILING: DISSMISSAL "

"W-what does this mean?" You smile up at your lawyer, her hoots and hollers were contagious.

"What does it mean? It means that coward of a litigant has withdrawn the charges!"

It took a moment for the elation to fill you, you repeated her words over and over, you gave her one clear look as if to ask, 'does that mean what I think it means?"

She just nodded.

You broke down in laughs. The dog wove in between your legs sensing your joy, Toji came rushing into the foyer, words of 'what's going on?' left him before he saw you grinning on the floor, scratching the dog's neck.

He smirks as if he had been counting on this the whole time, steadily walking your way until he is within arms reach. He displays one arm stretched out to you.

Under the assumption he was going to pull you up from your spot on the ground, you reach a hand to take his own and gasp when he dips to pull you into his arms. Lifting you with a steady grip.

"Toji!" You laugh, oh how it felt good to laugh once more.

The dog circled you, panting and wiggling his butt. The other person present was talking about how you had every means to come after the man with your own counterclaim, having found so much on his name. But it was all background noise. You were too caught up in the grasp Toji had on your waist. His smile. His laugh. All of it.

It wasn't until you were placed carefully back on your own two feet that you noticed the woman awkwardly grinning at the two of you.

You knew that you might still have a fight ahead of you, and it was one you would willingly take. But at this very moment, you felt incandescently happy. Nobody was taking your baby from you, and in all these efforts, it seemed you had made a close friend.

And perhaps even a connection verging dangerously close to something more.

--

Some cheap barbecue spot was not what you had expected when you told Toji you would get him whatever he liked in celebration.

"Honestly, I only started eating well when I began looking after your place." Toji takes a piece of beef that he grilled and placed it onto your plate, taking a spoonful of broth for himself.

"That's funny, I kind feel the same, I got so nervous that you wouldn't have anything to eat that I started planning for my groceries." You look down at the bite he prepared for you and smile.

The man before you narrows his eyes, "Well... I'm glad you started eating better." He spins his chopsticks around and flips some meat over on the grill.

"You know...you never asked for anything-" You start, recalling how you had left a note in the early days asking if there was something he wanted from the store.

"You never had to get me anything." Toji grins, "You've been more than generous."

There's a long pause occupied by the both of you taking bites of your dinner and smiling. You'd been doing that an awful, you realize and compose yourself, slightly embarrassed, "I don't think you know how much I appreciate you, Toji." You point an accusing finger at him.

And you don't know how much I love hearing you say my name he thought but kept it to himself.

"Nahhhh, I think I do. You kinda wear your heart on your sleeve."

You roll your eyes, recalling how he had seen you in so many positions, the awkward early phase, angry, teary, even sick, he had seen it all. Once again, you cringe at how much of you he knows.

"If you knew you wouldn't be calling me generous. Before I had someone I could trust with the house and dog, I was so stressed all the time. Work was piling up and I hated leaving home, knowing he would be anxious."

You recall all the nights before Toji when you tearfully considered rehoming your most loyal partner.

"Well now you're free to overwork yourself from the comfort of your office." He teases.

The two of you went on eating and poking fun at each other. Every little instance of connection between you two drew you both closer. Dark times bring out the true nature of individuals and identify exactly who someone is.

And who you were was everything he desired.

Dedicated, hardworking, kind.

Even Toji was surprised by his own unquestioning nature when it came to helping you. He would do whatever it took to see you happy.

--

Toji had insisted on driving you to dinner. He told you he was taking you to his favorite spot. For a time, he was embarrassed by his car, seeing you sitting in the passenger seat almost felt like a sin but you just grinned at him, and conversed easily.

He felt like a student again, driving as carefully as ever to ensure the safety of such precious cargo.

At the end of the night, when he pulled up your drive way, he told you to stay seated.

Confused, you couldn't help laughing when he came around to get the door for you.

A part of you, however small, hoped he wasn't just teasing. Hoped he might see you as more than his employer. Hoped this connection between you two would not end with the resurgence of the sun.

You tell him he didn't have to walk you to the door but he just scoffs and bares the cold by your side. The celebration was still fresh between you.

You didn't even have your hand on the door yet, everything of the day was weighing on you, the way he had lifted you up and held you, all the smiles you shared, all the easy conversation. You knew it had to stop, or you might end up deluding yourself further than you already had.

"I think it's fair to say you've gone above and beyond dog sitter status, Toji. I'm sure you'll enjoy staying at your place for once."

You had meant it lightheartedly. You really had felt bad these nights when he worked into the evening, staying in your guest room to support you. Pulling out his reading glasses for the first time in years. Despite your blithe attitude, he seemed to get all serious.

He looks at his shoes for a moment, the wind chilled you to the bone but Toji doesn't flinch.

Everything in Toji's mind was telling him to keep his mouth shut.

He was nothing special to you, no matter how kindly you told him otherwise. He had nothing to offer you. He was an ally cat of a man to your show cat of a women. He was never going to be any more than the dog sitter. Why risk the best position he had ever been granted? Why put an end to this dream he had been living?

But Toji has never been the type to hold back.

"I don't think I can keep on like this."

He doesn't look at you, still too occupied by the pavement.

"What?" Barely a beat had passed before you try to bend and catch his eye but he lifts his face to the heavens.

At one point, money was all Toji cared for, he was willing to do anything for it, but now, he was feeling things he hadn't felt since he was a boy, maybe things he never had before.

"This..." He sighs and finally gives you a resolute look, "this is my job."

You're taken aback. Replaying the words a hundred times within a millisecond. Trying to see his meaning. The words hurt, yes, you knew you paid him. Of course none of his actions meant anything more than job security. But as much as you had told yourself to be realistic, his kind and selfless attitude had started to leak into your brain, making you feel special.

You step back, still not opening the door. Wanting now to see him leave. To solidify this moment. "Right. Yes, Toji, of course."

He's still looking at you, pupils blown wide but he doesn't hesitate. "I'm afraid you’re gonna have to find someone else." in stark contrast to before, he never strays from your vision. He shakes his head as if to say, 'no'.

"What?" You repeat. Suddenly afraid of his meaning you try to take a step down to meet him at the landing but he holds up a hand. "What do you mean?"

Had it been too much? The court case? The working together? Had it only been pleasant for you? All those nights chatting on the couch, all those sweet "goodnight's"?

He pulls back his hand, one quick inhalation of the night's air was all the courage he could summon and coincidentally, all he required, "I've got these feelings that aren't exactly appropriate for the workplace."

All to be heard are the whistles of wind on the trees.

"So I think it might be best-" He's shaking his head again, not believing a word, "for you to find someone...less...attached."

It makes him chuckle, as broken as this moment makes him feel. How long has it been since he has been attached, since he has felt like this at all. How silly.

"Toji...Toji what are you saying?"

"All of this" his makes a show of his hands, "all of you, who you are, how you behave, what you do for others. I never want to lose it. It's my job, but deep down...I know it's more than that." He keeps heaving in breath, making wild motions with his hand, begging you to understand, "I want to be there to take care of the dog, I want to stay and take care of you when work is too much, I want to go for walks and eat dinner together, I don't even want to be paid anymore-GOD I cannot believe I just said that-"

He's laughing but your mind is morphing back into the dreamlike notion you had been shoving away. No words escape your lips as you grab hold of his hand, "I thought...I thought you wouldn't think of me like that..."

Now he's looking at you like you've made some ridiculous joke.

"I thought you just... liked taking care of the dog..."

He guffaws. "I do..." he inhales shakily, "believe me. I do. But... I definitely like you more."

You don't even know when his hand went to graze over your cheek but suddenly, your face is feeling warm in spite of the chill.

"I-I just can't believe- I feel...Toji I was talking myself out of this just a moment ago."

His eyes go all soft, you wonder if you had ever missed this look of his, "Is it too good to be true if I guess you feel the same?" "Gosh, Toji, No! I-" You pull his hand from your cheek and use it to cover your eyes.

Not too long ago, you felt like floating, thinking the day could not possibly become greater in importance, but life has a funny way of proving us wrong.

--

For a moment there on the porch, you had thought that he might kiss you. Right there on your doorstep in the cold, with your dog rolling his eyes inside. But Toji didn't, in fact, he pulled himself back. Holding your hand, murmuring that he wanted to "do this right" as he played with your fingers.

And for the second time that day, you have the overwhelming desire to dance around your house. To spin and clutch your heart as impossible hope filled your senses. Only this time, as the door closes and you watch out the window, a hand clutched to your chest. You grant yourself the privilege.

A moment to yourself of pure delight.

Hidden from your view, Toji was experiencing a very similar sensation, palm displayed across his pounding heart, he settles his head against the steering wheel and wonders if this all is a dream.

〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰

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[jungwnies]

tamed - max verstappen (5/4 - epilogue)

୨ৎ : pairing : max verstappen x fem!reader ୨ৎ : synopsis : as whispers in the paddock shift from max verstappen's on-track antics to his unexpected romance with you

୨ৎ : genre : romance, angst, humor ୨ৎ : tws : media scrutiny, public attention, workplace romance, mentions of temper, light teasing ୨ৎ : wc : 1382

part one | part two | part three | part four | epilogue

fast forward a few months, and the paddock buzzed with a very different kind of speculation. the whispers about max’s fiery temper and on-track spats had been replaced with hushed chatter about the two of you. the sharp-edged world of formula 1 had softened ever so slightly, now crackling with curiosity about the driver who seemed to be transforming right before everyone’s eyes.

you and max had settled into this new dynamic with a surprising, almost natural ease. while there were still plenty of playful digs and sarcastic retorts, they were now wrapped in an undeniable intimacy—a bond forged through both the chaos of the paddock and the quiet moments that only the two of you shared.

the other drivers had taken notice too. daniel ricciardo, as mischievous as ever, would throw you exaggerated winks and nudge max with an elbow whenever you passed by. charles leclerc, ever the gentleman, always made sure you had the best seat in the hospitality suite, even if max tried to grumble about it. and even lando norris, the king of cheek, had toned down his teasing just enough to drop the occasional sincere compliment—though, true to form, it was usually followed with a grin and a sly, “don’t tell max.”

later that evening, after the paddock chaos had dwindled, max invited you to join him for a walk along the marina. the sun was dipping low on the horizon, painting the water in shades of gold and orange, and a soft breeze carried the scent of the sea. you thought nothing of it at first—max often liked to escape the buzz of formula 1 when he could. but as the two of you wandered past the quiet rows of yachts, his usual confidence seemed… off.

he kept stealing glances at you, his hands buried deep in his pockets, and his usual sharp wit was replaced with uncharacteristic silence. finally, you decided to break it.

“alright, verstappen,” you teased, nudging him lightly. “you’re being weird. what’s going on?”

max froze mid-step, his face instantly flushing a soft pink. “weird? i��m not being weird,” he said quickly, his voice jumping an octave. “you’re weird.”

you raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “really? that’s the best you’ve got?”

he groaned, muttering something in dutch under his breath before turning to you with a determined—albeit slightly panicked—look. “okay, fine. i… i need to say something.”

you tilted your head, fighting back a grin. “go on.”

max looked out at the water, as though hoping the answer to his internal struggle would magically appear in the waves. he then turned back to you, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “so, uh, you know how you… um… exist?”

you blinked, stifling a laugh. “how i exist?”

“yes! like, you’re here, and you’re… you, and i’m…” he gestured vaguely to himself, his face now beet red. “me. and, uh, that’s good. i mean, it’s great. you’re great.”

you bit your lip to stop yourself from laughing outright. “wow, max. that’s… really something. please, continue.”

he groaned again, raking a hand through his hair. “okay, look. what i’m trying to say is—ugh, why is this so hard?” he stopped walking and turned fully to face you, his hands now animated as he stumbled through his next words. “i like you, alright? not in a ‘you’re my pr manager and keep me from saying stupid stuff in interviews’ way. like, i actually like you. like, in a ‘let’s do non-work things together, and i’ll pay for dinner, and maybe we kiss at the end’ kind of way.”

you stared at him, your lips twitching as you tried not to burst into laughter. “non-work things, huh? very romantic.”

“i’m serious!” he blurted, his hands flying up. “i like you, and i want to take you out. on a date. like a real one. with food. and wine, if you’re into that. or beer. or water, whatever you want!”

by now, you couldn’t hold it in anymore. a laugh escaped you, and max’s face somehow turned even redder.

“stop laughing!” he said, though there was a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “i’m trying here!”

“i’m sorry,” you managed between giggles. “it’s just… max, that was the most chaotic confession i’ve ever heard.”

he sighed, shaking his head but laughing softly too. “yeah, well, you make me nervous, okay? are you happy now?”

your laughter faded, replaced by a warm, affectionate smile. “max, you don’t have to be nervous around me. and for the record…” you stepped closer, your voice softening. “i like you too.”

his eyes widened slightly, the nervous energy melting away as a slow, relieved smile spread across his face. “you do?”

you nodded, biting your lip to keep from grinning too wide. “i do. but i do have one condition.”

“name it,” he said immediately.

“you’re not allowed to say ‘non-work things’ on our date. ever again.”

max chuckled, finally relaxing as he reached out to take your hand. “deal. but for the record, you’re still weird.”

you rolled your eyes, squeezing his hand as the two of you began walking again. “yeah, yeah. says the guy who just admitted he’s terrified of asking someone out.”

“not terrified,” he corrected with a smirk. “just… bad at it.”

...

one afternoon in monaco, the two of you wandered through the paddock hand in hand, the sun warm on your skin. max glanced down at you, a rare softness in his eyes.

"you know," max said, squeezing your hand gently, "i never thought i'd enjoy having my personal life plastered all over the media."

you laughed, bumping his shoulder playfully. "well, you have me to thank for that. i'm a pr genius, after all."

he chuckled, pulling you closer. "that you are. but it's more than that, y/n. it's… easy with you. even with all the cameras and the gossip, it just feels… right."

you leaned into him, a warmth spreading through you that had nothing to do with the mediterranean sun. "it feels right with you too, max."

as you continued your stroll, you encountered a group of journalists, their cameras clicking and questions flying.

"max, y/n," one reporter called out, "how does it feel to be formula 1's newest power couple?"

max, with a mischievous glint in his eyes, pulled you closer and replied, "well, she hasn't crashed my car yet, so i'd say it's going pretty well."

you rolled your eyes, but you couldn't help but laugh. "very funny, max."

another reporter asked, "y/n, how do you handle max's temper?"

you smiled, glancing up at him with a playful smirk. "let's just say i have my ways of keeping him in line."

max feigned a look of indignation. "hey, i resent that!"

the reporters laughed, scribbling down notes and snapping photos. you and max, comfortable in the spotlight, played along, your banter a mix of genuine affection and playful teasing.

later that evening, as you sat on the balcony of your hotel room, overlooking the sparkling harbor, max turned to you with a soft smile.

"you know," he said, his voice low and sincere, "i never thought i'd find someone who could handle me, who could challenge me, who could make me laugh… and who could tolerate my terrible jokes."

you laughed, leaning your head against his shoulder. "well, you're lucky i have a soft spot for grumpy drivers with questionable humor."

he pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you in a warm embrace. "i'm the lucky one, y/n. i never thought i'd find someone like you."

you looked up at him, your heart overflowing with love and happiness. "and i never thought i'd fall for someone like you, max verstappen."

he leaned down and kissed you, a soft, lingering kiss that spoke volumes.

as you stood there, bathed in the golden light of the setting sun, you knew that this was more than just a fleeting romance. this was a love story built on mutual respect, playful banter, and a shared passion for life, both on and off the track. and as the formula 1 circus continued its whirlwind journey around the world, you and max would face it together, hand in hand, ready to take on whatever challenges came your way.

taglist: @residentdemonhunter , @nctislifue , @kqliie , @loveitwhenhelies , @edgyficuselastica , @chirasama , @widow-cevans , @comicalivy comment to be added

© 2024 jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate.

[sunsetsover]

the more this show goes on the more i just genuinely don't get how people hate kant, or at the very least have no empathy for him and his situation.

kant is a man literally built of sacrifice. in so many ways he sacrificed his own life for babe's. over and over and over again. his grief for babe's. his education for babe's. his happiness for babe's safety and security. his social life in order to stay at home taking care of babe. relationships with partners who didn't take any interest in babe, or didn't want the baggage of a man with a dependent. whatever dreams or aspirations he had for himself fell to the wayside, at least temporarily, in favour of supporting babe.

he sacrificed his own freedom every time he stepped out of their house to go and steal a car - something that he so clearly isn't proud of at all - just so babe can get the education he deserves. the fact that he wasn't caught doesn't matter, he went to altar every single time, willing to be caught and slaughtered like a lamb if it meant babe was good.

and then he was finally caught, and he sacrificed himself in brand new ways just so he could stay out of prison. never mind the fact that kant might not have even gone to prison if it was his first offence and he played the system right, and even if he did it wouldn't have been for long. but that wasn't a chance he could ever take, because who would look after babe if he was gone, even for a few months? who would pay for school and make sure he ate? and so he stayed willingly under christ's thumb for god only knows how many years, playing whatever new versions of big brother he had to be, ingratiating himself with drug dealers and thieves and whatever other kinds of dangerous people christ wanted him to, getting himself onto all these people's bad side knowing it would only take one to figure him out and turn on him and put him in hospital, or worse. but that was a sacrifice he willingly made the moment he pulled his grieving baby brother into his arms and said 'i'll take care of him'.

and here it is, the ultimate sacrifice: christ tells kant to jump into the lion's den, promising that if he makes it out alive, he can have his freedom back. and what choice does kant have? if he doesn't they'll be back to square one after he worked so fucking hard for his and babe's stability. and babe's old enough now that kant can start having a life again, and kant's business is doing well, and things are finally good for them, but now this. and if he doesn't do this it will have all been for nothing. so he does it. essentially puts his life up as collateral once again the moment he walks through the door of heart burger and tries to seduce an assassin, knowing it could be taken from him in an instant if he missteps.

except it doesn't go as he planned, because bison is beautiful and bison is bright, and he's sweet and he's dangerous and kant can't help but fall for him, no matter how he tries to dig his heels in and think about the end goal: his freedom, his brother's safety. he says as much to style - style says bison has you wrapped around his finger and kant says i know. that's why i'm trying to end things quickly. and in that moment bison becomes yet another sacrifice kant makes for babe. or at least he's trying so hard to make him one. because what kant wants, he cannot have. not when there's babe to think about.

but it's so unfair. and it's so sad. like yes we all know it's unfair for bison and it'll be such a betrayal, but what about kant? what about his heart in all of this? what about him giggling at his phone screen like a teenager texting bison, only for the grin to fall the moment he remembers who he is and what he must do? what about him acknowledging that he's working so hard to hold bison at arms length but he's failing and that's why he needs this over asap? what about him having to be on all the fucking time, spewing out lie after lie after lie, and what that does that him? what about him being so fucking scared every time a gun is shoved in his face that he's fucked up in a way he can't talk himself out of and that babe will be left all alone in the world?

what about kant having this beautiful boy in his bed, who's kissing him in places he's never been kissed before and telling him that he loves his fuck ups, and that he won't come over because doesn't want to be a bad influence on babe, and that him stealing cars was not only not a shameful thing, but an admirable thing to do for someone you love? this beautiful boy who notices his brother is hurting and follows him to defend him from the people that hurt him without question? this beautiful boy who has asked for nothing but the truth, the one thing kant can never give him? this beautiful boy that kant is falling for, and he knows he is, and he knows he can't, because that's not allowed, because bison isn't his, he doesn't get to keep him. he's just another sacrifice in a long line of sacrifices kant has made for love, and yet this one... this one has claws. this one will leave scars that he'll get to keep longer than he will ever get to keep bison.

kant has been living with an asterisk next to his name from the moment his parents died. from then on, at every opportunity kant sacrificed who he might've been for who babe still could be. he sacrificed kant the person for kant the big brother, and whatever that included. kant the protector. kant the provider. kant the thief, the scammer, the informant. kant the manipulator. never just kant, not anymore.

but then there's bison. beautiful, observant bison who always seems to be asking who are you whenever he looks at kant. and kant doesn't know what to tell him, he really doesn't, bc whatever mask he tries to put on, whatever facade he tries to hide behind, bison just sees right through him. and although kant does everything possible to avoid telling him anything, bison always seems to get his answers anyway, even when kant doesn't say a word. like bison is collecting every splintered version of kant and putting them together to make a whole person again. just kant. no asterisk.

and kant doesn't know what to do, because bison is beautiful and he's in his bed and he has kant wrapped around his finger despite his best efforts. and yet he knows it's only of time before he has to peel himself away and never look back. let bison sit in the prison cell that was always supposed to be kant's. and despite how he might try to convince himself otherwise, he knows the guilt will eat him alive. he knows he'll feel the place where he tore them apart just as acutely as bison will. he'll have to splinter apart into a thousand versions of himself all over again. kant with an asterisk. and he'll have no one to blame but himself.

and isn't that just so fucking unfair?

[idyllicwillowtree]

God Eddie, You're So In Love With Me. (part 2)

Genre: Eddie Munson x Henderson!reader, fem!reader, angst/fluff, hurt/eventual comfort, friends to lovers

Summary: Being in Hellfire, you’ve been exposed to your fair share of bullying. One day, Jason takes it a step too far.

Word count: 1.8k

Warnings: bullying, anaphylaxis, poisoning, no physical descriptions of Y/N so you don’t have to look like Dustin, reader uses she/her, reader has a peanut allergy, swearing, angy Eddie, hospital

Author’s note: Thank you so much for the positive comments on part 1! I was feeling insecure about this fic so that was very nice y'all are so sweet <3

Enjoy!

Main Masterlist

Part 1

Eddie looked to you, hoping to see you looking up at him and smiling that way you do whenever he uses his renaissance voice. Instead he met your panicked eyes.

“Hey Henderson,” Jason called from across the cafeteria. “What happens now? Should we call an ambulance?” Andy shoved at his shoulder playfully and chortled alongside Jason.

Panic gripped you as you connected the dots.

“Yeah,” you wheezed, “call an ambulance.” 

All the Hellfire members whipped their heads toward you, witnessing an angry rash spreading across your skin and your breathing becoming audible as you tried to suck in as much oxygen as possible.

Eddie’s heart clenched painfully as he looked down at you, remembering the severity of your allergy after Dustin explained it to him one time. Still, Eddie was taken aback by the speed at which your symptoms were progressing.

You reached a hand out to Eddie as the choked coughs took over. He ignored your hand in favor of catching your body before it hit the ground. With trembling limbs he carefully lowered you to the grimy tile of the cafeteria floor.

“Fuck,” Eddie cursed, “Dustin! What do we do?!”

Dustin had froze. Panic set in as he watched his older sister struggle more and more to take in a full breath. A small crowd began to gather and the excited chatter of the cafeteria simmered into hushed whispers and gasps. Everyone was watching, and not in the way Eddie was used to.

“Henderson!” Eddie snapped. 

At that, Dustin went to work. “Mike, go call 911! Lucus, see if the nurse has an epipen. GO!” The sheep dispersed. Dustin picked up your bag with trembling hands and began digging through your books and school supplies, searching for the epinephrine injector he swears you kept in there.

Eddie turned his attention back to you, trusting that Dustin had the rest handled. At the look of panic in your blotchy and swollen face he almost froze too. A chilling dread spread through his veins as you began clawing at your throat, doing everything you could to open your airways. 

“Hey, hey, hey, look at me princess. You’re gonna be alright, gonna be just fine, you hear me? D-Dustin will getchu your meds and you’ll be good to go,” Eddie rambled, trying to convince himself just as much. He gently cradled your warm face and stroked your hair to try and soothe you.

With every second passing you became closer and closer to death. Eddie looked up in desperation. His red-headed neighbor (Max, he thinks her name is) snatched the backpack out of a distraught Dustin’s hands and turned it upside down, emptying its contents. Robin was there too and put a comforting arm around your brother while Max took over the search for the injector. Eddie was vaguely aware of a teacher trying to pry him off of you but he’d risk getting expelled for shoving a teacher if it meant staying by your side. 

“Got it!” Max exclaimed, holding the orange and clear tube triumphantly. She slid to her knees on your otherside, not hesitating to jam the needle into your leg and holding it there.

Eddie flinched at the force it took to inject you. You took your first full breath, allowing him to take one as well. Your eyes were drooping slightly as the medicine was introduced into your system.

“Hey, there she is,” Eddie said gently.

Your tired eyes met his and he could’ve sworn the corners of your lips twitched upwards.

The paramedics arrived and Eddie hesitantly let you go so they could treat you. It was a blur of navy blue and red as they hooked you up to numerous tubes and slid an oxygen mask over your head. 

You became slightly more alert at the sight of strangers surrounding you as the stretcher clicked into place, raising you a couple feet off the ground. You moved your head tiredly trying to catch sight of anyone you knew. Anyone to comfort you.

“Dustin, go with her,” Eddie told the curly haired boy. He looked up at him with wet eyes that clenched at Eddie’s heart. “She needs you, go on.”

Eddie watched the determination emerge on the freshman’s face as he walked through the paramedics declaring that he was your brother, allowing him to be by your side. 

Swallowing thickly past the dryness in his mouth, Eddie watched you get rolled out on the stretcher. 

He turned numbly to see that Lucas and Mike had returned and started digging through your lunch, in an attempt to find out what it was that could’ve caused your reaction. As the two predictably began to bicker, Eddie grabbed the cup of applesauce and slowly brought the spoon out. To his horror, he scooped out a few small round nuts mixed with the smooth texture of the applesauce. 

His darkened eyes snapped up, immediately finding Jason. He at least had the decency to look scared, his skin white as a sheet. True terror shining through as he came to realize the severity of what he did. He shook his head slightly, pleading with Eddie. For what, he wasn’t sure. But he could give a shit.

The grip on the applesauce tightened, causing it to tremble, before he launched it in Jason's general direction. A fire of rage lit up Eddie's entire being, consuming any reason or restraint within him.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?! You could’ve killed her!!” Eddie roared, the words ripping from his throat like a thunderclap.  Every fiber in his being screamed for justice, determined to ensure that no harm would ever come to you again. 

“I-I-I didn’t think…I didn’t mean to-” Jason blubbered.

“Not good enough!” Eddie snapped. He charged forward, driven by the need to avenge your pain. Just when he was closing the distance between them a thick arm wrapped around his upper body. “LET ME GO!”

Eddie struggled against the firm grip that held him back from doing to Jason what he should've done a long time ago. If Eddie was strong enough, he could've saved you, stopped all of this bullying in its tracks before Jason had ever even looked in your direction. His strength never came from muscles or brute force, but from his anger—the primal need to protect those he loved. He was so consumed by his rage that a red haze blurred his vision. Or were those his tears?

“Eddie, man, don’t do this,” Doug said, doing his best to calm his friend.

“Please,” Eddie pleaded, losing some of his fight. “Just let me go.” 

“Dude, if you get into a fight you won’t be able to see Y/N in the hospital,” the bassist whispered in Eddie’s ear. He looked over and saw Principle Coleman closing in on them, there wasn’t much time left. “We can handle it, just go while you can.”

A wave of overwhelming frustration washed over Eddie as the struggle against Doug’s hold diminished. Tears welled up in his eyes as his chest released his rage and tightened back up with helplessness and despair.

He didn’t let it consume him though, taking off in the opposite direction of the principle, his sheep following close behind.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When the van ripped into the hospital parking lot, Eddie finally took notice of how many stowaways he had. Lucas, Mike, Max, Robin, and even Nancy all burst through the double doors at the back of his skunky smelling van and made their way to the emergency room entrance.

Eddie was the first one through the doors, eyes scanning the waiting area for his curly haired friend. What he wasn’t expecting to see was the one and only King Steve sitting with the boy. 

Steve noticed them first, taking the lead on letting them know what’s going on. He explained that you’d be fine but the doctors are running some tests and getting you hooked up to the necessary machines. It’ll be a little longer before Eddie gets to see you with his own eyes.

Eddie turned on his heel and walked through the doors he just came through as Steve explained that your mom was called but was on a trip with her girlfriends and won’t be able to make it back until tomorrow.

The disinfected smell of the hospital only offered to heighten Eddie’s desire for a cigarette. He finds solace in the only coping mechanism he has under his belt, even if he knew it was bad for him in the long run. The stress of the day weighed heavily on him as he leaned on the brick wall of the hospital outside. The familiar routine of lighting up offered a good distraction, the only way to momentarily ease his anxiety.

That was until your brother found him. He silently stood next to him, not feeling the need to fill the silence with anything but the gentle breeze and the birds chirping in the distance. But it made Eddie feel uneasy.

“I’d offer you a smoke, but I don’t want to corrupt you more than I already have,” Eddie said with a sad laugh.

Ignoring Eddie’s comment, Dustin asked, “you remember that one time when Hellfire came over to my house for a session? When the theater kids needed the drama room at school?”

Eddie nodded his head slowly, releasing the smoke from his lungs as he did so.

“I was still in middle school so I had only heard about you from Y/N. She had this weird way of speaking about you. It was in a way I had never heard her speak about anyone before.”

Eddie’s heart punched against his ribs painfully, his insecurities taking over.

“She was nice enough to let me watch your campaign so I could get ideas for the campaign I was doing with Mike and Lucas, and our other friend Will. I think she regretted it because of the Reese's Pieces incident.”

Eddie couldn’t help but start chuckling embarrassingly at the memory. “God, that was so stupid,” he smacked his forehead in an attempt to stop his mind from reliving one of the most embarrassing moments of his life. 

-

The Hellfire members flooded into your home, bringing chips, candy, and drinks to share. Your first time hosting the club was going great, until Dustin noticed the bag of Reese’s Pieces in Eddie’s hand.

“My sister is too nice to say anything but-” Dustin started.

“Stop, Dustin-”

“-we can’t have those in the house.”

Eddie’s eyebrows pinched beneath his bangs, “what? Why not?”

“She’s allergic to peanuts.”

Before you could roll your eyes at your little brother and reassure him it was fine, Eddie turned and chucked the bag out your kitchen’s open window leaving you standing there in shock and Eddie horrified by his own impulse.

-

“I think that’s when she fell in love with you.”

Eddie’s head whipped over to Dustin. The kid had the audacity to look smug after completely shattering his world view. His mind spun with the revelation.

Love, a word so potent, was now intertwined with his thoughts of your relationship. Eddie knew he liked you, a lot, but his brain never brought him to love. He replayed moments from your friendship in his head, searching for the signs, trying to decipher if Dustin was telling the truth. If the sentiment was truly real. A mix of surprise and uncertainty overwhelmed him, but there was also something warm and hopeful there. It was both exhilarating and terrifying.

He needed to see you and hear it from you directly. A million thoughts and memories raced through his mind, but one thing was clear–he needed to be with you, to tell you how he felt.

part 3

tags: @beeblisss @fishwithtitz @leah-loves-lilies

[totheseus]

SIMULATION SWARM

A brief Tim oneshot, mostly fluff. He didn't fancy himself such a greedy man. Despite this, he couldn't help but find himself stuck onto a familiar face at the coffee shop just a few moments too long.

The rough callous of his palm pressed flat against the stinging cold metal of the café door, pushing his way in. He breathed out a small puff of a sigh as he was met with the warmth, a calming relief from the winter. It seemed that no matter how many times Tim reminded himself that he didn't need a coat, he always did. As if life taunted him, the shuddering in his ribcage a joke from the world. 

It wouldn't have been the worst joke from the higher power, actually. To be frank, Tim's whole life had been nothing short of a shitshow from start to present. Whilst the other kids ran to the playground to play family and plotted to dig tunnels under the school fence gates that never did amount to anything, Tim's childhood was a blur of being milled about in cars, the hazy but drilling beeping of the hospital wards, the crunching of the forest floor beneath his feet. Pills, pills, pills. Have you taken your meds today? Why were you in the woods? You shouldn't say things like that, we'll have to pass it onto the higher-ups. Your parents will hear about this. Welcome to the newest ward! Pills, pills, pills- 

Tim often wished he could play family now. 

High school was his first taste of normalcy. He'd reached a homeostasis between sanity and his muted delusions, deemed fit enough to mix in with the rest. Sure, he arguably had a shittier time than more of the students he cared to admit, but quite frankly he didn't care about anything. Just a small dream, of a cosy life and a warm touch like he never felt before. He'd found himself a small group of friends, milling about to whatever club they fancied of him. It got easier over time, his act of mundanity. People believed it. 

You wouldn't believe the feeling, of others repeating back to you the narrative that you're normal, that there's nothing wrong with you after having been deprived of it for your existence from birth. 

Things were getting better. And then, Alex. Brian. Jay. 

The brunette seemed to flinch, as if slapped by his own subconscious for even sparing a thought for his... former associates, like an owner berating a dog for chewing up the shoes. He similarly seemed to shrink into himself, tail between his legs as he shuffled through the café floor. 

Fuck, it was so loud. He could recall the few jobs he'd managed to hold during that sweet spot in his life. A lot of noise, yelling, hot drinks spilt over his skin. At the very least, it had given him some sympathy for the poor workers bustling about at the counter. 

And then, there was you. The closest grasp he'd come to with balance. Things seemed to be falling into place - he'd secured a job, secured himself a little apartment. It wasn't the peak of life, but fuck would he take it. Normalcy, the one thing he'd craved for so long and it was finally so close he could taste it. And you seemed to be a gateway for it all, the vehicle to deliver him to the regular life he'd dreamed of. 

You weren't anything special, really. But that's what he wanted, what he craved. You had hobbies and interests, a select few you were passionate about. You studied in university and worked part-time to hopefully pay off some debt. You liked coffee and still scrunched your nose at the taste of alcohol despite friends egging you on. 

And you knew. You knew how it was, to be like him. 

After his chestnut eyes did a quick once-over, Tim shuffled into queue amongst the other coffee-hungry people. The sleep-deprived students had cleared out by now, leaving only people looking to wind down their evening with something hot. His hands twitched within his pockets, his restlessness making itself known despite the exhaustion that racked through his bones. Until, finally, he dragged himself forward to see your familiar face. 

You looked better than the last time he'd seen you, the black bags under your eyes having lessened a little. It wasn't that he worried for your health, more so that- 

"Hiya, what can I get for you?" Your friendly voice cut through his thoughts like a hot knife through butter. It must've melted some parts along the way too, because he found himself suddenly dumb-struck, lips parted as he struggled to formulate his order. 

"...Uh- uh, my- t-the usual," He finally stammered out, awkwardly clearing his throat afterwards as if it would drive away the flush of embarrassment that crept to his face. It did not. 

Not that you cared, as you began to mill about. Of course you didn't. 

His hands emerged from his pockets, a crumpled 5-dollar bill in one whilst the other toyed with the zipper of his jacket idly. He blurted out before his brain had time to catch up, a sudden show of boldness. 

"...U-Uh- h-how was your day?" He coughed out. Very brave. 

"Ah, pretty good! A little busier than usual, with the winter season and all," You called back over your shoulder with a warm chuckle, "Everyone's looking to warm up." 

Tim nodded. Did he nod too hard? "Y-yeah, noticed." Fuck, why'd he say that? What was he supposed to say now- 

"Got any plans over the break? Any parties?" You had tilted your head back, warm gaze meeting his with an aura of politeness about this. 

His brain scrambled in response. He, of course, did not have any plans, let alone parties. He practically had to bite his tongue from muttering to himself "people still go to parties...?" as he paused before grumbling out. "...Uh... yeah, jus'... family and things." 

Of course, he didn't want to seem like a total loser. He was, but you didn't have to know that. 

"Great to hear. I'm just looking to wind down for a bit, maybe get some studying done." Your responses were so smooth, as if you hadn't even stumbled twice over the thought. He found himself a tad envious. Just a tad. 

There was a brief brushing of skin as he shoved the creased bill and received his drink. An americano, no milk no sugar. The bitter taste on his tongue was a comfort in its crassness, like the hot cigarette smoke filtering into his lungs like an embrace from the inside. He muttered out a quick thanks as someone quickly brushed him aside to take his place, beginning to order something that sounded elaborate. He hesitated; legs stuck in place like cement as his eyes lingered on you. He knew he was about as wanted as the stench of a drug, clinging to the wool of a teenager's sweater before they staggered home, yet he couldn't help but indulge himself a little. 

You looked at him in such a way. As if you didn't want him gone like the miasma of death. Like he wasn't an infection biting at your skin. Like there was something more to life than a hollow existence that he wallowed in, and you wouldn't mind helping him out. 

That was... a little excessive, he knew. His mind slapped himself briefly, scolding him for getting caught up in his thoughts once more. But, he couldn't help but indulge just a tad. 

Maybe, sometime soon. For now, he thought he'd just enjoy his coffee. 

[thotthumb]

Robert Chase x Older! Man/Reader Brainrot

ADULT CONTENT UNDER THE CUT. DO NOT READ IF UNDER THE AGE OF 18

This was made with transmascs and men in mind! Please know that the reader has a dick or strap in this one!

Content Warnings: Chase is giving head to an older guy, power imbalance due to the positions held, office blowjob, under the desk blowjob, somebody walks in at the end, sex in front of somebody else but they don’t explicitly know

Word Count: 628

Authors Note: I’m just posting some brainrot that I’ve been sitting on. Should I try to make a part 2 of this one or just leave it?

“Four years of college, four at med-school, two years residency, another four years of sub-specialty training, and where do I end up?” “Between my legs with my cock down your throat, now stop talking and put this back in your mouth, Dr. Chase.”

How the fuck did he get himself in this predicament? He had a old ass but very attractive man fisting his hair in one hand and with their other hand pressing his fingers into the sides of his jaw to keep his mouth open wide. His throat had been bullied by what he’d personally call an oversized cock for what felt like hours but he knows it hasn’t. There was a clock on the shelf behind the desk he was currently hidden under that he could read. Yes, he’s under the desk of the Administrative Assistant, in his office at the hospital that they both work at.

He knows he shouldn’t be doing this, he knows he shouldn’t be giving head to his technical boss and especially not at his place of work! But there’s something about an older man just using his mouth to get off that seemingly fixes something (somebody get this man a therapy session and a dilf).

“Come on, put it in your mouth and make me feel good.” He urged, leaving Chase to grind against the older man’s outstretched leg with a slight shudder before finally taking the throbbing dick back into his mouth. He reached a hand down to the tight tent in his pants, borderline humping his hand in an attempt to relieve some of his need for friction. “There you go,” he grunted before a guttural groan slipped past, causing the older man to look towards the door to his office. He couldn’t tell if it was locked but he didn’t have any meetings scheduled so there shouldn’t be any interruptions. He wasn’t going to pull the young man off his length anyways.

“You can go farther than that, take it all,” Chase looked up to him through his lashes, asking if he had to because the amount he had taken was already a lot. “Don’t give me that look, you’ve taken all of it in every hole you have. You can do it again, brat,” He looked down at him with his lids half closed and a type of lust written on his entire face. Chase moaned lightly (to the best of his ability given his mouth being full) at his words. How can a professional speak that vulgarly?

His boss felt that he was taking too long to comply so he lifted up his hips, thrusting deep into his mouth and causing the poor man to gag, choking at the sudden intrusion. His hands immediately shot up to grip at his thighs, his lashes now clumped together with tears. He was trying so hard to even out his breathing and relax his throat, his nails digging into the flesh and leaving little crescent moons in the skin. He clenched his eyes shut for a moment only to open them widely when he heard the door to the office open.

His boss scooted forward in the chair, pushing Chase back further under the desk but also pinning him so he couldn’t take his cock out of his mouth. He grunted and the feeling of having his dick so far down his throat that he could feel Chase’s nose pressing against his stomach slightly. Chase could really only hope that this would be a short conversation otherwise with how sensitive the Administrative Assistant is currently he might end up just blowing down his throat. Especially with how he’s still rocking his hips in and out of Chase’s mouth while talking to.? Who came in again? “House? What are you doing here?”

Oh shit.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

“Have you ever had a Harveston apple before? They’re some mighty fine eatin’. Um I mean they’re pretty good. My meemaw just sent me a whole crate and I can’t finish it all myself so I’m passing them out. Want one? I heard from Ace you like apples.” - 🍎

So tell me, do you wanna go?

The boy held out an apple. He was smallish and delicate looking, with lilac locks and long lashes framing big, sparkling blue eyes. The collar of his uniform was gathered lace crowned with a necktie done up as a ribbon.

If Fellow didn’t know any better, he would have easily mistaken the boy for a living doll. He thought the idea laughable—a bitter reminder of his last gig.

Whoever he was, he was no nobleman’s son. No, he had opened with an accent Fellow recognized from somewhere rural and humble. Here was a common man, squished into a suit and thrown to the wolves to fend for himself. His eyes were not mistaken.

“Don’t mind if I do! Thanks for the grub, kid.”

Fellow accepted the apple with a broad grin. He could see his reflection in its shiny red exterior, even before he polished the fruit on his jacket.

Crunch.

His teeth cut into the apple, slicing its skin and revealing the crisp white flesh underneath. Sweet juice--sweeter than he'd ever tasted, almost candy-like--burst spilled his tongue. He hummed in satisfaction.

“Whoa, you weren’t pullin’ my leg. This stuff’s premium!” He hungrily eyed the crate of unclaimed apples in the boy's arms.

“Heheh. Harveston’s real proud of its produce." The first year glanced down, patting the top of his crate. "I should hand the rest of these out now."

"Hold on a second!" Fellow blocked his path--sights still set on the apples. It would be nice to bring some back for Giddie.

"Yes? What is it?"

"Why the rush? We've barely gotten to know each other! What's your name, champ?"

"It's, er... Epel."

"Epel!" He slipped a hand on the boy's shoulder. "And you're from Harveston, you say? I've been there myself during my worldly travels! Nice folks you got there. So warm, so hospitable!!"

(Fellow neglected to mention that the story started with he and Gidel sneaking onto someone's farm and liberating them of a chunk of their crops. It had been a particularly bad day and the vegetables had just been lying out there. A recipe of convenience, a risk worth taking.

They had been caught red-handed, been accosted by a flurry of frying pans and angry locals. It had taken plenty of groveling and sniveling to sort things out. When the locals' rage had simmered down, he and Gidel had been invited in to stay a while, given that they promised not to steal anymore. Some food and a bed, and they were all set for that night.)

Epel bristled, pulling away from Fellow. "Ah, no ya don't! Ace warned me that you're sneaky and to not fall for anything you'd try to pull."

He faltered. “What else has he said about me?! Fellow Honest-sama's got a reputation to keep."

It's going to be harder to scam these students if word about me gets around.

"Uh... Well..." Epel hesitated. "That you were kinda pathetic?"

"PATHETIC?! I'm not pathetic!!" Disbelief rattled Fellow's voice. He gritted his teeth, fingers digging into his half-finished apple.

Y-You're being pretty pathetic right now though...? Epel stayed tight-lipped for his own good.

Fellow released the Pomefiore student and stomped off, waving his cane in the air as if spearing an invisible man with it. Spit flew out as he cursed the boy with the heart over one eye.

"Why, that smarmy little...! MARK MY WORDS!! The next time I see that guy, he'll get what's comin' to him!!" Fellow swore loudly.

Epel awkwardly stared after him. "Wh-What just happened?"

[lethalchiralium]

White Carnations | Simon “Ghost” Riley x Wife!Reader

a/n: HNNNGGG THE BRAINROT IS BACK ITS REAL. (thanks to @as-is-above-so-below for help with this and to @halfmoth-halfman for the lovely missus art they made 🥹)

warnings: mentions of doctor’s offices, hospitals. mentions of intense grieving, mentions of miscarriage and pregnancy.

summary: Two more days until Simon has to leave his home, and he wants to spend as much time as he can with his oldest daughter.

PREVIOUS << | >> NEXT | SERIES MASTERLIST

Rain in England is normal.

To Simon, it makes him feel safe. The rain means calm, the rain means cover, the rain means his daughter sleeps through the night. He doesn’t ever go outside when it’s raining and he’s home, he’s usually inside with a squirrely Winnie, wanting to play and have fun - but today was different.

The forecast said a chance of rain, it had rained for a few days straight - the sun was shining when he walked out of the house, Winnie holding his hand, chirping about her pretty blue dress. She wanted to wear her ladybug rain boots, and Simon could never say no to her. They walked to the tram, he picked her up so she didn’t run off as they waited.

It was warming up, Winnie begged and begged to wear her dress and her boots, and now she was happy. She watched as little bugs flew around while her father gazed at her little face, brushing away a curl that failed to remain in her ponytail. She didn’t even notice, it was an infinitely small detail in her grand scheme of her little world, but it was important to Simon that she could see everything his world had to offer - so he pushed the strand behind her ear. He would never shy her away from telling her the truth about what really happens, but he wanted to keep her like this - wide eyed with a toothy smile that only admired the beauty in his ugly world.

Two days. He had two days until he tucks his five year old into bed, kisses her good night, and leaves her for the hundredth time. Two days until he puts down his almost one year old, kisses her little head, and leaves her for the first time. People needed saving, the world needs people to shove their hands into the bloodbath of war to wash the rest of humanity of their sins. He has to put on the mask his oldest never feared but his youngest will, he has to pick up the rifle that has killed men with daughters like his own. He may pretend the blood doesn’t stain, but it leaves burns underneath his skin when he checks their wallets; when he sees a picture all too similar to one he’s taken of his own children.

The tram slowed to a stop, it was packed full of people, just like it always was. He stepped on, Winnie settled her head on his shoulder as he found a place to stand - against the window, watching everyone on the train and making sure he had enough space between himself and the three people around him. There has never been such a thing as being too careful.

Winnie’s leg was digging the pack of cigarettes in his pocket into his side, a habit he’s been trying to quit since Winnie was born. He was close to finally being done with it, but sometimes he needed to clear his head - even with all of the anxiety settling into his stomach, he wouldn’t dare light one once he stepped off the tram. His daughter’s health was much more important than a stupid Marlboro.

“Dad,” She murmured, he moved his head a little to hear her better.

“What’s up, duckling?”

“Can we get Mummy something?”

He settled his cheek against her head, a small chuckle leaving his lips. “What would we get her?”

His daughter shrugged a little. “Pretty flowers.”

“Pretty flowers.” He echoed, a smirk tugged at his lips underneath his medical face mask. “We can get Mum pretty flowers once we’re done with the doctors and with our ice cream, okay?”

She nodded, he patted her back. No matter how old she gets, he hoped she would still let him hold her - even when she’s got little ones of her own, she’s always going to be that little baby he stood by the window with, watching the rain and letting her be soothed by the sound of it. She will always be that little pink baby in the NICU, when her cries finally silenced as soon as her father held her. She will always be the girl Simon Riley had changed his life for.

“Pink flowers an’ red flowers an’ blue ones too, Dad.” Winnie whispered, her fingers curled around the collar of his leather jacket. He nodded, moving his head from hers as the tram alerted to their stop. He moved forwards a little, free hand held onto the rail next to the door as the tram began to slow down. “Are you getting strawberry ice cream?”

“Yes, baby.” He chuckled a little, stepping out of the tram as soon as the doors opened. People rushed past and into the crowded transportation, he didn’t have much care about it. All he was focused on was his daughter and potential threats to her safety. He held her a little closer as he crossed the street when every other person did, he was speed walking to make it to the hospital. Maybe he was a little late, it didn’t matter to him but it did to you. I’m trying to keep her healthy, you said. Get my baby to her appointment.

Winnie didn’t speak much when he entered the hospital, even when they were alone in the elevator. He was half convinced she had fallen asleep, but he dismissed it when she raised her head at the reception desk.

The lady behind the desk was one he’d seen before. She was always nice, she looked young. Isn’t a threat. Shut up. “How can I help you?”

“Winter Riley, appointment at 10 with Dr. Hughes.” Simon spoke with a calm tone, much quieter than his normal voice. Winnie buried her little face into his neck again as the receptionist typed away on her computer.

She cleared her throat before speaking again. “She’ll be right out if you want to take a seat.”

Two exits. Stop.

“Dad.”

Before he knew it, he was sitting on an exam room guest chair, Winnie still curled up in his hold. He had tried to get her to sit on the exam table, but he understood why she didn’t want to. Simon couldn’t sit up there with her, so Winnie decided that being poked and prodded while cuddled in her father’s everlasting safety was much better than a cold padded table.

“Yeah, Win?”

“I want you to stay.”

Simon’s been stabbed before, shot, waterboarded, burned - but nothing had ever felt so painful as his daughter wanting him to stay home. He looked down at her head, her hands still clinging to him. She picked at the metal zipper teeth, head down like she was avoiding his gaze. He kissed her head and patted her leg with his hand.

“Just one more trip, lovie.”

“You say that every time.”

A hot knife slammed into his chest, the cold blood that thrummed through his heart as it began to sizzle, causing him pain. His entire chest filled with agonizing pain like the knife had stabbed him repeatedly. All he could do was force a smile, push her stubborn curl away from her face, and softly speak to her,

“I know.”

Simon went through the motions of pretending to be a human being. Speaking with the doctor, listening to her advice and her notes. He held his five year old as she got two immunization shots, let her scream and cry into his neck as he spoke to her in a soothing tone. She made him kiss her bandaid before the doctor put it on, listening to her as she babbles on about it being good luck. He memorizes his daughter’s face as she talks and talks, memorizes how heavy she is as he carries her out of the office, out of the hospital, and to the ice cream shop. Simon memorizes how little his daughter’s hand is as she stands on her toes, reading the ice cream flavors out loud so he can know what they are too.

He snapped back into his headspace like a freshly broken rubber band as he put down five quid on the counter, he took his bowl of strawberry ice cream as Winnie took her cotton candy swirl with both of her hands. He opened the door for her, the little girl stepped out onto the street and looked up to him, waiting for him to tell her where to go. Simon looked around before nodding his head to a bench only a few feet away. She instantly scampered away, jumping up to sit on it as Simon sat down beside her. Winnie instantly dug into her ice cream, completely unbothered by the cold breeze that breathed through the city streets.

He was quick when he took the picture of Winnie, knowing she doesn’t like to have her picture taken. He sent it to you, then slipped his phone back into his pocket before he softly spoke, “I’ll be home soon this time, I promise.”

Winnie paused in her eating, eyes not moving from her paper bowl and spoon. “I know.”

“Dad has to go away to work, duckling, you know that.” The pain in his chest hadn’t subsided yet, he hoped trying to get her to understand would help ease his mind. “Dad has to go be a hero.”

“I don’t want you to be a hero.” She murmured, sticking her spoon in her ice cream before scooping out a large portion of it. “I want you to be home with me and Mummy and Melsie.”

“Baby, you know Daddy loves you, yeah?”

She nodded.

His cup of ice cream settled in his lap as he gently pet his daughter’s head, she didn’t dare move. “And I’d do anything in the world for you. You know that too, right?”

“Mama tells me that.” She sniffled a little before shoving the spoon of ice cream in her mouth.

“Whatever Mum says, it’s true. But duckling, Daddy has to go. Do you know why?”

The girl shook her head as she pulled the spoon from her mouth, shoving it back into her ice cream.

“Because there are many little kids like you who don’t have a Mummy or Daddy to care for them. And big scary men make the world not safe, which means those kids aren’t safe either. That’s why I go.” He fixed her ponytail, one of her hands swatted his away. “The faster I get rid of the bad guys means the faster the world is safe, which means you’re safe. And when you’re safe, Daddy gets to come home. Does that make sense?”

Winnie shrugged, he grabbed his own ice cream.

“I promise that I’m gonna be gone on trips less, I’ll be home for a long time in a few months.”

“Why?”

After taking a bite of the ice cream flavor he hated, he responded. “Aunt Kate said so. I have a question for you, duck.”

She nodded, finally looking up to Simon, which made his cold heart full of sizzling pain suddenly become calm. There would never be a day where he wouldn’t love his daughter.

“How do you feel if Mum has another baby?”

The girl looked away, digging back into her ice cream. “I dunno.”

His shoulders slumped a little, worry settled deep into his bones like a curse. “Would you be…happy? Sad? Angry?”

She shrugged, spoon stirring the melting delicacy. “Happy, I guess.”

“You guess?”

His daughter looked up to him, a sad look on her face that hurt Simon deeper than he’s even known. “I don’t want Mummy to be sad again.”

Nevermind. That’s worse. Oh god, that’s worse.

Simon’s lips were pulled into a tight line as he took his daughter’s ice cream, setting both his and her cups beside him on the bench before he picked up Winnie. He placed her on his lap so he can look at her face, his hands then held her little ones, squeezing them gently.

“That’s true, little love. We were very sad for a bit, you remember, right?”

The little girl with dark hazel eyes looked up at her father with a hopeful look.

“Does Mummy have a baby in her belly?”

Simon Riley’s chest tightened, but his hands did not. He gently brushed his thumbs on the backs of his daughter’s hands.

“…She might. We’re not sure yet. Mummy needs to go to the doctors, just like you did today.”

“A different baby?”

He nodded. “Right. S’not the same baby as before.”

“Will this one go away too?”

“Plea-Please, please…” Sobs wrecked your body as Simon held you to his chest, you fought him. You fought his comfort, you fought his love because how could you do this? How could you break his heart?

“Baby, it’s okay,” He spoke into your ear, your nails dug crescents into his scarred skin. “It was just a bad dream, you’re okay.”

“I want my baby.” Those were the words you spoke almost every night for days and Simon never understood how those four words could keep shattering his heart. You kept dreaming of your son, your beautiful son who loved to play in the water, who loved to run and squeal and play fire truck with his sisters. The boy that you’ve wanted all your life, now that you have the two daughters you’ve dreamed of when you were little. You were in mental and emotional agony, Simon could feel it. And God, did he wish that pain could be given to him. He would do anything to make your pain subside, to take it away; but he knew he couldn’t. So he has laid beside you, for days on end, holding you and putting pressure on where it hurt like it was an oozing wound. His forehead in your shoulder, holding where his son used to be. He imagined pressing a dressing to a wound, trying to take himself out of the equation to neutralize the pain of it all. He was sure that son of his left a gaping wound in your chest and Simon had to choose which wound was worse - where his son was warm and loved oozed like a deep gash from a knife, or where his wife’s grief was gushing blood from a gunshot wound she didn’t even inflict.

You squeezed his hand, sobbing so hard you could barely breathe.

Simon watched as your tears fill the ocean that was drowning him. He can fix anything, he has fixed many problems in his life and he was begging somebody, anybody, to allow him to fix you. But he can’t; he hated that he couldn’t place a kiss to your cheek and have everything become right - that’s not how any of this works.

He pressed his lips to your shoulder blade as you stilled, his arms hot from the nightly hours he spent under the covers with you, his stomach curled with hunger. Your cries had stopped, your young and bashful heart causing you more pain as it flickered with life every second. The hand that had sat on your heart since he got back into bed after putting his daughters to sleep moved, ever so slowly, towards your cheek - resting on your hairline before gently moving, petting your head ever so carefully.

You bobbed in the ocean with him, breaching the waves and taking in greedy breaths of oxygen before being pulled under again. His hands always so desperate to hold onto you, to help you, could only reach so far before he had to take a breath of his own to dive deep, deeper, and to the deepest point of his core. He would force your head above water, even if it meant he would drown. He’s always been sure you could be better off without him.

Simon spent six days taking care of his grief-stricken wife, navigating the sea of mourning, trying to pull your head above the inky waves. With every crest of the waves of tears in his body, his strength would dwindle. But with every slow descent of Simon, came the rising phoenix that was you.

“I don’t know, love.” Simon bit his tongue for only a moment, just to rid his mind of the dark ocean he found his soul in for a moment.

He shouldn’t have to explain this to his child, he should be explaining about which room will change into her big girl room so he can switch the kids around. He should be talking with his daughter about how he is going to stay home after these next few missions. Explain that she will lose a little sleep too. But he isn’t. He’s sat on an old bench in front of an ice cream shop, eating his least favorite flavor of ice cream to please his daughter, and having to tell her that not every baby dies. He has to explain that her beautiful mother won’t have to be sad again.

“Sometimes that happens. Babies go away and there isn’t anything we can do about it.”

“Do we get to keep this one?”

He smiled at his daughter, even when he didn’t have the answer. Even when he felt a drop of rain on his head, reminding him how close he was to going beneath the waves in his mind. “I hope so. Do you want to keep this one?”

She nodded. “Yeah.”

“Do you want a brother or sister?” He whispered, his hand grabbed her ice cream and settled it on her lap. Her hands instantly grabbed it, holding the small cup and spoon before whispering back.

“I want a brother like before.”

“Okay.” He nodded at his daughter before taking his ice cream cup back in his own hands. “Will you like the baby if it’s a girl?”

“Yeah. I just want a brother.” She shrugged, now more interested in her ice cream. He leaned forwards, placing a kiss on the top of her head.

“Well, the baby decides that, okay? They’ll tell us when Mum gets a bit bigger.”

Winnie nodded again, before looking up at her dad again. “I love you, Daddy.”

His heart swelled, his smile didn’t falter as he spoke, “I love you too, my darling girl.” He set his most hated ice cream flavor down on the bench before picking Winnie up, placing her on her feet on the ground. “You ready to go home?”

He tossed two half empty cups into the trash next to the bench, making sure it made it into the food waste slot. He picked up his darling girl in her raincoat and rain boots, then made his way towards the tram as specks of rain dotted his head.

He watched the rain as it splattered against the tram windows, he helped his daughter into her blue raincoat he had kept in his own jacket, he huddled with the crowd of people under the station shelter when he had to change trams. Winnie hummed to herself, little fingers curled around the collar of his jacket.

“Daddy.”

He kissed her head. “Yes, my love?”

“Are we still getting flowers for Mummy?”

He sighed a little, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet before he muttered, “We can’t be in the rain for too long, you will get sick. I don’t think we should go today.”

The girl in his arms practically deflated. “But… But her flowers, Daddy… I want to get her flowers…”

“Flowers aren’t as important as you, my darling girl.” His large hand patted her back, hearing the squeak of her raincoat as the rain fell harder. He was under the shelter just enough, but the mist still coated his daughter’s hair and his face. “I want you to be home and healthy, not bundled up with me and poorly.”

“But… I want the flowers so I can tell Mama she’s pretty like you do.”

The tram rolled to a stop as his mental state was yanked above the waves it had been drowning in, his feet could barely touch the water as he felt his heart soar.

Kind. His mind sung, his heart singing along. My daughter is kind.

He quickly walked onto the tram, he grabbed an empty standing place as the tram became more full by the second. Winnie moved her head from his shoulder, eyes gazing at his face.

“What’s wrong, Daddy?”

The medical mask had sat in his pocket, so his daughter could watch how his lips grew a smile so wide. “You don’t need flowers to tell Mummy she’s pretty.”

He had counted the amount of people in the tram by that point, and without failure, he noticed the small crowd of people around him staring at him and his daughter. Even though he knew it wasn’t safe, he ignored them all. He focused on his daughter’s button nose, those hazel eyes that are glazed over with fatigue.

“I don’t?”

“No, my love,” He whispered, hand gently petting her head. “You tell her every time you think so, just for me. Can you do that?”

She nodded vigorously, his heart beat with such golden pride for his wonderful Winter.

“We’ll go get her flowers, my love. Just so you can tell your mummy she’s very, very, very pretty.”

The five year old giggled as he pushed the button for the next stop.

Winnie demanded to hold the bouquet on the way home. The flower shop with many options for the colors his daughter chose was a tram ride in the opposite direction of home, so now that the public transportation journey was over, all Simon had to do was walk home.

Much easier said than done.

The thunder was loud, lightning glimmered in the sky as the rain poured, but Winnie barely cared. Her little hood up, her ladybug boots squeaked with every step. His phone was strapped somewhere dry on the inside of his coat, the flowers Winnie was so excited to hold were clutched against her chest as he held her other hand, hurrying along his daughter as their home came into view. The porch light on, soft lighting casted upon his windows from inside his warm home. He squeezed Winnie’s hand. She squealed with laughter as she squeezed back, jumping into a puddle and drenching his jeans.

Simon used to be an angry man. Every little thing that went wrong would turn him into a ball of rage, everything that used to get him punched by his father made him angry. He ignored help, shunned people who wanted nothing more to help him feel okay. He remembered the days when he used to play in the rain and drench his father’s pants in muddy water. Those nights ended with four year old Simon in tears in his closet, blood oozing down his face from a cut on his forehead from his father’s rings. Simon remembered those moments with perfect detail. Every age, every time he hid himself under his bed, in his closet, in the fox hole behind the house, Simon was nursing wounds that should have had him in the hospital since he was two years old.

Simon Riley looked at his daughter and the sky blue hood over her head, the large bouquet of flowers clutched to her chest as her ladybug boots stomped in the puddle, splashing his jeans more and more.

He doesn’t feel anger. He doesn’t feel upset. He held his daughter’s hand as they finally walk up the lane to their home, helping her up the stairs to their porch and into the dry house his true family called home. He didn’t feel upset that she didn’t put away her shoes like he had taught her for months on end, he isn’t angry that she left her sopping wet raincoat on the carpet. He toed off his own shoes, taking off his jacket while he watched her fly into the living room, where you sat on the recliner with his ten month old baby. Your arms cradled your baby Mellie, holding her head up to feed from your breast as you turned your head to see Winnie in her pretty blue dress.

His heart felt warm as he walked into the living room, smiling as Winnie began to speak.

“Mummy.”

Your smile lit up the room, he has always told you that but you never believed him. If he could show you through his eyes how he saw you, you would never doubt him again.

“Yes, my love?”

“Daddy bought me flowers so I can give them to you.” The five year old placed both of her hands on the plastic outside of the bouquet, rain dropped off of the side of it as your eyes widened.

“For me?” You looked up to your husband, whose heart jumped to his throat. “Daddy thought to buy me flowers?” He has bought you flowers almost every two weeks, the bouquet of roses he brought home a couple days ago sat on the kitchen counter in your favorite vase.

“No no!” Winnie giggled, dropping the sopping wet bouquet onto your lap as she cheerfully said, “I wanted to buy you flowers so I can tell you how pretty you are, Mama.”

You looked back at your beautiful five year old daughter, tears instantly falling down your face as you removed an arm from underneath Mellie to reach for Winnie. Mellie made a grunt of disapproval as Winnie laughed, climbing onto the recliner to be held by her mother.

Simon could never lie and say that he could try and put himself in his father’s shoes, not when Simon witnessed moments of true love like this.

He had two days. But with how you were laughing and pressing kisses to both of his daughters, he felt a pang for warmth in his belly. Simon knew you would be alright.

taglist: taglist (ignore that tagging hates me): @sigynxlokiwifelover @lumpypoll @multitargaryen @chloeforde @blueoorchid @vir-tual @lolis-pikt @theverycelestialgemini @simpingforleoandnico @prodyng @royalty-purple @projectdreamwalker @tiredweeb7

Copyright © 2023 lethalchiralium. All rights reserved.

[exhaustedpirate]

someone to take care of you

my offering for day 1 of @bucktommyfluffebruary decided to make tommy even more exhausted than he was on the hospital scene so that buck has to manhandle his boyfriend ¯_(ツ)_/¯ basically tommy was fighting a wildfire for three days and buck takes care of him when he gets back!

rated T | 2918 words also on AO3

Tommy hasn’t had a proper rest for the past 72 hours.

He is aching, burning, he is in agony. His bones ache under his skin, his muscles burn from exhaustion and his body is begging him for rest.

He doesn’t remember getting home until he is standing in his driveway, an engine full of equally tired firefighters carefully driving down the street. He takes a deep breath, filling his lungs with smoke-free air and forces himself to leave behind the hell he just escaped.

Tommy passes by an unusual Jeep parked in his driveway while he drags his feet towards his front door, his brain struggling to give him the answers he needs. It’s only when the door opens before he can muster the strength to take the keys from his pocket that it hits him.

Evan.

Whose brow is furrowed with worry and whose mouth is a mix of contentment and concern. He is wearing one of Tommy’s shirts and gym shorts, both in a rumpled state. He smells of sweat and cleaning products and it takes him another second - Evan has a key.

Of course he does, they exchanged keys the week before. Tommy had told him that he would be on call in the midst of wildfire season and the way Evan’s face had been the definition of worry had tugged at something in his heart. It was easy to pluck the spare key from the drawer and pass it to Evan, it was easier still to add his spare key to his keychain. 

It’s both a blessing and a curse to see his boyfriend of two months. 

As Tommy wraps his arms around Evan and buries his face on his neck feeling the way the other man’s arms wrap around him just as tightly, he finds himself elated to not have to ask for this, to have his presence so conveniently within reach. But as he clings and melts in the warmth, Tommy feels his exhaustion settle deeper in his bones, chastises himself for being tired, for not taking advantage of every moment spent with Evan, of not being present.

“I’m so happy you’re back,” Evan whispers in his ear, worry giving way to relief, his fingers digging into the sweaty strands of Tommy’s hair. “I saw the news and as soon as I was off I came here,” There is apprehension in his voice as if concerned he might be too much but Tommy just grabs him tighter. “I cleaned your whole house.”

Tommy lets out a tired laugh against the skin of his neck before kissing it, feeling the way Evan shivers under it. He understands the concern, the worry, the desperation. There were many times he wanted to drive towards the 118 after hearing some of their crazier rescues on TV or over dispatch but stopped himself - focused on work, tinkered around a car or punched his worries away. Something warm settles in his chest when he realises he gave Evan the confidence to seek him out, to ask for more.

“I’m very happy that you’re here,” Evan’s body relaxes at his confession and he buries his face on his neck, uncaring for the smell of smoke and sweat. “But I don’t know if I’ll be the best company today.”

Evan breaks the hug and smiles at the soft whine of protest that leaves him unbidden. His hands cup Tommy’s cheeks and he closes his eyes at the way Evan’s thumbs caress the bags under his eyes. 

“I’m off for the next 36 hours,” Evan explains and Tommy opens his eyes, giving his boyfriend all his remaining attention. “I’d like to take care of you.” His tone is shy and it clenches something in Tommy’s chest. 

He’s not used to being taken care of. 

“Evan-”

“You took care of me before,” The other man interrupts his half-hearted protest, finger over his lips. “I want to take care of you too.”

How can he say no to that?

His eyes are wide, unsure whether to believe Evan’s words, the determination in his eyes, the strength in his tone. But he nods, his exhaustion letting that part of him that craves, that yearns, take over his decision. Evan’s smile is blinding and it soothes an ache inside him.

His boyfriend takes his hands and pulls him inside his house, the smell of cleaning supplies and air freshener in every square inch. Evan’s presence is noticeable all around, his boots now sit neatly next to the other man’s shoes, there’s a book he doesn’t recognise on his coffee table and a coat on the back of a kitchen chair. Evan is taking space in his home.

Tommy wishes he would take it all.

Thankfully, he doesn’t say what his sleep-addled mind fantasizes and simply lets Evan guide him towards the second floor and into the bathroom. His eyes blink into awareness as he’s sat on the closed toilet lid, and he looks up at the other man realising that he’d asked him a question.

“Wh-What did you say?”

Evan’s patient smile only makes him feel worse. How can he have such a wonderful man in his house without paying him every drop of attention?

Hands on his cheeks interrupt his chastising thoughts. Evan kisses his forehead, his nose, his cheeks and finally a chaste kiss to his lips. Something inside him purrs at the care, at the affection and he feels that little bubble of shame pop into nothingness. 

“I asked if you wanted help taking off your clothes so you can take a shower.”

He blinks his eyes a few times before he slowly pulls off his coat, slow movements like moving through sand and when it’s off, there is a small pinch to the other man’s brow. Tommy takes a breath before pulling up his t-shirt. It goes over his head and he notices that Evan is closer than before. Oh, he helped him.

Evan watches him a second before he nods resolutely. “I’m showering with you.” He declares, pulling off his (Tommy’s) shirt.

“Evan, no,” Tommy protests even as his eyes roam the naked expanse of his boyfriend’s chest. “I’m capable of showering by myself.”

“Tommy,” The other man’s tone is patient but he raises an unimpressed eyebrow as he places his hands on his hips. “I feel like you’re going to fall in the shower if I leave you alone in there and I really don’t want anyone from the LAFD to see your dick except me.”

Tommy lets out a surprised guffaw and Evan’s lips twitch as he tries to keep the chastising expression on his face. He looks up at his boyfriend with a soft smile. “You really don’t have to, babe.”

“I want to,” Evan’s face softens and he helps Tommy to his feet. “Besides, I smell like bleach and sweat, not exactly a sexy combination.”

“I don’t know,” Tommy sways closer to his boyfriend, maybe on purpose, maybe accidentally. “You always smell great to me.”

Evan laughs as their noses bump into each other, a betraying blush covering his cheeks. “You look like you’re five seconds away from falling asleep, Tom, you have no purpose being so charming.”

Tommy laughs with Evan, nodding in reluctant agreement. There’s a press of lips against his before his boyfriend begins unbuttoning his trousers, letting them fall to his feet before pulling down his boxer briefs. With a stabilizing hand on the sink, Tommy steps out of the fabric pooled at his ankles with Evan’s help. While crouched, the other man also takes off his socks and, even naked, Tommy still feels the weight of the past few days.

Evan stands and holds his hands to help him into the shower base. He feels a little annoyed at needing so much help, at feeling so useless and weak but then he looks at Evan’s face, the soft look in his eyes, that beautiful smile and he forces that part down, pushes it away.

It’s okay to ask for help, his therapist once told him. It’s okay to let others take care of you.

His boyfriend discards his clothes quickly so he can join him. Evan turns on the water and carefully maneuvers Tommy under the spray once it's hot enough. It feels so good that Tommy lets out a contented moan. His bones melt under the warmth and he feels Evan’s chuckle like a cold drink in a hot summer or whatever other ridiculous thoughts come to mind when his boyfriend laughs.

“That feel good?”

Tommy hums as Evan joins him under the spray, their bodies close together and he has never been so happy that he upgraded to the wide shower head when he redid the bathroom. Evan had also been very pleased to see the size of his shower the first time he came over, they have found many satisfying ways to make use of the space.

It feels different now, to be so close, so naked and wet and to feel so cared for, without any expectations. All he needs to do is stand there as Evan grabs his shampoo and massages his scalp. It draws another moan from his lips and he takes hold of the other man’s hips with how much he sways in place.

Tommy lets himself be moved, lets Evan run through every inch of his skin with a loofah, lets the scent of his citrusy shower gel fill his nose. He lets himself enjoy the closeness of Evan’s body, his careful touches, his soft words, their chaste kisses. Everything is soft, warm, relaxing and he would really like to have this all the time.

The water shuts off and Tommy blinks his eyes open to look at Evan’s smile. Such a good smile. His boyfriend blushes and he realises he must have said it out loud. But Evan presses their lips together to stop any excuses or apologies to come out of Tommy’s mouth. Probably for the best.

“Don’t worry, babe, nothing you say while you’re this sleep-deprived will be admissible in a court of law.” Evan giggles and Tommy bites the inside of his lip to stop himself from gushing over it.

Evan helps him out of the shower and begins to towel-dry him. There’s still that niggling voice yelling at him for his ineptitude but then his boyfriend will smile up at him and that voice gets quieter and quieter.

It’s okay to let others take care of you.

Tommy has a towel wrapped around his waist and lets Evan guide him to his bedroom and groans as he sits on the bed, his body no longer used to the softness of the seat. He is flagging and Evan must know it because in no time, Tommy is wearing soft and clean clothes and he flutters his eyes awake to see Evan already wearing one of his hoodies and sweats. God, he looks good.

Tommy groans inwardly when Evan blushes again. “I have no control over this.” He mutters as an apology.

Evan smiles softly and runs his fingers down the side of Tommy’s face, he hums in pleasure at the touch. “I’m not complaining.” 

“I promise I’ll compliment you so much more when I can actually think again.”

Evan laughs and that warm feeling nestles in his chest. “I’ll remind you of that promise when you can actually think again,” Tommy nods and sighs at the soft kiss planted on his forehead. “Think you can stay awake long enough to eat one of the bacon muffins I made?”

“You made muffins?” Tommy mumbles and his stomach grumbles at the thought of food.

“I got an alert about the wind shifting directions and scrubbing the kitchen grout wasn’t getting the job done anymore,” Evan pulls him up to his feet and kisses the concerned wrinkles of his frown. “I made bacon, chocolate and rhubarb muffins,” He scratches at the back of his neck looking away with a blush. “Your freezer is a little full now.”

Tommy grins, incredibly fond of the man in front of him. He pulls his face up to by the chin to land a soft kiss on his boyfriend’s lips. Evan sighs into the kiss and his shoulders relax. “I can’t wait to try them all, babe.”

Evan grins and lands a smacking kiss on Tommy’s lips that makes him laugh. “Come on, then!”

He’s seated at the kitchen table before he knows what’s going on. There was definitely a lot of stress-cleaning going on, his oven looks like it just came out of the store. But, despite the satisfaction of a clean house, all he sees is the stress he put Evan through. 

He thinks of oil stains in his hands. Of muscles aching from overwork. Of the beaten up state of his punching bags. Wonders if Evan would see the same.

The microwave beeps and then there’s the smell of a warm muffin in front of him, bacon wafting up to his nose. His mouth waters and the first bite is divine and he lets out a moan to show it. Tommy is only able to see Evan’s proud grin when he’s finished, licking his fingers to get the last of the taste.

“Good?” Evan asks, approaching him and running his fingers through his damp hair. 

Tommy wraps his arms around Evan’s waist, resting his chin on his belly and closing his eyes at the caress. “So good.”

Evan bends down to kiss his forehead, fingernails scraping pleasantly on his scalp and he hums sleepily. “I think I should get you into bed before you pass out.”

“That’s very forward of you, Evan Buckley,” Tommy mumbles, eyebrow raised even with his eyes shut. “I’m not that easy.”

Evan giggles and Tommy feels a small smile on his lips. “Alright, Thomas Kinard, I won’t take advantage of you.”

“Good,” Tommy forces his eyes open when Evan urges him to stand and accepts the soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. “My boyfriend would kick your ass.”

Evan grins and pulls him towards the stairs again. “He would?”

“Oh yeah,” Tommy returns the grin, clinging to the last remaining energy the muffin gave him. “He’s got big muscles and these long ass legs, the whole package.”

“Hmm, I don’t know,” Evan is blushing even as he keeps the smirk on his face. “I think I could take him, you’re worth fighting for.” 

Tommy’s breath hitches at the honesty in his voice.

His boyfriend’s blush goes down his neck and he’s fairly sure it’s spread to his chest, he clears his throat. “You should brush your teeth before bed.”

Tommy goes in a haze, automatically brushing his teeth as his mind rushes through the idea that Evan would fight for him, that he was worth fighting for, worth keeping. Uh.

He walks into the bedroom to find Evan sitting at the foot of the bed, teeth sinking into his bottom lip. Maybe he wasn’t expecting it either, maybe he regretted it.

“Evan-”

“I mean it,” Evan blurts out and Tommy quiets. “I did but we don’t need to talk about it tonight,” He stands from the bed to take his hands and pulls him towards the bed. “You need sleep and so do I.”

Maybe it wasn’t the time for a talk, Tommy was sure that he shouldn’t be trusted with words at the moment. But he didn’t want it to go unnoticed. He presses his lips to Evan’s in a soft kiss.

“Thank you,” He whispers. “Not just for your words but for taking care of me.”

“You don’t have to-” 

Tommy kisses him again, this time with more fervor, interrupting him. “Thank you.”

Evan nods and directs them to bed. The sheets are cold but they smell clean and fruity and his boyfriend is warm. Tommy sighs when they stop shuffling around in bed, his head resting on Evan’s chest and arm wrapped around his torso. Evan’s fingers run along his hair and he feels all the tension, the exhaustion, the anxiety, the unworthiness fall away from him. Evan’s touch is a balm to every ache, every wound and every hurt.

He falls asleep warm, content, happy. 

The sun is shining bright when he opens his eyes. A sigh escapes him at the satisfaction of a good night’s sleep and at the fingers casually creating shapes on his clothed back. 

Tommy looks up from the torso he used as a pillow the whole night to see Evan already awake, scrolling through his phone with a focused frown. His hair is messy from sleep, growing curls falling every which way. He’s been awake for a while, his eyes don’t hold that just-woke-up look they do when they wake up together. 

Evan’s been awake for a while but hasn’t moved because Tommy was sleeping on him. A warm feeling that feels a lot like showering together, like home baked muffins, like “you’re worth fighting for”, floods his chest.

Fuck…

Tommy might just be on his way to falling in love with Evan Buckley.

And, as if his emotional turmoil was loud enough for his boyfriend to notice, Evan looks down at him. His smile is bright and his eyes are focused on him. Tommy is having a little difficulty breathing but forces a deep breath when the other man’s hand moves up to his hair.

“Slept well?”

Tommy is definitely going to fall in love with Evan Buckley.

He smiles. “Wonderfully.”

Maybe it’s not so bad.

[qwimblenorrisstan]

Control | William “Case” Calderon

Summary: Case’s nightmares have started getting worse. Marshall grows concerned while Adler warns him.

Word Count: ~1.7k

Warnings: Panic attacks, nightmares, zombies??, graphic descriptions of violence, rotting, torture, implied brainwashing, disassociation, Bo6 spoilers under the cut

A/N: this is just an expansion of how it’s mentioned that Case screams during the night in the Rook requested by a lovely anon, also yes, I might’ve taken advantage of the opportunity to make Adler shirtless, shhh, hope you enjoy<3

Requests are open!

He didn’t know why he was here again.

Harsh lights flooded his eyesight, the sterile smell of plastic gloves and white tiled flooring filling his nose. He was walking somewhere.

These halls were familiar. Red paint lined them, a phone sitting on a round table, and ahead of him—there it was.

The bathysphere.

Case tried digging his heels into the ground, the scratchy texture of the strange hospital-like gown they had him in. He couldn’t do this again. Not after the first trials, the first experiments, they had ruined him.

“Behave, Case-One.”

The men at his sides, soldiers, Pantheon, dragged him along regardless of his protests, right into the center.

An overwhelming sense of dread overcame him. He knew what happened here, what would happen. They’d let the water surround him, he’d be trapped, and they would—

He wouldn’t let it happen again. Couldn’t.

Case, or William, wrapped his hand around one of the guard’s arms, yanking forward and slamming his fist into the man’s head. He’d been carrying an AK-74. He lifted the gun, pulling the trigger, only for the man—soldier—thing in front of him to shatter into pieces like a poorly constructed doll.

He took a step back, turned, and tried to run only for the floor to melt beneath him. He was sinking, falling into some sort of abyss, and then she was there.

Harrow.

Everything was solid again, and now he was in a room. Bulletproof glass separated him and Jane Harrow as she looked through with cold precision.

She was a liar.

A traitor.

She’d taken everything from him and given him what he owed his life to all in one fell sweep.

“Good to see you again, Case.”

She smiled, but there was nothing warm behind her expression. He knew it was just a mask, like a plaster covering for the rotten thing that lay underneath. Case had seen what she wanted for the future of her little project.

A side door opened, and they dragged a small bearded man in, the gas surrounding him, the guard having a gas mask on to protect himself.

Just a few minutes of exposure, and Case knew what would happen. His pulse would start hammering, every fight or flight instinct kicking in as his body tried to figure out what the hell was wrong with him, searching through his past experiences to find a way to fix this, to fix him.

Except there wasn’t a cure.

His vision would start blurring at the edges, turning different shades of television static as the man in front of him turned into a creature of rotting flesh and peeling skin, ripped clothes, and undead eyes that knew nothing but hunger.

He would be terrified. Again. And he’d attack the thing. Again.

It had happened over and over, this gradual decline into madness and being completely out of control, watching his body act from the outside.

He tried resisting it, and he always failed. Still, he tried this time, even as his blood boiled beneath his skin, a creature trapped in his ribcage begging, demanding to be let out as he tried keeping the lock together.

But one more glance over at her, her sadistic smile, the knowing glint in her eyes, her poisonous lips, and her tongue that was made of a noose, and something in him shattered.

The lock.

He had lost control.

There was no resisting now, he knew that as the resounding screams of the man bounced around the inside of his head, his eyes pressing into his eyes, gouging, hands and nails shoving and ripping, maiming the poor man like the animal that they’d made Case into.

The creature he was.

Blood was everywhere, under his hands, his fingernails, in his eyes and staining the floors and his body, things he couldn’t scrub away, burning brands onto his skin and mind that not even the brainwashing, the torture, could make go away.

He opened his mouth, maybe to bite, maybe to yell, maybe to scream at the hand that fed him a poisoned apple, and absolutely nothing came out.

His body thrashed, clawing at itself as if his very bones were outgrowing his skin, tears of anger and sadness and confusion at himself and someone else—he couldn’t remember it now, who’d done this to him, but he wanted to hurt them.

William wanted to hurt them. Case didn’t know what he wanted.

“Stop him—“

Hands were on him, gloved, rough, trying to pull him around, restrain him, but he wouldn’t let them. He pulled, punched, anything he could, he couldn’t let them do this to him again.

Then their dark, near-void black helmets fell off, and he was greeted with bloodied pale skin, peeling and revealing the stringy, bloody muscular system underneath, the near glowing eyes with something otherworldly in them, something beyond hate and agony.

They growled and slammed their teeth together instead of speaking, and it was then that he was able to scream, and he knew it because he heard it echo around the room as they held him down, and began clawing into them with their blood-caked nails.

Who had they been before?

What were they now?

Would he turn into this?

Desperation turned to pure terror as he tried battering them away, feeling his skin rip and shred beneath them, every bite, every hit, going deeper and deeper, infecting him.

His vision blurred around the edges again, this time he assumed solely from tears, as he imagined—hoped, he was blacking out.

“Hold him down—“

A blurry voice faded in and out, hands still holding him down. But this wasn’t the rough, scratchy feeling of elastic gloves or excessive force on his battered body.

“Jesus, Case, snap the fuck out of it!”

He opened his eyes.

He was in his bed, Adler was on his right, Marshall on his left. Both held down an arm, maybe a leg if they could reach it. Sevati walked through the doorway of his room, rubbing her eyes.

“What the hell is going on in here?”

Her accent rolled thickly off her tongue as she analyzed the situation, their Case laying on a bed, forehead covered in sweat, pupils dilated and panting for breath, with Adler and Marshall holding him down.

“Case here is clearly experiencing some…issues.”

Adler said, a cigarette tucked neatly between his lips, a hint of smoke rolling off the end. He was wearing nothing but some tan cargo pants and the hint of boxers peeking out from there. He tried not to look too closely at the tiny hint of stomach chub followed by muscles with a thin layer of fat over them.

Marshall had been up late, wearing his work clothes, but missing the glasses he usually let himself wear when not on a mission. He had some turtleneck on that had to be itchy, and a pair of random military-grade pants.

They both eyed Case warily, clearly not knowing when the next complete breakdown might be.

Sev stood in the doorway, leaning against it, clad in only some shorts and a t-shirt, probably having just woken up.

“Let him go back to sleep. We have things to do tomorrow, and this can wait until morning.”

Her word seemed to be final, with Adler giving a noncommittal grunt and taking his cigarette between his fingers. There was a knowing look in his eye as if he recognized whatever he’d seen. The cigarette smelled like the expensive kind from where Case was.

His body slowly loosened and relaxed as whatever the hell had been in his dreams faded, as did the memory of it. He didn’t even know what had scared him that badly, into attacking his allies while in a safe location.

As the others walked out of the room, he just hoped he might remember the next one. Maybe write it down, to make sense of it.

Next time. He hoped there wasn’t a next time.

Some things were better left unknown.

~

“You can’t deny it now.”

Marshall watched as Adler flicked his cigarette, taking it out of his mouth, the scar on one side flexing as he let out a deep breath of smoke, eyes almost closing.

“Sure, something’s wrong with him. We’ve all got something wrong with us, his problem is just more…noticeable.”

He tried reasoning. Case was a good man, he was useful, did what he told, and did it very damn well, at that. They couldn’t afford to lose someone as valuable as him, which made the issue of his…problems even more troubling.

The screaming at night had been normal, or normal for someone in the military. But then it had turned to screaming about Harrow, her betrayal, about Pantheon, too specific to be nothing.

Now this, the fighting? He’d heard the floors creaking at night but assumed it was nothing, maybe someone going to get water, but knowing Case was this unstable wasn’t very reassuring. Hell, he nearly took Marshall out while not even conscious, what might he do if he caught one of them off guard at night?

Marshall had seen the man perform silent takedowns. He had a freakish amount of strength, and you didn’t hear a thing until the body hit the ground. Sometimes not even that.

“Look, I’ve seen something like this before.”

Adler’s raspy voice interrupted his thoughts, as the older man shifted to lean against the desk in the room they were now in. He took his cigarette between his fingers once again, hands waving in the usual expressive motions he had when talking.

It was a Russell Adler Trademark at this point.

“It was an old experiment, nothing you need to know too much about, but the kid’s showing symptoms. Not good ones.”

Another puff of smoke. The old snake probably knew more than he was telling Marshall, in fact, he almost guaranteed it.

“He hardly has any records, all blacked out or mysteriously ‘missing’.”

Adler took another puff of smoke at that information, rose from leaning, and moved to walk out.

“Find them.”

Simple words, a nearly impossible task.

Marshall didn’t know how Woods had put up with Adler so long, his attitude, his personality, hell, everything about him was just infuriating.

But he’d figure it out. He had to.

For Case.

[rogueddie]

Steddie Sick Fics

Important: READ THE TAGS! Also, leave a comment and kudos! These fics are amazing and I love them and I hope y'all do too 😷

Fever

addweetoo

Steve is sick and Robin's out of town. So she calls Eddie to take care of Steve, not knowing that Steve hasn't talked to Eddie since Eddie woke up in the hospital.

Words : 11,359 Chapters : 1/1 Rating : Mature

AO3 : x

Larkspur and Lily of the Valley

DarkWitchOfErie

Steve has a cough and thinks it's allergies, until a blue petal comes up.

Words : 4,540 Chapters : 1/1 Rating : Teen and Up Audiences

AO3 : x

Gently,

TheDeathsWish

In which Eddie wants nothing more than to give Steve the gentle kindness he deserves.

Words : 12,905 Chapters : 1/1 Rating : Teen and Up Audiences

AO3 : x

The Labyrinth

wayfarers0

“I think you’re just not feeling good, kiddo,” she says quietly. “Do you feel nauseous?”

“No. No, I don’t.” fuck, is all he can think; fuck. “No.”

“Hey, it’s okay. Steve told me once you’re not good with that sort of thing.”

“M’not nauseous,” he says, but he has to swallow down saliva as he says this. “I’m just anxious.”

Words : 2,422 Chapters : 1/1 Rating : General Audiences

AO3 : x

medicinal

peaktotheocean

“I’ve got a friend who is having a ton of migraine issues," Robin blurted out. Eddie's head rose to look at her. That was a new one. "We heard weed helps. Any truth to it?” She asked hopefully.

Uncle Wayne always used to joke that Eddie was too curious for his own good. Eddie just never thought he'd agree with the assessment while selling weed to Robin Buckley of all people.

Words : 2,233 Chapters : 1/1 Rating : Teen and Up Audiences

AO3 : x

greening out

llovebug

When Eddie accidentally takes too many edibles, he finds himself greening out and wandering the streets of Hawkins. Steve spots him and takes it upon himself to nurse Eddie back to soberness and get him somewhere safe and warm.

Words : 2,702 Chapters : 1/1 Rating : Not Rated

AO3 : x

Take Your Silver Spoon, Dig Your Grave

fangirlandtheories

“Shit Harrington,” Eddie smiled, pulling the thread tightly. “Let’s play a game.” Steve rolled his head on his shoulder, looking at him with fever bright eyes. “2 truths and a lie?”

“I sleep with the light on, I haven’t seen my parents in a month, and I like men and women.” Steve watched as Eddie froze in place.

“That’s not cool, Steve.” Eddie continued stitching, a little less gently this time. “Robin said you’re a bit dense, but fucking mocking me af-”

“4 months.” Steve interrupted.

“What?” “It’s been 4 months since the last time I saw them.”

Words : 6,020 Chapters : 1/1 Rating : Teen and Up Audiences

AO3 : x

I’ll be there for you

Battered_child

After the nightmare spring break in which they had gone to fight a monster in the crazy Hellscape version of their hometown, the weeks that followed had been non-stop for Steve.

First there were the hospital visits, though he’s not sure it counts as visiting when one spends more of their time there than away. The first week had been the worst.

After they had dragged Eddie’s lifeless body from the Upside Down, Steve had been so worried that someone would come after him that he’d refused to leave the other boy’s side for the first few days. This of course meant he didn’t get his own injuries seen to, and he then spent his own painful recovery either at Eddie or Max’s bedsides, working, or ferrying kids (and Robin) around town for various reasons.

Words : 6,545 Chapters : 1/1 Rating : Teen and Up Audiences

AO3 : x

Can I Still Call?

theswampnugget

Steve doesn't like being taken care of. More specifically, he doesn't like to feel like a burden. He really can't avoid it when a migraine wipes him out in the middle of a shift, and none other than Eddie Munson comes to drag him home.

Words : 4,130 Chapters : 1/1 Rating : General Audiences

AO3 : x

[the-hinky-panda]

War of the Roses Series: Part III

Warning: Mention of miscarriages and grief

At first, Bill doesn’t understand why you’ve taken him to a small courtyard that sits between the barn and the small indoor arena. It’s not a large area, just a square piece of grass with a few shrubs and flowerbeds. There is a small area surrounded by a low stone wall that has a bench and three rose bushes planted in the corner. It’s a quiet, thoughtful space that seems out of place with the barn. 

But then he remembers something from his childhood. It had been raining for three days, not out of the norm in Missouri. His mother had recently returned home from an overnight hospital stay, and he was under strict orders to keep his twelve-year-old bullshit to a minimum. He then watched his father, the toughest son of a bitch he had ever known, go out into the rain and dig a hole in the garden off the back porch. He remembers how his father’s white t-shirt clung to his back as he planted a white rose bush. He remembers how his mother couldn’t watch from the back porch, and instead curled up in the corner of the couch and sobbed. 

It’s a memorial space. 

He touches the stone wall as you lead him into the space, says a silent prayer for the sister he never got to meet and the three children you were never able to hold. The somberness saps the fire he had been feeling since watching you sit across from him at dinner. For some reason though, standing there with you, knowing what you’re showing him, it feels far more intimate than the moment you shared in the barn. 

“This,” you say quietly, “this is why he hates me.” 

“You would think with the lives we provide them, scenery like this, homes like ours, never wanting for anything, they would be motivated to do their actual fucking jobs.” 

Was this what Cal was talking about? Three miscarriages, was that reason enough to divorce someone? You gently take his hand and force him to unclench the fist he had made. “How can he hate you for something that’s out of your control?” 

You shake your head. “The world is filled with people who hate other people for things out of their control. That’s nothing new, Bill.” 

You made a solid point. “He thinks you’re doing this on purpose?” 

“He does. He only married me so he could have someone to pass everything onto when he’s too old to manage it himself.” Your thumb fiddles with his pinky ring. “That’s how it works in your world too?” 

It should make him uncomfortable that you acknowledge his true line of work but it doesn’t. If anything, it seems to pull you even closer to him. “It is.” 

“I know I’m on my way out of this marriage. He needs someone to provide an heir and I’m not that person.” You swipe at your face with the back of your free hand and he realizes you’re crying. “I can’t do that for you either. So just keep that in mind.” 

He pulls you close against his side, holding you firmly there and trying to ignore the feeling of just how fucking perfectly you fit there. “There are more important things in life than heirs and lineage. There will always be someone to take over a business, blood related or not.” He presses a kiss against the crown of your head. “You keep that in mind.” 

You release a long breath, sinking into him for a moment before standing up straight. He sees the armor being put back into places and it causes something to twinge in his chest. It shouldn’t be necessary but he understands why it is. He takes one last moment, standing in this sacred place, and kisses you gently on the lips. 

“You call me if you need anything,” he tells you. “Day or night, promise me you’ll do that.” 

You smile slightly but nod your head. “Okay.” 

He knows he needs to head back up to the house, that he’s been gone far too long and his guys will want to get on the road soon. But something is telling him to take you with him, to not leave you here. But you’ve survived for the last six years with Cal so he takes some comfort that you can survive another couple weeks before he can make it back to Tulsa. 

***

When you go back to the house later that night, you go in the back door and take all the back hallways to the master bedroom to avoid Cal. You strip off all your clothes, bury them under your running clothes from this morning and then stand under scalding hot water for twenty minutes. You reluctantly wash Bill’s cologne from your skin, wash his fingerprints from your body and it feels wrong. 

Cal doesn’t love you, he hasn’t from day one. The realization of that hits you full force. He knows of the rose bushes, the memorial garden that you planted there in the only place on the property that felt like yours. Cal hates the horses, never wants to see them or touch them. He flat out refuses to step foot into the memorial garden you planted and care for. 

But Bill, who has no stake whatsoever in your plight, came to see the horses, not even knowing you were there. He willingly went to the small garden, stood there, understood the significance of what you were showing him without having to speak the words. He shared that burden of grief with you when your own husband, the father of the lost children, couldn’t be bothered with it. 

You need a plan to get out of this farce of a marriage. You turn the water off in the shower and grab one of the towels. Your mind is racing as you dry off. You’ll need money, clothes, a place to stay, a place for your horses. The roses. Somehow you need to take the roses with you. You can’t leave them behind. Cal will forget them. He’ll forget them. You can’t let that happen. You pull on your satin pajamas and walk into the bedroom to a sight that makes your blood run cold. 

Cal is in one of the leather wingback chairs in the sitting area of the bedroom, a whiskey glass in his hand. “Did you have a nice shower?” 

Your eyes haven’t left the three suitcases sitting at the end of the bed. “Cal?” 

“I think it’s obvious our agreement has come to an end.” 

“Agreement? You mean our marriage?” 

“Is that what you would call this? Huh.” He takes a sip of the whiskey. “I was under the impression that a marriage was between two people working towards the same goal. I told you what that goal was when we married.” 

“I can’t…I don’t know…” 

“Can you finish a sentence please?” 

You take a deep breath and slowly release it. “I don’t know what you want me to do about not being able to carry a child. I can’t control that.” 

He finishes the whiskey and sets the glass down on the side table. “What I want you to do is take your shit to whatever other bedroom you wish where you will sleep tonight. Tomorrow morning, you leave with what’s packed in those suitcases. You’ll get the horses out of the barn as soon as possible because they’re going to the knacker by the end of the week.” 

Your stomach roils to the point that you bring a hand to your mouth. How are you going to find transportation and a place for your horses in four days? It’s going to cost thousands of dollars and you’re certain Cal isn’t giving you any portion of the estate. 

“I’m going to take a shower now and when I walk out of there, I don’t want to see you in this room again.” Cal stands up and walks past you. “And as far as things that you can control goes, perhaps you shouldn’t have fucked my new business partner in a fucking barn.”

[schrijverr]

I Didn’t Mean to Say I Do, but I Do. I Do. 40

Chapter 40 out of 50

Secret marriage of convenience buddie slow burn AU, where Buck and Eddie have been married for years so Buck could adopt Chris and no one at the 118 knows.

In this chapter, Eddie is back at the 118 and while he is welcomed with open arms. However, they now know and keep talking about him being married to Buck, which makes it harder to cope. Until, finally, it boils over and he snaps.

On AO3.

Ships: Buddie

Warnings: referenced emotionally abusive parents, internalized misogyny, internalized homophobia, insecurity, self loathing, injury, homophobia mention

~~~

Chapter 40: The Affair

When he comes into work again, nine weeks after last being in the 118 firehouse, he is greeted by cheers. Hen comes up to hug him first, squealing: “Welcome back! We missed you.” Then she whispers: “Chim did the cake, I told him it was a bad idea, but he insisted.”

“Thank you,” he whispers back, before stepping out of the hug.

“It’s good to have you back, Eddie. You were missed,” Bobby says with a kind smile and a clap on the back.

“Yeah, missed you too. Thanks, Cap,” Eddie smiles, feeling a little overwhelmed. He half thought they wouldn’t want to have him here either, but instead, there is that warmth again, just like there had been on his first-first day. It feels good, albeit a little too much.

“Eddie,” Chimney grins, presenting him the cake, “welcome back, my man.”

He is grateful for Hen’s warning as he looks down at the cake. It’s a standard rectangular party cake with frosting that they often get for occasions like these. With swirly letters it reads: Welcome back from your honeymoon!

If circumstance had been different, it would have been a little funny. However, right now it’s just a reminder of everything. Eddie never had a honeymoon, two marriages, but never a honeymoon. He never married out of love. No one ever actually wanted to be with him. Buck doesn’t want to be with him.

So, he just stares at the cake for a beat too long, his eyes sad. He hates that despite it all, he can’t just be normal, so he mentally yells at himself, until he has manages to suck it up. Then he deadpans: “Har, har, Chim. Very funny.”

“Thought so too,” Chimney grins, luckily having missed the split second of pathetic-ness that Eddie let slip through the cracks.

He plasters on a smile and they dig in. Eddie hasn’t seen them often, but they don’t mention him running, instead telling him of the horrors that were the floaters send to replace him and how glad they are that he is back. By the time the alarm goes off for the first time, the smile is real.

However, one thing Eddie hadn’t taken into account when saying yes to Bobby’s offer to come back, was that they know now. That they know and are okay with it now. Which means that they talk about it. Mention it. Eddie hadn’t counted on how often they would mention it.

That first 24 hour shift, Chimney jokingly calls him Buckley-Diaz and at the end they all tell him to say hi to his husband when he gets home.

They probably mean well, wanting to show him that they’re over the anger from the hospital, that they don’t have any bad opinions of his life choices. That they can joke about it. A part of Eddie thinks it’s sweet. It’s more than his parents have every managed and they’ve had three years to get used to the fact that Eddie and Buck are married. Another part of him aches at the reminders.

While the Buckley-Diaz dies out, the joke of telling him to ask this or say that to his husband sticks around. He’s heard them do it to Buck too when he came home earlier than expected and caught Hen on her way out, but still.

Furthermore, they ask him about it. It’s always innocuous, just them trying to fill in the blanks of what is their two year scheme whenever something comes up that reminds them of something that’s been bugging them.

Eddie can’t judge them for being curious, for wanting to know. He just wishes that they didn’t make him know alongside them.

Naturally, he knows the most of it, since he and Buck started actively lying together. However, Buck had been deflecting by himself for a year before that and Eddie is now getting to know some of the fibs he gave them.

Because of that, he now knows Buck said he had a hottie to pick up when referring to Eddie that time his parents came to Chris’s seventh birthday. That he went to Bobby for advice on how to deal with them. The in-laws, that is.

It makes him feel weird and he hates it.

Everything makes him feel weird. The jokes, the questions, the casual reference to the fact that Eddie is Buck’s other half. That he will go home to Buck. That Buck is Chris’s other father.

He’s never had that before. His parents have always pointedly ignored acknowledging Buck’s role in Eddie and Chris’s life and with tía Pepa and Abuela it was never this frequent and he wasn’t aware of it like he is now. To have people confirm his reality over and over again makes him feel exposed in a way he isn’t sure he dislikes entirely, which only makes him feel horrible.

And that is not even mentioning the new fresh hell that is being aware of Buck in more than a romantic light. Of dreaming of him sucking Eddie’s dick or, more shamefully, him pushing Eddie into the mattress as he plows into him. Which are now playing alongside the flashes of domesticity and unmasculine tenderness that Eddie shouldn’t crave. He instated a self imposed ban on jerking off to avoid thinking about it after he found himself wondering if Buck’s calluses would feel the same one morning in the shower.

So within a week, he finds himself texting Buck that he’s meeting up with Bosko to catch up, a lie he can’t verify. Instead driving to a different shady spot than a random parking lot after texting the number of an even shadier guy.

The atmosphere is very different to the fight club he went to before, more a fighting ring. There are spectators and there are fighters, as well as underhand dealings that are probably smarter to stay out of. Everyone got that memo, it seems, because everyone leaves everyone alone. In a way, it’s nice.

What is even nicer, is the wad of cash that gets pushed into his hands after he’s beaten the shit out of some guy. It’s a lot. It’s enough that Eddie can be reasonably certain they can buy Chris that Nintendo Switch he wants without issue when his birthday rolls around again or Christmas. Or save up, pad up the savings they lost during the suspension that was Eddie’s fault.

It’s the start of a spiral.

He acts normal at work and home, but Buck’s presence is everywhere, driving him insane with emotions he doesn’t want to deal with. If it’s not that, he gets randomly attacked with an anger at how unfair the world is. The fear of almost losing it all. How easily they left. How he is glad to be back, but it’s not going to last. Not to mention the pressure of the expectations that tug on him and the fact that he’s not managing to push the feelings down like he was able to before Buck.

All these things have him returning to that fighting ring over and over again. It’s a craving. A habit he can’t seem to kick.

When he tries not to go, he feels himself tightening like a spring, ready to shoot off into space. He gets snippy and grouchy, which is fine. It’s fine. He can deal. … Until he snaps at Chris during a stressful moment as they’re getting ready for school. Then it’s not fine.

It’s just an irritated: “What the hell, Chris. Why are you not ready? I told you to get ready. We have to get going now! I don’t care about your excuses.”

He apologizes and Chris doesn’t seem to affected, but it sticks with him. Haunts him. He wants to bridge the gap, not deal with any of this internal shit and just continue on as normal until it falls apart.

Snapping at Chris isn’t normal. He doesn’t want that for him. He’s never wanted that for him. So, he accepts that he needs the outlet. Just for now. Just to bridge that gap.

Thus, Eddie finds himself going to the fighting ring more often. It escalates from being once a week to going twice, until he finds himself there almost nightly, as his excuses get less and less believable.

Buck hasn’t tried to bring it up yet, but Eddie makes sure to evade him just in case. He either comes home late enough that Buck has dropped off on the couch or when he’s at PT. Or he only makes Chris’s pick up, forgoing his usual pre-pick up nap so he’ll arrive with Chris, who has become his oblivious human shield.

It’s only a matter of time until Buck can’t take it anymore and busts down his door instead of letting him ‘sleep’ until Chris needs to go to school or comes home. The unspoken question of where he’s been, bubbling closer and closer to the surface as Eddie’s avoidance of answering becomes more and more suspicious.

After six weeks, it finally boils over.

His shift has just ended and he feels the itch, but thinks he can push it forward until tomorrow. He can make bedtime tonight, but tomorrow Chris has that sleep over. So it’s better to be late then. He has already been missing dinner and bedtime here and there. It’s not a lot, but it’s been unavoidable and for now it’s better than the alternative: snapping at Chris.

As he’s mulling it over, Hen slides up next to him, opening her own locker as she says: “Me and Chim are gonna go out drinking. Just a beer or two. Want to join?”

“No, I can’t. Thanks though,” Eddie replies, putting away his stuff. It’s true, since he has to make bedtime when he can.

“Sure,” Chimney snorts behind him.

Eddie whirls around, frown on his face as he demands: “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Come on, you’ve been pretty chipper at work, but Buck says you’re being weird at home, staying out late. You’re worrying the husband and that can only mean one thing; you’re having an affair. I put good money on that, so don’t lie now, Edmundo, what’s her name?” Chimney grins.

The grin feels like a trap, like he’s being cornered. The confrontation with what is supposed to be truth, but Eddie is too broken to adhere to, combining with that stupid husband comment. His heart slams into overdrive and his defenses rise up from the ground. He snaps: “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Chimney’s eyebrows immediately lift, but before he can say anything, Hen does: “We’re just curious, Eddie. He didn’t mean anything with it.”

It’s a tad too gentle for his taste as if he can’t take it, as if she knows he is sensitive. He’s not sensitive. He can take it. “Well, mind your own business.”

Now Hen and Chimney are exchanging looks and Eddie starts aggressively stuffing his shit into his bag so he can get out of here before he implodes.

He’s not fast enough and now Hen’s voice is even more gentle. “You don’t have to tell us, but we’re here if you want to talk. I know we might not have always given you that impression and we’re sorry for that, but we won’t judge. You can tell us.”

“Maybe,” he slams his locker closed, “I don’t want to.” He glares at her. “There is nothing for you to know. I’m not Buck, I don’t want you invading my life. Just because I share it with him and you know now, doesn’t give you a right to know anything about me, okay? I forgave you guys for what you did to us, but I didn’t forget. You have no right to demand any trust of me, now leave me the fuck alone.”

With that said, he stalks out of the locker room, anger wafting off of him. Hen and Chimney are too stunned to speak after his outburst, so he makes it to his car safely.

Inside, he punches his steering wheel and lets out a muffled noise of frustration. Any thought of having a peaceful night at home is now ruined. If he turns up like this, he’ll only fuck up the happy atmosphere of home. Especially since a part of his anger is directed at Buck.

Buck had no right telling everyone he’s acting weird. Eddie is allowed to act weird, which he isn’t by the way, Eddie is behaving so normally. Now Buck put thoughts into everyone’s head and they’re assuming things about Eddie that aren’t true. Confronting him with the things he wants to avoid. It is all Buck’s fault. All of it.

If Buck weren’t so kind, Eddie wouldn’t have met him. If Buck weren’t so amazing, Eddie wouldn’t have- If Buck weren’t so good, Eddie wouldn’t need to be worried about him. If Buck weren’t so sweet, he wouldn’t have remembered all he forced himself to forget, to push down, to suck up. If Buck weren’t so attractive, Eddie would have never had to flick that switch and he could have lived his whole life in ignorance. He would have been normal.

Tears well up in his eyes and he angrily wipes them away. He doesn’t want to feel any of this, he doesn’t want to think about any of this. With harsh movements, he starts up the car, automatically finding himself at the fighting ring.

The organizers are more than happy to see him, gladly putting him in a match. Eddie is good at this, money flows.

He doesn’t care right now. He isn’t thinking of the bills that can easily be paid, the crappy car he might be able to replace soon, because he won’t be able to rely on the Jeep anymore after the divorce, the gifts he could buy Chris, the money he can save up for a rainy day. There is just the anger. The rage. The fury that needs to get out, the control he needs to get back. The failure he needs to override with a win.

Nothing exists except for the ring, his opponent and his emotions.

Eddie gives a beating like he has never given before. It’s a spectacle probably, because he can hear the cheering even through the rushing of blood past his ears. He’s punching the world, punching Buck, punching his papi, punching the 118, punching Brandson and the priest at the Church he grew up with. Punching himself. They all blur together on the face of his opponent and he beats them until he goes down.

For a moment, he stands there. Victorious. He’s a winner. He’s doing good. He’s a man. He’s normal.

Then he realizes his opponent isn’t just down. He’s seizing and choking. Instinct takes over and he checks on the patient, any feelings forgotten in the face of professionalism. The man needs medical attention.

He yells for them to call 9-1-1, but no one does. The guy that got him wrapped up in this even starts arguing with him as he pulls a bit of the guy’s nose out of his airway. Tells him not to do it when he rips someone’s phone out of their hands.

A part of him thinks that he shouldn’t. This operation is shady, has been from the start. They keep record of 9-1-1 calls, it could be Maddie on the other side of the line. However, then he looks down on his opponent, on the guy he punched so hard he started choking on a bit of his nose, and he knows it wouldn’t be right to walk away.

Eddie calls 9-1-1.

The second he does, everyone scatters. With this kind of report, there’s a chance police will show up and no one wants to get caught.

It’s not like he wants to either – one stint in jail was more than enough for him – but he needs to make sure he didn’t kill a man tonight. So, he sits the man upright, then retreats to a building nearby and waits.

Inside his pocket his forgotten phone vibrates. He grabs it to see a slew of increasingly worried texts from Buck as well as a voicemail. The others probably told him Eddie stormed out and Eddie never bothered to even text an excuse. With a heavy heart, he plays the voicemail:

“Eddie? Where are you? You’ve been missing dinner and bedtime left and right and that’s fine. It’s fine. You’re a grown man and I don’t care what you do, but you gotta come home,” Buck’s recorded voice says desperately.

Buck lowers his voice, as if he’s covering the mic so no one can hear. “I keep making excuses to Chris that you’re at work and he tries to understand, but he misses you, Eddie. He wants his daddy to tuck him in and I-” he cuts himself off with a choked off noise that almost sounds like a sob.

He takes a deep, but shaky breath: “I can’t replace you. I never want to replace you. Chris needs you here. He needs you home. You can’t keep staying away like this. I can’t keep disappointing him with your absence. I can’t keep lying. Come home, please.”

Fuck.

Fucking fuck, fuck, fuck.

Eddie thought it was okay. Thought it wasn’t that much. Thought Chris was oblivious. But he isn’t, he misses him. He and Buck both miss him. They want him home. He’s not been home. Buck’s been lying that Eddie has to work, so Chris will understand. In Chris’s mind Eddie hasn’t been home, because he has to work.

Eddie has become just like his father.

No, he’s even worse, because at least papi was actually trying to provide for his family. Papi might have been never home, but he has never needed to do this like Eddie does. He never needed an outlet like this. He could just be normal, instead of nearly beating a man to death.

God, Eddie nearly beat a man to death. The reality of what happened settles in on him. He nearly beat a man to death. He’s a monster. He’s violent. Dangerous.

The first responders arrive on the scene and Eddie almost drowns on dry land in the shame and the fear when he recognizes his former coworkers. He ducks for cover, but he’s pretty sure Bosko spotted him. He prays he’s wrong as he attempts to swallow down the guilt. It’s a feeble attempt.

He can’t sneak out, so he stays hidden, but it doesn’t work. Soon Bosko is right in front of him, not even bothering with a hello as she asks: “So, are you the one who saved him or the one who almost killed him?”

“Both,” Eddie answers, honest and laden with shame.

“What the hell, Eddie!” Bosko exclaims. “Fighting was supposed to be a healthy outlet, not an obsession. I thought you’d realized that, that you’d quit.”

“I know,” he says, curling in on himself. “And it’s not. It- It just got out of hand tonight.”

“Yeah, I bet.” Bosko looks angry as she crosses her arms. “Tell me, that hit to the nose, was that a lucky shot? Or had he dropped his hands?”

Eddie feels her tone grating on his nerves. He still feels out of whack, his mind buzzing with the high of the fight, the adrenaline of having to save the guy’s life and the horror at what he had just done, as well as all the guilt brought on by the voicemail. He can’t use her judgment. Her anger. So, defensively, he says: “Tap out or knock out. Those are the rules. He didn’t tap out.”

“He was so punch drunk, he couldn’t even lift his hands to protect himself. You think he should’ve had the presence of mind to tap out?” Bosko retorts, giving him a challenging look, before her face drops into something more gentle. “Eddie, you need to talk to someone.”

A part of him is rearing up to fight her more, but then the police sirens start up. Bosko looks back and groans, then starts shrugging out of her turnout coat.

“What are you doing?”

“Saving myself the trouble of having to bail you out of jail again,” she says, handing him the turn out coat. “Put this on until the cops leave.”

Eddie does and she leads him to his car without any trouble. When they get there, she takes the coat back and recrosses her arms: “I’m not done with this conversation, by the way. You’re lucky I didn’t turn you over. What you’re doing is dangerous. You can’t go on like this.”

Now that he’s had a moment to cool off, the horror has overtaken again. He remembers Buck’s desperate voice pleading at him to come home, but it’s overlaid with the visual of the bone crunching under his hand.

He can’t keep doing this, but he doesn’t know how to be normal at home without it. He still remembers the built up last time he tried, the way he snapped at Chris. It was minor then, but what if it gets worse. What if this time he goes too far? What if he hurts either of them? He can live with being absent like his father, if he never has to be violent. He never wanted this for himself. For his family.

“I know,” he says, sounding distraught to his own ear, but unable to bring himself to care. “I- I can’t- I can’t go home.” He looks up at Bosko with big eyes. “I can’t go home after this.”

Bosko looks at him critically for a moment, then sighs. “Fine. You can stay at mine for now. I’ll text you the address and meet you there after my shift. There’s a spare key taped above the cat-flap on the inside, you can take the couch.”

“Thank you,” he says, so overtaken with relief that he doesn’t even comment how unsafe it is to have a spare key there.

“Now get out, before anyone else sees you and I’ll make sure your man doesn’t die,” Bosko tells him and Eddie flinches slightly at the words.

He’s still in shock as he drives to Bosko’s apartment. It’s alright, not particularly nice, but not especially shitty. Just average. Normal.

It seems like everyone can be normal, except for him. He is a freak, who hasn’t just been lusting after the man who does so much for him, who hasn’t just been imagining a life he isn’t allowed to have. But he’s a freak who nearly killed a man.

Eddie hasn’t been home for enough nights that Chris is starting to miss him. He’s absent and leaving a hole like his papi had. However, he doesn’t fill it with good intentions, with needing to provide. He’s filling it with violence.

Tonight, Eddie nearly killed a man. Tonight he came face to face with the kind of person he’s become.

Bosko was right, he can’t go on like this. He needs to regroup, get himself in check, maybe take Bosko up on the offer to help. She said Ronnie did it for her, that he helped her get out of a dark place, gave her space to figure herself out.

He needs that right now. He needs to sort himself out. Figure himself out.

A yellow-y cat jumps onto the couch next to him. Eddie hasn’t made a move to lie down yet, unsure if he should or can, or if he should wait for Bosko. She said she’d meet him here after the shift and that he can take the couch, but he’s not sure to what extend that was an invitation.

The cat – who he assumes is Butter, since there is a white cat who has been glaring at him from the moment he arrived – has no such reservations. He just makes himself comfortable on Eddie’s lap, wiggling around until he’s comfortable.

Eddie holds his breath, unsure what he should do. It doesn’t feel safe to be to close to such a fragile animal, but pushing him off also feels dangerous. The last thing he wants to do is hurt Bosko’s cat on top of it all.

Desperately, he looks around, meeting Mayo’s eyes. She glares at him and hisses, Eddie looks back as if to say ‘I know, I agree, I also don’t know what this idiot is doing.’

Then he realizes he’s trying to reason with a cat and he looks back down. Butter wiggles again, nudging against him as if to entice him into petting him. Again Eddie hesitates, then gently strokes one finger across Butter’s back. The second he does, Butter starts purring happily.

Message received, he thinks, continuing to gently stroke Butter’s back as he stares at the cat. It feels wrong to have the trust of such a small creature. Just a small, dumb animal, who doesn’t realize how dangerous Eddie is.

Butter has a tiny little brain, he doesn’t know that Eddie a danger. He doesn’t know that he should run instead of curl up. Eddie is sure that anyone else who saw him, would know that he is a monster. Something to be feared. To be backed away from.

How can he ever face Buck and Chris ever again?

~~

A/N:

Poor Eddie, I just keep making it worse for him, don’t I? But don’t you guys worry, it will be just as bad for Buck and Chris >:3

Also I keep telling myself that I’m not going to add more Bosko, but then I end up adding more Bosko. She wasn’t meant to be such a big part of this, but I love the version of her I created, however pushy she may be. We deserved to have lesbian Bosko and I will not take criticism on that.

Sidenote: I don’t actually think Eddie is a danger or violent. However, this is the current vision he has of himself and we are in his head.

[ghcstao3]

Hi ! since I have no one else to tell this to and I really like the way you write ghost and soap I'd like to tell you. OK so as we know of ghosts backstory he was buried alive, so I was thinking of in the future soap goes through the same thing because of the song "like real people do" by hozier (honestly theres a lot of hozier songs that fits them, like it will come back but thats for some other day). I think it'd really fit them

not often i write hurt/comfort actually so this. this was good. even if both are vague and also minimal (oops)

hope this is okay ;-;

-

Ghost has always understood the fear of being just a second too late.

Sure, it comes with the job—but it also comes with a lifetime of unearned misery and experience only the most cruel would wish upon their worst enemies.

He understands it too well, the suspension of a heartbeat in anticipation of finding out he’d taken a moment too long. The sharp breath sucked between teeth, the mental plummet that follows intense uncertainty—that fear is his closest friend.

And it’s that fear that kneels with him now, a weight, an arm around his shoulders as he claws at dirt with a ferocity that drives through the ache in his muscles and pounding in his head.

The smell of earth will linger in Ghost's senses for weeks to follow, the dark and soft soil will settle beneath his nails for an eternity. He's requested help but they'll never make it in time—but he can try. He will try. Because if he doesn't, there is no question of being too late. It's a guarantee that will carve out his heart and replace the pit with guilt, festering, everlasting.

He keeps digging.

Handful by handful. It stains pale hands, fine grains embedded in the lines of palms and circling prints of half-seared fingertips. Ghost can't breathe—but he has air. He has air. The coffin he's been promised by intel does not. Will not, if he takes too long.

Will not if the man he had tortured for a location only lied to escape an inhuman wrath when Soap was not found. When after weeks, months, Soap was still not found. Because they arrived on the day he was meant to die.

The day he was buried, as Ghost had once been. With one last lungful of air and a hammering heart, beaten and broken and stripped bare of everything.

As Ghost had once been. And he'd been lucky.

Finally, miraculously, his fingers scrape against old, roughly cut wood. Ghost doesn't care if he runs them bloody—he can only keep clearing dirt, praying thanks to a God he hasn't acknowledged in decades for Soap's captors not having left him entombed so deep.

Several feet down, still. But not so deep. Not so deep.

From inside, there's banging against the lid of the coffin. Curled fists working with a shared determination, but breath kept minimal, lips pressed firmly shut, nostrils flared. He knows better than Ghost ever had.

Ghost helps pulls him out. Lets Soap collapse against him when they've found ground away from the grave.

Help finally arrives. Soap clings to Ghost even as he's urged to get medical attention, and Ghost lets him. Would always let him. Fights to stay by his side as the sergeant's frail body is checked over, as he's stuck with needles and wrapped in bandages and doted on in a way Ghost never was.

And that's the difference, isn't it? The good and honest difference—Soap gets to survive because he has people who love him. People who expect him to return. It's impossible to arrive at his side too late because it simply isn't built into Soap's bones to be left behind. Discarded.

Like Ghost was.

Ghost waits at Soap's hospital bed until the sergeant wakes. He had made a promise to himself, long ago, never to let Soap suffer like Ghost in his previous life. Like Ghost prior to everything John MacTavish. And in part, he bemoans his failure—but so long as Soap is still breathing, his promise is kept. He knows this. Owes it to himself.

And without even knowing his entire history, Soap would want the same.

So Ghost waits on Soap to blink his bleary eyes open, blue eyes wide and vibrant despite the deep and purpling bags beneath them, and kisses him softly in renewal of that promise.

He presses his lips to bruised knuckles and smooths the creases of furrowed brows, speaks whispered vows and gentle words; reassurances to them both that never again would Ghost commit such a careless and stupid mistake as letting Soap out of his sights again.

One day their bodies are meant to be returned to the dirt. But not like this.

Never like this.

And Ghost will make sure of that.

[lovebugmusings]

HELLO. I am here to drop an unsolicited ask abt omegaverse bc it's been racking my brain.

okay so you said ppl can go from b -> a or o->b.

Im a fucked individual and need to know how would they react if reader/you/omega had something happen and become a beta after having been in the pack already (like years)

first and foremost all asks about my omegaverse (or any of my au’s) is always always solicited. i love talking about them. i’m a yapper (and post-writing char here to say oh boy did i yap)

so for someone to change designation, they need to go through what their body perceives as an extreme amount of trauma. the change is a survival instinct for a life-or-death situation. which is obviously different person to person but simon had to dig himself out of his own grave after being physically and sexually tortured in order for him to become an alpha.

it’s also very rare to happen, but even more so in those that are mated. the pack bond strengthens the individual so it takes that much more to alter them

but it’s not impossible

~✧

you had been gone just shy of 2 months. 58 days since you were taken, since they failed to keep you safe. 58 days of task force 141 tearing through the worst parts of the world with teeth and claws, trying to find you. 58 nights where they could barely sleep because their bones ached knowing you weren’t with them, weren’t safe. 58 days since they failed you, and one more day because they didn’t even find you. it was alex keller who brought you home.

the nurses and doctors knew better than to try and keep a pack away from their injured omega, especially a pack as formidable and deadly as the 141. so they were allowed in observation when you were in surgery and allowed to sleep in shitty cots and shittier recliners in your hospital room.

medically induced coma. give you a chance to heal and for your body to come to terms with being safe. you mind would come after they knew you weren’t at risk of hurting yourself.

when you wake, they want to smother you with affection. want to hold you and kiss you and make up for the cruelty you suffered for far too long. but they know what torture does to a person, so they hold each other and tear the edges of the bedsheets while you blink away the crust in your eyes and finally scent your pack.

johnny’s knees go out from under him when you sob.

they’re tentative, slow in reaching out to hold you, but you claw and grab and pull them in, wanting to be crushed under the weight of your pack and drowned in the scents that you’ve craved the past 2 months. they cry softly watching you sob and blubber, kissing your hands and cheeks and face. hands squeezing skin not cut or burned or thinly protecting fractured bones.

it isn’t until john presses his nose to your scent gland that he notices it. the scent of omega is gone. he pulls back suddenly and you are terrified that this is another one of those dreams you had where they weren’t really there.

he cups your face in one hand, pushing you to tilt and expose your scent gland gentle while cradling your cheek.

silently, he gestures toward your neck, and kyle is the first to move forward.

“no.” he barely whispers it, and if his cheek wasn’t brushing against your jaw you wouldn’t have heard it.

“what? what’s wrong? john, please. what’s happening?” he presses a kiss to your nose, sadness crashing over his face.

“just… just hold on, love” and you trust him, so you nod and you wait.

wait for johnny to press his nose deep against your neck, the same as he always does, before he jolts back, distraught look fighting to cross his face.

wait for simon to gently press a kiss to your scent gland, already knowing. he could smell it the moment you woke from the coma and your scent began to project. the sharp taste of citrus in the air, and the lack of anything overwhelmingly sweet.

it’s simon who sits beside you and takes your hand, pressing the back of your hand to his lips before he looks at you with so much pity it almost suffocates you.

“i’m so sorry, sweetheart,” he takes a slow, almost shuddered breath, “you aren’t an omega anymore”

“wh- how? that’s not- no! that can’t be right! i’m- im an omega. your omega! th- no!” your voice pitches in panic as you hyperventilate. “i’m claimed! mated! i shouldn’t- no. no, simon you… you’re wrong i can’t-”

you let him pull you into his chest while you sob, grasping at his shirt while you scream and cry.

john hates himself. blames himself entirely. you are a member of the team, of the pack, and you were claimed by him - the pack alpha - first. in every way your safety fell to him. and he failed you.

johnny and kyle both do their best to help you adjust to your new designation. the differences in scenting, the fact that you can no longer do accurately read emotions. you’re overwhelmed and they often find you curled up in the nest that no longer provides you with the same hormonale regulation as it did when you were an omega.

johnny is always trying to be there. not force himself in but he hovers and is so bad for it. he’s always around just in case and even when you scream and throw things at him to just leave you alone, he doesn’t. he needs to be near you, for you but mostly for him. so he knows that you really are back even if you’re different.

kyle is much better at giving you space when you need it. he keeps an eye on his phone in case you text and keeps an ear out when nearby. on a few occasions he’s had to grab whatever you were about to throw at johnny and drag the scot out of the room. both their instincts are to be there and to help, but kyle knows johnny is being too much.

simon, like john, blames himself. but because he knows what you’re going through - the sudden change in the hormones and instincts, the emotional circus show that leaves you exhausted at the end of the day - he tries to make the self hatred less obvious. because of this you gravitate toward him more. he’s not overbearing and he doesn’t look at you like john has been - like everything that happened is his own fault and like looking at you hurts - so you find yourself sitting in silence with him when your brain and body are screaming at you.

~✧

[genichisojo]

Chihiro and Joining the Kamunabi: Does it Make Sense?

I believe it does.

A few months ago, I wrote an essay about Chihiro's age and why him being eighteen is perfect for him in light of the story and how it's progressing. You do not need to read the entire thing, so I will quote myself on this one paragraph that I believe relates back perfectly to this:

[Chihiro] has assigned himself the responsibility to get the katanas back and get revenge, and he’s very set on it in a one track, 18 yr old way. When Char got taken, his mind was on getting her back. When Sojo was doing his shit, his mind was on taking him down. Then he immediately moves back into getting back the katanas, not really taking time to process literally losing a limb after already not fully healing from a hospital visit. He’s reckless with his physical health- typical for his age.

In this mini essay, I will explain why his choice to join the Kamunabi is in character as I lay out his past choices and motivations.

During the auction, Chihiro's goal was to kill Kyora Sazanami, stop the auction, and retrieve the Shinuchi. He did that and now he's back to his original goal of retrieving all the blades. The thing about Chihiro is that although he is impulsive and has the history of telling himself he'll improvise later, he doesn't make dead end choices. They might be questionable, but they're never anything that will stop him from continuing on his chosen path.

There's a reason he's extremely conscious about when to stay and fight and when to get away. He doesn't want to die. He will push himself past his limits (sorry Shiba), but he won't let himself die if the blades are still out there.

So, Chihiro destroyed Kyora Sazanami, got the Shinuchi (technically), and made the auction house go boom. However, just as he's shifting back to his goal to retrieve all the blades, there's one huge obstacle in the way: the Kamunabi.

Chihiro might have fish for brains some of the time, but he is extremely tactical. Not just in combat but in the way he speaks to people and convinces them to do things for him. He is not forceful, but he digs for the kindness in people to get what he wants and needs. Examples being getting the Cloud Gouger squad to follow his idea on how to defeat Sojo and getting Hiyuki and Tafuku on his side, even if that was temporary.

Chihiro knows he isn't strong enough to fight Hiyuki after the auction battle to take the Shinuchi off her hands. To our knowledge, he doesn't know that Hiyuki was planning on killing him to take Enten. But, he did have a conversation with Hiyuki and knows that the Kamunabi wants the swords at their side no matter what, and they have their wielders under protection.

With this move, Chihiro is able to get protection from the Kamunabi, keep Enten and his life, and it gives him access to a new want: information on his father and the swords.