#found a broken bottle on the side of the road

[blended-ice]

Headcanon that when viktuuri get married yurio gifts them a basket that says “Congrats on your marriage. well’nt wishes”. The basket is filled with fruit and a wine bottle that’s been broken, the edges of it jagged and stabby. Viktor tries to eat the fruit and discovers that they’re all fake and made out of styrofoam. It’s one of the few, and one of the worst gifts they’ve ever received from yurio.

#initially nikolai prepared an actual gift basket filled with real fruit and a wine bottle for yurio to give them #(for those unaware—nikolai is the name of yurio’s grandpa) #but yurio gave all that good stuff to otabek #found a broken bottle on the side of the road #and shoplifted the styrofoam fruit #nikolai finds out like3 weeks later and has yurio give them an actual gift basket while watching him the entire time #btw u guys dw—yurio shoplifted from a big ole corporate owned chain and not a small independent business #ok I’m done talking about my stupid hc now #yuri on ice #yoi #katsuki yuuri #viktor nikiforov #viktuuri #yuri plisetsky #podium family #sort of

[where-does-the-heart-lie]

The Friends We Made Along The Way Crew Modern Au

Fourth and probably final installment of these full character pages.

ASL Brothers Post

East Blue Crew Post

Grand Line Crew Post

Friends we made along the way 2 post

Additional headcanons:

Law was a Nickelodeon child. Spongebob, iCarly, and especially Power Rangers shaped his childhood

Yamato met Ace at a concert, and afterwards ace squatted for a couple days at his house.

Carrot always has some kind of full vegetable that she’s nibbling on. Cucumbers, bell peppers, entire heads of broccoli, she’s done it all. She doesn’t eat actual carrots, though. She considers that cannibalism.

Vivi is also sorta convinced that Sabo is a vampire. At the very least, she doesnt trust him.

Law actually had a pretty normal childhood. Corazon is a family friend who was law’s dad’s war buddy. He now wears both of their army tags around his neck.

Yamato sometimes draws abs and pecs onto his binders with machine washable markers. It makes him chuckle

Carrot is always on the look out for good souvenirs for when she goes back to her home country. The problem with the ones she’s collected is that in no universe could she possibly get any of them past TSA because theyre stuff like a stop sign, a broken glass bottle she found at the beach, a McRib, a Keep Left street sign, a PRIME Hydration drink variety pack she’s planning on selling to the highest bidder while she’s in the uk briefly, and another stop sign. She keeps stealing road signs. Please someone tell her to stop.

Vivi’s locket has a picture of her late mother on one side of it, and a picture of Karu (just a normal duck in this version) on the other side

Vivi is also a kpop fan. She’s not as into it as Yamato is, but sometimes they film TikToks dancing to them with him. Its a fun time :)

thanks for reading, these are fun to do but also sometimes its real hard to come up with so many🙃

#my art #one piece #trafalgar law #nefertari vivi #vivi one piece #one piece carrot #yamato #op yamato #one piece fanart #one piece modern au #friends we made along the way

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Crimson Fangs Sing Me Lullabies

PAIRING: David 'Hesh' Walker x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: Ten years is a long time to be alone.

WORD COUNT: 18.7k

WARNINGS: Angst, gore, canon typical violence, stitches & needles, death, fluff, puppy love type stuff, mutual pining, Hesh being adorable, Ghosts timeline

A/N: Back to my roots with 30+ page works.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

He vividly remembered the moment Riley had alerted him on that rainy Tuesday afternoon. It was when the sky was pelting against his soaked beanie and the abandoned houses of South California were utterly silent—as still as the heart in his breast. The ground under his feet was soft, grass giving way to slopping mud that caked up to his ankles in thick mounds of flooded earth.  

Hesh had only been out for a swift survey of the area, taking Riley for backup as Logan stayed at camp to pack and hide any trace of two individuals from inside Fort Santa Monica snooping around. Seeing as Federation Soldiers frequented the area, any piece of them that was left in No Man’s Land was subject to identification. Nothing from a broken branch or a boot track could be out of order; certainly not when the two brothers were here to scout possible weak points in enemy territory. Try and find ways to slip in a fire team—give ‘em all a good scare and wipe another point off the map. 

But Riley was along because not only was he Hesh’s responsibility, but the German Shepherd’s instincts were far superior than a soldier’s ever could be. For only 14 months, the dog was making quite the name for himself around the Fort.

A chilled wind whips down the street, the overgrown road filled with rusting cars and trash which flutters in retaliation of being disturbed all across the asphalt. Rain comes down sideways in great roars. Whatever the dog had honed in on, it was loud enough to be heard over the noise of nature.

“Riley,” Hesh calls, calm and collected, to the animal that was intently staring at a large home; hackles tense and tail pointed high. Blue was the color, hiding peeling white trim behind suffocating ivy. A large portion of the left side was ripped away to show its insides like a dead deer would, which had most likely happened when the earthquakes had been rampant during the first few years after ODIN was fired. Tectonic plates shifting and the like. Green eyes narrow. “Go on boy, search.”  

If there were Federation Soldiers this close to camp then it needed to be taken care of—quickly and quietly. No time to get Logan. 

Sharp ears perk and the lithe dog shifts its haunches, raised neck fur accented by a low growl. Paws pad over the ground and twin footfalls follow swiftly after, the body of a Honey Badger Assault Rifle pointed down but ready to aim at a moment's notice.

But nothing could have prepared Hesh for what he found that day. 

—

You press to the oozing wound with a futile hope that it would stop gushing, breathing so loud it can be heard over the deluge outside this shitty excuse of a shelter. Your arm was splattering blood all over the damaged hardwood of the first house you could stumble into, feet flinching back until your spine hits a dresser in the upstairs bedroom. 

Dust lives on every surface; flies through the air as you string curses under your breath with stuttering sobs. You’d hoped that there was a medical kit stashed away here somewhere—something to scavenge that could fix the knife slice that was making you dizzy. 

T…there was just too much blood.

But after the loud slamming of cupboards and the destruction of more than a few rusty door hinges, it hit you like a bullet to the chest as your clothes stuck to you like a second skin. Everything had been picked over. 

No medicine in the bathrooms, no rags in the kitchen, and no hope of bottled water to clean the wound out. Nothing. 

“No, no, no.” You force the black dots away from your eyes, vision blurry with tears as you press harder to the gash. It squelches and more scarlet hits the floor. “It can’t end like this. Not like this.” 

All that you had were the clothes on your back and the sparse materials in your backpack that amounted to an empty water skin, a blanket, and the pages of an old book. 

Blood pooled on the ground, and you realized far later that the only reason you had heard the noise downstairs was because of the steadying way you had bitten your lip; a sob cut short. Your body stilled like you were caught in a bear trap. 

It had been a soft whistle, barely heard over the sheets of rain hitting the broken roof. Water lightly taps your head in an uneven pattern as it leaks through the frame like an ant tunnel. Blinking as a few more tears are forced down your cheeks, you slowly turn to the door that hangs off one hinge. 

Small brown eyes are already locked onto you.

Its pupils are so tiny you wondered if the German Shepherd was half snake—they seemed almost slitted as you gaped at its presence. The army green vest that was wrapped around its frame only served to make you more afraid. 

Dogs were not your friends. Not in this day and age. Certainly not the ones that belonged to the soldiers that had cut your arm open not an hour earlier in the woods. That’s what they did, then? They sicked a dog on you? 

You swallow down a gulp and stand paralyzed as the beast’s lips curled back; its tail puffing up and wagging with aggression. Your breast filled with the constant drumming of a panicking heart.

“G—” voice small, weak, you try to appease the thing with a forced smile as your brows bunch in. This demon doesn’t even blink. “Good doggy.”

You stumble backward only a single shaky step, and then it lunges. 

The dog runs at you with a gnashing of teeth and a shredding snarl on its lapping tongue. Sharp barks meet your ear-piercing scream as they echo off the termite-eaten walls. Rushing back, you feel saliva splatter against your face; a sharp snapping flash just inches from your nose. Your back slams into the far wall with a resounding crash.

“Riley!” A masculine voice yells out, followed by feet rushing up the creaking stairs, but you don’t even hear it before fuzzy neck fur is gripped in your hands. Paws dig into your stomach. Worse, fangs graze your neck as ears stay stapled to an angular head; bobbing back and forth with intent to rip your flesh out. 

You could smell its damn breath.

Straining, every bit of adrenaline-laced strength builds as a split-second to act takes form. You plant your shaking legs and shove with your shoulders—racing away before the loud thump of the Shepherd’s form hitting the floor is registered. Its vibrating growl of hatred echoes off your brain along with its skidding claws. You stagger quickly into the bathroom and slam the thin wood with a loud yell of fear, finding the rusted lock before flicking it with a floundering grip.

The barrier shakes not a second later with the force of a vehicle as you balk back from it with a horrible fear in your breast.

What would it feel like to be mauled to death? You swallow through a closed throat, seeing the door almost cave with the force behind thrown at it; eyes wide and snapping to the tiny box you’d caged yourself into. Oh, fuck me.

“Riley!” Again that voice, closer. There’s a pause in the attack, but the deep barking continues. Eyes flinching, you shake wildly and notice the under-sink cupboard not a moment later with a prey-like haze over your thoughts. “Easy, boy, easy!”

Stumbling, you whip open the small enclosed area and do what you can to shove yourself into it—legs pressed tight to your chest and grunts falling from your lips as you try and maneuver past pipes. Your arm feels like there are a million knives stabbing one after the other, but you don’t for one second dare to stop what you’re doing. Letting the tiny door shut with a bounce of wood, you get totally swallowed by darkness. 

You realize quickly that the barking has entirely stopped. 

“Shit,” hand going to capture your mouth, your fingers press tightly to hide even the sounds of your ragged breathing, dealing with both the hunched-over nature of your spine and the knowledge of someone outside the door. 

Someone who was probably going to kill you. 

Silence lingers, but before long there’s a commotion of a hand that begins to jimmy the door knob. Your ears twitch, blood draining little by little from your head. 

Don’t open the door. Please, don’t open the door. 

The door is shoved open with a shoulder, a brief grunt echoing off the air as the thing slams to the wall. Soon after, the clatter tells you that it falls off of its rusty hinges along with the muffled curse of annoyance.

Measured footsteps make you stare, wide-eyed, at the tiny crack in the side of the wood ahead of you, light from outside dim but enough for you to notice shadows as they slink past. A sigh.

“Clear.” Weight shifts, and you hear a defining click of a safety. You press on your mouth harder. “What was all the ruckus about, boy? Another raccoon give you the slip?” 

Claws pad over broken tile and you hear a nose twitching as distinctly as you can hear your own pulse in your ears. This man that was talking….he didn’t sound like the normal soldiers you’d encountered. There wasn’t an accent to his American English, in fact, he sounded native to the region. Deep of voice and lax in phonics. 

But you had more pressing matters than a man’s speech pattern. A bark rips through the bathroom, and you hear a soft chuckle as your body spasms. 

“It’s not going to be in the cupboard. C’mon, Bud, we need to get back to Logan. Time’s ticking.” More snarling barks, getting higher in octave. The door rattles as you choke back screams as dog feet scratch with aggression, making the barrier bounce with every punch. “Hey, Riley! Enough!” 

A bulky shadow snatches a limb out, grabbing the handle on the back of the dog’s vest, but it’s a bit too late for that. White fangs capture the jutting edge of the frame and rip it off its holding with a raging of metal and splintered wood. You yell between your fingers and try to force yourself away—to try and disappear into a shattered bit of drywall that groaned as you put weight on it. 

Feet kicking out, the dripping wound on your arm makes you wrench the other hand to grip at it, a vain attempt to protect your weak area at the moment. It burns like you’ve just flayed the skin from your bone, peeling the flesh like a person would do to a raw steak. 

And then the dog is reeled back with a sharp yell, “Riley, stand down!”

At once all barking and drool-dripping snarls come to a halt. Panting, you look out to the half-body of the man and into the dead eyes of Riley—a beast that glares at you despite not being able to as his front legs are held off the ground by his vest similar to a kangaroo. It is like staring into the color of dead earth and waiting for it to swallow you whole. 

You wonder if you can die with a still pounding pulse, or if your soul can dip into the very confines of your intestines until you bleed it out. With black dots at the sides of your vision, as Riley is lowered to the ground and left to stand still, you decide that, yes, that could very well happen. 

There’s a large exhalation of air from the top, not-visible, image of the man and although you don’t want to look away from the small-eyed dog, eyes drift slowly to stare. 

Large toned thighs covered in green and brown camo tucked into muddy boots; straps and holsters that drip water with the subtle shifting of hips. Yet it’s almost immediately that those legs bend as a broad chest comes into view followed by a pale, square face. 

You blink quickly, dispelling tears from your lashes mixing with rainwater as it flows down from your forehead when green eyes meet yours—wide and strangely…curious? Brunette hair is trapped by a beanie, and the beginning of stubble spread out down his cheeks, jaw, and chin. Gray sweatshirt, combat vest, patches…your eyes struggle to take it all in but ultimately the large rifle sitting against his chest paints a clear enough picture, even if this man was completely different from the other soldiers you’d encountered out here. 

Shaking, you curl in tighter and hunch your shoulders, hiding away your arm.

Hesh doesn’t know what to think. 

He looks you over with a blatant expression of shock, Riley still on high alert beside him as one of his knees connects with the cracked floor. Lips slightly parting, the man’s head slightly pulls back, trying to understand what the hell he’s looking at. 

A… civilian? This far out in No Man’s Land? How was that even possible—Federation control was practically assured in this area and they shot on sight. Clearing his throat, Hesh sees your water-wet body jerk back, impulsive fear stuck over your head. He quickly raises his hands, dropping his rifle to let it hang from its strap with a clenching jaw as Riley huffs.

“It’s alright, Ma’am.” He coughs awkwardly, watching you incredibly closely. Still not sure how to handle this. “Erm…” A glance is sent to the far wall, “My name is Lieutenant David Walker with the United States Special Forces, you’re going to have to tell me what you’re doing out here. It’s not safe.” 

Firm, yet you notice the words are also subdued as the tension in the air somewhat lessons—like a mother scolding a child that she doesn’t want to start bawling. Your eyes waft away from him back to Riley, though the knowledge that the man was in the Special Forces was startling. You had thought everyone else was dead, most of all the remnants of the military. 

When did this happen? 

Riley still stands as still as anything, watching with his lips curling every so often. Hesh notices your terrified gaze and commands the dog with an easy comment, “Hey, Riley, away Bud.”

The beast pads off with one last long stare, back into the bedroom where you hear the thud of a fuzzy backside hitting the floor and a canid grunt. Immediately a great sigh exits your mouth, crumpled lungs wheezing. The man’s Adam’s Apple bobs as he lowers his arms, lips peeling into a languid frown when his head tilts.

“Sorry about him,” Hesh says, and your shy gaze stops on his neck. Green eyes narrow on you. “Riley’s trained to flush out Feds—not that good at rolling out the welcome committee. ‘Specially out here. He means well.” 

Your lips stay shut, shifting the bloody mess of your arm closer to you. If he was going to kill you, you think, he would have done it already. 

This Lieutenant David Walker wasn’t wearing the dark coloring of the other soldiers in the forest or the towns—wasn’t wearing the patch of twelve yellow stars set into the black void of a rhombus outlined with red. 

He wasn’t part of the group hunting you down. 

Hesh sighs deeply, sparing more glances around the broken-down house and the beautiful woman hiding away in the bathroom cabinet. Even with all of his burning questions, it wasn’t safe to be here. Logan was expecting him back. 

Itching at the back of his neck, the large man mutters, “Well, I guess you’re just going to have to come with us then.” Hesh wasn’t about to leave you here alone. 

Civilians were meant to be behind the Wall, and however you managed to end up outside, he needed to get you back not only for his own consciousness but because you looked like you needed a good meal and a warm bed. 

How long has this girl been out here? He asks himself internally. 

A gloved hand slowly extends out to you and you level on it with a stiff twitch of your feet, eyes glinting.

“Got yourself pretty much folded in half in there, Ma’am.” Hesh chuckles, trying to put you at ease as you just watch like a deer in headlights. “Can’t be too comfortable, huh? How about I bring you back to camp and I can sift ‘round in my packs—see if I can’t find something for you to eat, yeah?” 

It was like coaxing a wild animal from a cage. A chained fox ready to bite its own leg off for the simple release of freedom that it would bring soon after. Hesh couldn’t blame you, Riley usually had that effect on people. 

The dog wasn’t trained to be a pet, after all. 

At the prospect of food, your ears perked. If this person had food, they had to have bandages as well—medical supplies. You glance quickly down at your arm, seeing how the blood had drenched your abdomen from where it flooded out into the lines of textile and thin your lips. It didn’t look good; if it was left untreated…

Green eyes flutter to stare at where you had briefly peeked at. 

“Shit,” Hesh starts, sucking down a breath. His fingers curl from where they still wait for your hand in his. Looking at you as your heart skips a beat from the concerned comment and the unwavering way he stares. “Riley didn’t get you, did he? Let me take a look.”

David moves closer, head partially going under the counter to carefully touch you on the shoulder, shifting your arm from the top. If it was a simpler time, you would have laughed at the sight of such a built and tall man trying to stick his upper half into such a confined place. 

His fingers dig into your flesh and with a hesitant line on your forehead, you slightly present your cut as he sends you a tiny smile in reassurance. 

He…doesn’t look malicious. Maybe I can… 

You blink away black dots and shiver as fingers close around your wrist. Holding back a gasp, Hesh’s eyes widened at the gushing slice; immediately clocking it as a wound from a large and serrated knife. 

Federation? Many of the others from the recon units come back with similar wounds courtesy of the certain blades that the Feds used. 

Digits go to dig around in his medical pouch as your eyes flutter, seeing the heavy frown on David’s face and the lines on his forehead. Ears twitching at the sound of shifting paws, your body quivers. Green quickly glances up as your hand clenches; making more blood fall out to the wood. 

“He won’t do anything,” Hesh assures you, “not without my order. You just need to focus on me, alright? I’m going to wrap this up to help stop the bleeding.” A roll of bandages escapes his pack, and he gets to work tying off a tourniquet above your elbow. “Can you tell me your name, Doll?” 

Your nerves are alight from the rough scape of his gloves along your skin, but you whisper out your title with a stuttering voice. More hushed than a breeze on a humid summer’s day. Speaking after all that screaming hurt your vocal cords. It confuses you that you aren't more afraid of this man—the hard yet sparking eyes.

Hesh sends a quick glance and smiles. 

“Well, we’ll have you all fixed up soon. Promise.” He decided fairly promptly that it would be counter-intuitive to ask you so many questions in No Man’s Land; he’d wait for all of them to be back in the Fort and his father’s opinion. 

Elias Walker was sure to be intrigued by this.

Flinching when David carefully pours water on the wound to clean it out, more wrappings come after to press the torn edges of the injury close together, white rapidly becoming red. But the bleeding would stop soon, as the tight bite of the tourniquet cuts off the flow and leaves your arm completely numb. 

Hesh licks his lips and releases your hand, moving back to rest on the ends of his feet to let his limbs hang off his knees. Looking you over one last time, the man wonders if you were a scavenger. A drifter, maybe? There was a score around the Wall, but they all got caught eventually. 

But none of them were this far out, this afraid.

“C’mon,” David stands, one hand resting atop the counter and the other still extended into the cabinet for you. “We need to get going so we can make it back before dark. Or until the storm gets worse. I’d hate to catch a cold.” 

You stare and push down your fear, injured hand held to you as the other slowly drifts forward. Hesitating over his expectant palm you bite your lip before letting his grip encompass yours. Firmly, fingers tighten over your skin and you shiver at the prospect of touch. 

As gently as he’s able, Hesh helps you out from your hidey-hole, stabilizing you with a hand to the small of your back as you pop to full height. 

“Easy,” he murmurs, watching you stumble as he holds tight. The dog stands from the bedroom, ears erect, but the Lieutenant doesn’t even look. “Riley, stay.” 

Your eyes purposefully never stray to the canine. 

The grip over yours squeezes before it’s gone, and a part of you blinks at the sudden sweep of coldness that returns to you. 

“Thank you,” you whisper, sliding your vision to the still form at your side as the house creaks and groans; rain followed by a deep rumble of far-off thunder. Hesh’s lips pull up, huffing out a single, dismissive, chuckle yet his heart jumps with pride.

“Don’t worry about it.” The man’s limbs rest on his weapon, loose. “Least I could do for lettin’ Riley scare you like that.” A beanie tilts as his rugged head nods to the doorway. “Follow me, Ma’am.” 

You stare at the back of his head as he slips past you, walking past the broken door. Blinking after, you stuff your hands into your pockets and quickly catch up with a few strides; feeling light-headed from the leaving adrenaline in your blood. Not fully convinced you trusted him, David had the one beneficial factor of being in the American military that made you go along. 

Why would someone impersonate them? It didn’t make sense, and thus, he had to be telling the truth. 

But you really didn’t like being near Riley. 

Tail still stiff, the dog stays on David’s right while you keep to the left, if not slightly behind. Brown eyes glare and rage, and you hunch your shoulders in mute retaliation, fixing the position of your backpack after it was smashed between the wall and your body. 

“So,” Hesh tries to break the tension, carefully going back down the stairs and looking back. You perk. “How long have you been out here, if you don’t mind me asking? Don’t get many civvies in No Man’s Land.” 

His boots thump while your shoes lightly press, descending back to flat ground. 

“I…” You lick your lips, “I don’t know.” Brows peeling back, Riley exits the house first, Hesh pausing for a millisecond before humming leisurely and going after—not without a narrowed look of confusion directed at you first. 

“Alright.” He coincides. Maybe you were just in shock. “No worries.”

No Man’s Land? Silently, you dig into the back of David’s head when he leaves the shelter of the house, getting soaked by rain as nitrogen fills your nostrils. What’s that? 

Feet traveling out through rubble, you side-step wood and drywall, breathing in the outside air as you soon feel the water wet down your head and clothes once more, shivering at the constant slap to your scalp and cheeks. 

Shuffling after David, you see him call above the storm with one hand to his chest, speaking into a radio.

“Logan, I’m coming to you! I’ve got an injured Civvy with me—knife wound. It’ll need stitches.” There’s a murmur from the other end, but you hear none of it above the rain; Riley peels out ahead, taking point with a constant pattern that leaves the dog coming back after a moment or two into a heel position. “Affirm. Hold down the camp until I get back. We’ll need to move ASAP.”

Digging into the collar of your shirt, you stay in Hesh’s footprints, shoes getting even more mud-cased all along the old material as you all turn into the treeline, forsaking the dead neighborhood to go back to its rotting. 

You only send one glance behind before it’s swallowed by bushes and downed logs.

The cover of the branches offers some reprieve from the downpour, but only to a point where you still were left floundering over the rugged terrain while David walked it like a pro. 

Hesh was constantly looking over his shoulder at you—slowing his pace when you got too far behind him and Riley. At your almost frigid shivers, his lungs built in a low sigh. 

“Here,” he says, firmly, and plucks the beanie off his head to wring it out. Water pools to the soggy ground as your legs slow, constantly blinking eyes looking up from the rocks you were currently intent on not tripping over. “Sorry, it’s not much. Logan’s got a spare blanket he can lend you later.” 

Pausing, your fingers inside of your pockets twitch at the outstretched article, lashes fluttering as a raindrop bounces off your nose. Cleaning your throat when Hesh prompts you with a small, “Go on,” and a motion of his hand, you take the offering slowly. 

Slipping it on, you pull the thing far over your ears, hating how your hair feels under it but not willing to take it off once the pounding on your skull ceases. 

“Better?” David asks, tilting his head as his short brunette locks get weighed down to his forehead. 

You nod wordlessly, attempting a small flinching smile in gratitude. Hesh delays his turning feet for a moment, seeing that with a barely-there flush to his pale cheeks. Clearing his throat once more, the Lieutenant clicks his tongue for Riley to continue, and offers you a hand over the rocks. 

Up and over, he helps you all along the way, suddenly not caring about how long it might take to get back to camp.

Walking beside you, you take glances at David, wondering aloud, “Who’s Logan?” 

He smiles, green roving over the terrain and now on even higher alert now that there’s someone else with him for the trip back. Riley sniffs along the badly flattened trail, though still takes time to stare back at you with distrust. 

“My brother,” Hesh pushes his hair back, expelling water like a rag, “Riley and I went out to scout territory while he stayed behind. Erm,” the brunette chuckles and another wave of thunder rolls overhead. “Don’t think too much about it if he’s a bit quiet when you meet. Logan doesn’t talk much.” 

“I won’t mind,” you also chuckle, though yours is more forced; subdued. It was easy to speak to Hesh, even if your arm was pulsing and your heart was rampaging.

The Lieutenant sends you an appreciative side-eye, smiling slightly, “Good. I’d hate for you to think he was being—”

Riley halts with a huff. 

Attention shaping forward, David steps in front of you with a quick foot, and your frozen view of the western cluster of trees is blocked by a broad back. 

“Riley’s got something.” He speaks low, deathly serious. “Keep behind me.”

You suck down stiff oxygen, body weary as you peek over to stare at the dog and his vest as it shifts when he moves. The large white lettering of ‘Beware of Dog’ on the side catches your optics like a knife in the dark. 

Hesh takes slow steps ahead, knowing you’re behind him by the way your breath stutters and brushes the back of his neck. His vision bores into the treeline, peeling back bark like the books of a page, his heart a steady bump in his chest. 

Riley continues to alert, paws shimmying and fur caked in mud as his tail begins to go wild. 

David levels his rifle to the shadows dancing, clicking off the safety with a thumb before his cheek finds the stock, staring through the scope with deep-set brows. The man waits for the beast to engage first. 

With the minutes ticking and the rain drowning everyone, you find every swaying branch and twitching leaf to be as anxiety-inducing as a typhoon; still, Hesh stays unperturbed in front of you. About to open your mouth and utter a confused plea to keep going, Riley suddenly rushes.

Pushing headlong into the treeline growls akin to a demon echoing off the atoms of the air when the puffy tail disappears. There’s a moment of strained silence right after where your legs are itching for you to run, but David stays and so that means you will too. He’s really your only chance for survival at this point.

“C’mon boy,” the brunette mutters, hips shifting weight. 

It’s only when pained screams enter the air that the two of you really tense up, a loud, panicked thing that bounces off your eardrums over and over again. You gasp and take a step back, and that’s when two black-armored individuals burst from the bushes, yelling behind them and pivoting to try and shoot an enraged Riley with blood dripping from his maw.

Hesh dispatches them with only four bullets—two for each as their exposed necks explode into crimson. Snapping your gaze away you swallow tersely, blinking as if to dispel the image from your mind. You had seen people die before, in painful and gruesome ways, but that didn’t mean you had ever gotten used to it. Lowering his gun, Hesh tilts his head at the two Federation soldiers, the third taken out by Riley before he drove the others to him. 

“Good, boy!” David praises, oblivious to your plight, and the dog trots over with a lolling tongue, eyes bright. His gloved hand pats Riley’s side a few times, ruffling the fur atop his head as paws tippy-tap before shifting to look back at you. He double-takes, gaze widening with a frozen smile. 

Green blinks at your nervous expression and your body that had backed up a good five feet with your hands stuffed into your pockets. His petting hand pauses and Riley barks. Hesh watches you flinch at the sound and tenses. 

Awkwardly standing up to his full height, his fingers itch at his stubble.

“I…” David pauses, not sure what to say to you. Shaking his head, the man grunts out, “Camp’s this way, Ma’am.” A finger points down the trail and you nod quickly, still not looking anywhere near the bodies or Riley. Or him, for that matter. 

“Okay.” Sharing a look with the dog at his side, he thinks his lips and pauses before he takes off down the grass, concern and apprehension stuck in his veins. Not knowing why, he begins to feel a bit strained.

You stay well behind him all the way back to Logan, thinking and worrying.

I don’t know this man, you tell yourself, arms wrapped around your middle and beanie heavy atop your scalp. Even if he’s nice—even if he says he’s in the military, I don’t know what he could do. I have to remember that. 

And that damn dog. 

You can’t get its eyes off of you—constantly watching and tense as if you’d bolt and he would get the chance to pounce on you. It didn’t trust you and that sentiment was entirely mutual. Pulling your injured arm closer, the image of flashing fangs is playing in your mind as you and David get closer to a dense cropping of stones and deep foliage; now it was worse. Now Riley had congealed blood dripping off his chin, all fur up to his eyes deep red and stained. Rabid looking. 

He was one minute away from ripping my throat out back in that house. 

You shiver, but not from the cold. If not for the kind way Hesh had wrapped your arm and the promise of further help and food, you’re not entirely sure you wouldn’t try to bolt. 

People haven’t exactly been kind to you out here—not for many years.

Your eyes whip away from Riley and stay on David’s boots until the man pushes through one last bush, holding it back for you as you shuffle past with a silent nod of appreciation. The presence of another man immediately makes itself known when you stare into the remnants of a campsite. 

Grass trampled to form a semi-circle, a stuffed backpack rests against a large boulder and, in the middle of the area, sits a small pit for a fire. The dig-out ground is now flooded over by the rain, creating a concoction of mud and brown water. A large overhang stemming from two gigantic rocks gives a small reprieve, though there’s little room for more than two people, and if the rain slants the other way it would end up being completely useless. 

But the figure standing under it is taking what little cover it offers. Shifting with a similar outfit to David and blinking at you with brown eyes. Quickly, he lowers his gun when Hesh calls out, “Woah, Logan—it’s me!”

Blonde hair lays flat over the brother’s head, and you instantly see the resemblance between the two in the same shape of their jaws; the angle of their twin noses. But Logan did seem to be the younger of the two, though not by more than one or two years. 

David saunters forward, hips swaying, and pats you lightly on the shoulder before looking back to send you a soft smile of reassurance. Water flows off his chin. 

“Now, let's get that arm looked at.” He walks under the overhang and bumps forearms with Logan, who continues to watch you carefully. Riley trots up and the blonde rubs his head when David bends down to grab his backpack. 

You awkwardly shuffle, still out in the rain with a cautious feeling in the back of your chest. If you could peel back your skin, you would see an amalgamation of alarm bells strung up by cords of hesitance. Who was to say these men were any different than the black-clothed ones? Could you know their character based on a simple tourniquet and a soggy beanie? 

Brows tight, your shifting feet slosh through a puddle. Did you have a choice? 

Hesh calls over the rain, peeling out a large medical bag from his pack—the white cross capturing your vision. “C’mere! We need to get that stitched up.”

Sighing deeply, you walk until the rock stops the sky’s tears, fingers twitching in your pockets and feeling quite tired. 

“Logan,” the Lieutenant orders and the blonde takes his eyes from you slowly, his stubbled skin sporting a scar up the right side of his jaw. Riley looks up at him when the pets stop. “Give her your spare blanket, would you?” Green flickers to your arm before they go to your face. “Feelin’ alright about needles, Ma’am? It won’t feel that great, but I promise I know how to stitch a straight line.” 

You watch Logan jumble through his own belongings, shivering and hearing the snap of latex gloves from David’s side. They both worked like a well-oiled machine, with gears and pins moving in stupendous arks of shared understanding. If you were being honest, it almost overwhelmed you when a heavy fabric was dropped over your shoulders. 

Fingers go to keep the blanket over your form as a small protein bar was held loosely in your face from Logan’s hands. Brown eyes blink when you carefully take the item, whispering out a small, “Thank you, Logan.” 

The silent man studies your expression before he nods firmly, backing up and taking Riley with him out into the rain with a whistle to allow you more room. You respond to Hesh as he waves you over with a hand.

“I don’t mind needles,” you admit and David listens, patting the rock beside him on the ground for you to sit on. Doing that, you unwrap your bar and hunch deeper into the blanket. “It’s the blood that bothers me.” 

You get a silent side-eye and a gentle hum in understanding. 

“I’ll be done before you know it,” Hesh offers a twitch of his lips, going to lightly twist your arm so that the stained bandage can be unwrapped and laid to the side. “Then when you’re back in the Fort I can get you home to your family. I’m sure someone’s pretty worried about you right now, huh?” 

Your face scrunches, confusion taking hold as you’re just about to bring the protein bar to your lips. Fort? Family? What was this guy talking about? 

Not noticing your look, Hesh, sets off to work, one thumb caressing your numb forearm as he sews your flesh back together. At some point, you turn away, content to bite your lip at the pain and glare into the stone beside you rather than see the crimson slosh down your arm. David wipes at it every so often, seeing the curved needle slowly bring the ragged ends of skin to a neat line. 

He does his best to move as fast as he’s able, careful not to dig too deep and cause you more stress.

You eat your bar with a ravaging hunger, done with it almost immediately and licking the remnants off of your fingers. Hesh chuckles deeply, but a part of him is concerned at the sight.

You had said you didn’t know how long you’d been out here—how were you getting food? The wildlife? You didn’t seem the type to go hunting; didn’t even carry a gun unless it was in your backpack. David doubted that, though.

“Hell, the only person I’ve seen devour those things like that is Logan.” He comments, cutting off the last suture with the small scissors from the pack. You turn to watch his face, seeing the concentrated lines above his eyebrows and the way his tongue lightly pushes out of the side of his mouth until he licks his lips. “Don’t know how he does it—they’re more bland than his cooking.” 

You huff slightly at that, embarrassment heating your cheeks as the needle stops its up-and-down motion. Hesh finishes up with one last look over, tilting his head to the side. 

“You seem pretty close,” whispering, you glance at the figure in the rain, the yellow ball being tossed absentmindedly to Riley before it’s dropped at Logan’s feet as he walks the perimeter. 

Hesh smiles, “Definitely. Couldn’t imagine my life without him.” Fresh gauze is spread and taped down, new bandages unfurled. “Feeling alright? You’re doing great.” 

Your eyes blink at him, slipping over his handsome features and the way his hand holds you so softly even if he is quite large. The cold didn’t seem to bother him at all. You clear your throat and nod shakily.

“Isn’t the first time I’ve been stitched up.” Muttering out your confession your fingers twitch as David tightly wraps your wound up, securing the end and unwrapping the tourniquet at your elbow when he’s done. 

“Really?” The brunette frowns. “Sorry, that must have been tough.” 

You flex your hand, closing and opening your grip as his own travels to the marks the ruthless tourniquet had made on your skin. Freezing your eyes lay stuck to his fingers as the tips of them brush the indents, imaginary pricks under the skin forming as blood begins to flow properly again. 

Hesh doesn’t know what overcame him to do so, slowly pressing into the flesh with a low grunt stuck in his throat. Maybe it was some ill-placed concern for you—some guilt left over for how Riley had treated you before he had shown up. The fear in your eyes when he had killed those Feds.

But you…he wanted to help you.

Unexplainable actions make your heart thump, blood rushing to your head as your limb shakes at the contact. 

Quickly, green orbs pull far open, realization dawning. Clearing his throat, David swiftly moves his hand back to his knee, not meeting your eyes as a red flush makes everything from his nose to his ears pink. Your lips part at the sight in shock, jaw loosening. 

“Well,” he says loudly, moving back to stand and taking off the latex, “that’s that. You’re all set to go.” 

Without meaning to, a small giggle escapes your mouth as you rest your opposite hand on your arm. If anything that makes Hesh all the more flustered, quickly picking up all of his supplies and zipping up the medical kit with a racing pulse. 

Running a hard hand over the back of his neck, you see David call Riley and Logan back as his cheeks go back to their normal color. Your vision narrows on him, trying to understand this individual like how you could understand the thunder that rips the sky or the blanket over your shoulders. You swipe at the last dredges of rainwater on your nose, seeing the two brothers converse in hushed voices. Riley continues to watch you, shaking off inside the overhang and huffing.

It was quite obvious the dog held a grudge for you shoving him to the ground. Warming glee leaving you, you frown at the canine and shift your eyes to the outside world; the downpour is softer on your eyes than feral brown. 

You only turn back when your name is brought up. 

Hesh stares at you, serious, as Logan goes to swing his pack over his shoulder. “We need to start moving soon. It’s bad enough to be in No Man’s Land but to be this deep in Federation territory is worse. Do you have enough energy to keep going?”  

“I…” your lips stutter, taken aback, “Yeah, I should be alright.” If the terrain was anything like it was getting out of that town, I’m not going to make it a mile. Pulling the blanket tighter to you, you ask, “How far away are we?” 

Wherever they were going, it sounded like a good idea to tag along as long as they were allowing it. 

Hesh shares a stiff glance with Logan. 

“Full day of hard hiking, give or take. Terrain’s changed so much it’s a gamble every time.” Your face blanks, throat closing.

“Okay, sure.” You don’t know when you had come to care whether these men left you behind or not, but Hesh’s caring attitude had struck something in your chest like a drum. 

Now that you had someone to talk to out here, someone to caress your wounds, it felt vile to stake out on your own again. Running from soldiers with yellow stars and black rhombus patches outlined in red. This pair wasn’t so bad, at least from what you knew as of now.

David’s lips tighten, eyes sliding half-closed to narrow on you. Green meets brown, seemingly telepathically communicating in that way only siblings can. 

Hesh nods his head, slapping Logan on the shoulder firmly as he calls Riley to a heel position.

“C’mere, boy, we’re leaving.” The dog lopes over as the brunette stops in front of you with a smirk. A silent Logan huffs a chuckle from his position, shaking his head to himself. You look up in confusion, a slow death seeping into you as a teasing expression makes Hesh’s face shift. His arms cross over his chest.

“How do you feel about piggyback rides, Sweetheart?” 

—

You yelp, gripping tighter around David’s neck as the ground nearly gives way, his handle on your hips increasing. His mouth releases a grunt though he quickly rights himself so he doesn’t send the both of you careening over the edge of this rocky hill.

“Easy,” he huffs, looking behind at you as the slowing rain falls on everyone. A brow raises, puffs of breath escaping Hesh’s mouth as he begins to continue on. “Or you’ll choke me out before we make it back.” 

You cringe and loosen your hold, muttering, “Sorry, David.” 

“Hesh’ is fine,” he laughs, turning back, “Only person that calls me David is my old man. And don’t worry about it.” Eyes twinkle. “There are worse ways to die than being choked by a pretty girl.” 

You heat, sputtering for a minute as the joke registers; glaring at his head below your chin. 

“Well then, I guess you wouldn’t mind if I just yanked you off this cliff? Pretty girl and all.”

The deal had been you would keep up with Logan and Hesh as long as you could, from then on the Lieutenant would so graciously allow himself to be the pack mule while Logan and Riley protected the both of you. In all fairness you had done better than expected—David had called you stubborn and practically forced you onto his back when you started dry-heaving on the side of the trail. 

Over the walk, you had gotten into a habit of softly arguing with the man, Logan sending back amused glances every once and a while. It felt good to speak to people again.

“Hm,” Hesh huffs through his nose, sidestepping a boulder and carefully finding footholds in the ascending ground. Riley barks from the top of the hill as if telling him to hurry up. “Y’know I don’t have an answer for that right now. Would you be throttling me on the way down or no?” 

“Depends,” you deadpan, not looking at the edge that the man walks confidently, shivering but still keeping Logan’s blanket over your shoulders.

Hesh blinks water from his eyes, glancing over his shoulder. “On what?”

“On if I can get to you before Riley chomps my hands off.” A loud bark of laughter springs from his chest, unexpected but pure. It echoes off the cliffs and the trees, and you have to laugh slightly with him. You feel his hold squeeze your thighs, hiking you a bit farther up as he makes it to the top, Logan looks at him with a slightly parted mouth before his gaze slides to you. 

You swore there was a spark of thankfulness in his expression, but he’s turning and whistling for Riley a second later. 

“Shit, that’s a fair point.” Hesh chuckles, and you notice his shiver when the cold wind whips past. 

Cheeks burning, you move your hands making the man under you make a noise of confusion. Ignoring it, you peel at the blanket around you and place it above the both of your heads, blocking out the water even if the fabric was already soaking. You rest your elbows on his shoulders and sigh, looking at your bandaged arm for any blood. 

Dark, yes, but all the red fluid was dried. It was seemingly all good. 

Hesh feels his lips pull in a heart-felt smile, stubbled cheeks gaining a sheen as you hide his head from the rain. He didn’t need you to, of course, but the action came from a place of genuine care. It felt…nice. 

“That’s kind of you, Ma’am. Thanks.” Green peaks slightly up, and you turn away so you don’t meet his eye, cheeks burning.

“Least I could do.” Your mouth mutters. “Thanks for not letting Riley eat me alive…and the stitches.” 

Hesh grunts softly, still smiling. 

“Well, I’m not one to let my dog rip apart civilians. Least of all ones that need help.” He keeps a close gaze on Logan and the canine, watching the treeline and the rustling bushes from the blanket edge. “It’s a good thing I found you when I did—wound like that’s a nasty thing to treat half passed out.” He dares to push, “How’d you get it if you don’t mind tellin’ me?” 

You noticed how he would try to ask unassuming questions in hopes you would be able to explain yourself but in reality, you were just as confused. The military was still functioning? You had no idea, stuck in the same areas for…a long, long, time. 

It made you afraid. How…how many years had passed from when the sky had erupted with fire, beams of pure light slamming into the earth. You try not to dwell on it. 

Holding the blanket edge tighter, you wiggle your chilly nose to push back sniffles and explain to the best of your ability. Hesh had called those men Federation Soldiers, and you had heard of that title before the world had fallen apart like a toy castle under the fist of a child. 

Federation…You speak slowly, thoughtful of your words.

“I was running,” David slows a bit, putting distance between the others as he watches Riley sniff an old rusted bucket stuck in the middle of a Black Sage bush. His lips thinned, and a tense feeling in his gut was forming. “I don’t know for how long or where I was going, but I knew that if I didn’t run, I would die.” Your arm was throbbing, but you only look at it and continue. “I bumped right into one of those men when I was trying to see through the rain.”

Voice dipping slightly, you hold back a squeak of surprise when David’s thumbs start moving back and forth slowly over your thigh. Blinking down at the top of his head, you pause and speak through a hitch of breath—the man mistaking it for upset and feeling his eyes crease. 

“...He swiped at me with a knife and I raised my hand up to block it. I,” you stare over at Riley as he runs next to Logan, that brown and black coat soaking wet. “I thought they had sent a dog after me when I saw yours in the house.” 

Hesh tilts his chin to the ground, lungs breathing down a sigh through his nose. Walking around the form of an abandoned and rotting side table, the Lieutenant tries not to imagine how scared you must have been in that instant. 

He moves his head and you look into the expression of a soldier who takes his job very seriously. At the intensity that lives behind his eyes—at close range—you see flecks of bark and mossy dirt; a delicate and almost pretty curve of lashes. You’re entranced by a rugged beauty as you sigh. 

“That’s never going to happen again.” Skin heating, you see his gaze search your face, hold firm. “I said I would get you home,” he declares, letting a small smirk peel his lips. “And I’m not one to go back on my word, you hear?” 

Your chest tightens. You don’t have the heart to tell him whatever place he’s bringing you isn’t your home, but you feel light at the statement anyways. The insinuation was enough.

“Okay,” you mutter, and you both stare a moment longer. 

Nodding subtly, David studies the dirt and grime on your cheeks, the weather on the epidermis in what could have been sun exposure or simple blemishes. Your expression turns shy at the blatant staring, and you move your head back just as Hesh chuckles deeply, blood pumping. Walking faster, the Lieutenant rejoins the other two with an alert eye and a soft smile as a thankful feeling grows for the blanket over his head and the woman holding away the downpour. 

He decided then and there that nothing bad would ever happen to you as long as he was around.

It’s an incredibly long walk, but when you see the Wall for the first time, you nearly fall right off of Hesh’s back. The rain had stopped by now, though the air was still moist and the sun low—giving the world a shivering temperature. 

But the Wall. 

Hesh had called it Liberty Wall in a passing comment as he had let you slide from his hold, your feet stumbling not from fatigue but from sheer amazement. It was…gigantic. Falling to pieces, sure, but nonetheless a great achievement.

“There she is,” David sighed, stretching out his arms and groaning as Logan radios in from where you all stand along the ridge. Riley lies panting at Hesh’s feet. “Good to see ‘er again, huh? Been outside for too long, I’m about ready to eat a whole plate from the mess hall—and that’s really saying something.” 

About to chuckle to himself, eyes narrow in confusion at the realization of your blank expression behind him, frozen body with wide-open lids and parted mouth. Hesh’s brows crease. 

“Hey...you alright?” Clearing your throat, you notice the twin brown and green gazes on you with a quick swivel of your head. 

The brothers share a look.

“Mhm,” you bite your lip, hands descending into your pockets as you shuffle, shoulders rolling under the straps of your backpack. 

Hesh crosses his arms as the radio on Logan’s chest statics with a garbled voice, “Affirmative. You’re all clear to proceed, Sergeant. Good to have you both of you boys back so soon—Riley too.” 

It was becoming even more clear that you needed to be brought to Fort Santa Monica and to their father. You had met Federation soldiers, were in No Man’s Land for who knows how long, and acted as if you’d never seen possibly the most recognizable landmark that had been made during the last ten years since ODIN. 

“Logan,” Hesh turns to his brother but keeps his eyes on you, “radio into dad, yeah? Tell him we’re back and going to be showing up at HQ. Ask for an empty room.”

You stare along the barrier, mind running back to all the events that had happened since the moment the world had changed, wondering. Thinking. 

If this had been here the whole time… Faces flash over the back of your eyes like a layered movie before you push them back. The trail that Hesh and Logan had taken to get here was probably only known to the likes of them—no one else, or you would have traveled it ages ago. The dark-clad soldiers were so numerous that you’d never even thought to take the main road up North, nor the woods. They were everywhere all the time.

A hand grips your upper arm and you flinch, focusing back as Hesh’s strong jaw comes into view. He flattens his lips in a still-line smile of comfort.

“Let’s get you inside, Ma’am.” His hand carefully presses down farther on his hat atop your head, pulling it over your ears once more. “Find you some less soggy clothes.”

“What about you?” You ask without really knowing what you mean, finding some strange sense of comfort when David was near to you. 

The man chuckles, heart jumping, beginning to guide you down the slope and watching you closely in case you trip. Riley keeps on his right, neck hair still bristled whenever he looks your way. 

“What about me?” He asks, cheekily.

“You just carried me more than halfway here,” you shiver and dig deeper into Logan’s blanket, “and you’re just as soaked—I don’t want you to get a cold because of me, Hesh.” 

The sentiment was true. David was feeling worn out, and some of the liquid dripping down his face was undoubtedly sweat, but seeing that adorably concerned expression was almost enough to make him forget the aches in his shoulders and thighs. He blushes and turns his gaze ahead, clearing his throat. 

“Ah,” the man shakes his head, “don’t worry about that. Could’ve been worse.” He smirks, “could have had to carry Logan.” 

You laugh quietly at him as everyone makes their way down into a large, underbridge, area made of concrete; heading quickly to a checkpoint in front of a large pair of black-steel doors built into the Wall. 

“I don’t think it would be that bad. Funny to watch, at least.” Staring at the back of the younger brother, Riley suddenly comes up from behind you, seemingly intent on getting there first. His ear brushes your swaying hand and the next thing you know, Hesh is shoving you to his opposite side as savage barks make you yelp. 

“Woah, Riley!” David hollers and your heart jerks to a ravaging pace, air trapped in your throat as you’re kept close to a strong chest by an arm around your shoulder. “Holy Hell, stand down!” 

Logan by now had turned and was jogging over, grabbing the dog by the vest and peeling him back across the concrete. Panting, you watch with shaking limbs and look down at your fingers. 

Nothing more than a large scratch across the top of your left hand, but it was irritated. You sink deeper into Hesh’s side and cover it against your chest. Green eyes jump back and forth from you to the raging canine, Logan’s grim-set face glaring down at the furry beast, putting Riley into a sit with a gloved hand to his behind. David smushes you closer and after a minute of more barking, the dog falls silent, though still glares at you violently. 

You struggle to take down air, face scrunched like crumpled paper. This dog… 

Hesh glares and clenches his jaw at Riley, for the first time in his life entirely frustrated with the animal. 

Guiding you forward quickly, the brunette doesn’t move his grip, scowling over his shoulder before bee-lining to the entrance. He speaks in clipped sentences to the guards who all know him and his brother well. 

“Take us to HQ.” You’re ushered into the back of an armored truck, Hesh taking your right side and telling Logan to stay with Riley in the next vehicle of the convoy. 

Blinking quickly, you swallow down saliva and hold your hand tighter, shivering and staring at the floor. 

“Let me see,” muttering, Hesh reaches out. “It’s okay, it’s not your fault…Christ, I swear he’s never like this.”

You shakily put your hand in his, the large mark aggressive looking but barely bleeding. But you remember the pressure of Riley’s fangs vividly as they slid past your flesh like soap.

“Ah, shit,” the man huffs, “I’m sorry, Sweetheart.” His thumb runs over the mark lightly, gritting his teeth and sending you a stiff glance. Your vision tilts as you look away, but the slide of his hold was addictive; the small twitches of his fingers and the warmth they bring. 

“Y’know,” you attempt a small, wobbly, chuff, “he looks a lot cuddlier than he is.” 

Still tense and feeling guilty, Hesh pushes forward a dull twitch of his lips; blaming himself. Maybe the dog needed more socialization if this was how he was going to act around injured civilians when they barely brush against him. 

“Yeah, I suppose.” Still holding your hand, he squeezes before stuttering nerves release you—hesitation to let you go bunching his knuckles for a second more. He liked the feeling of you in his hold, liked how your tension slowly leaked away when his attention was on you. “Doesn’t hurt, does it?” 

You feel the slight pulse in your hand, sighing before shaking your head.

“No, not really.”

“‘Not really’ isn’t givin’ me the reassurance I’m lookin’ for, Ma’am.” Shuffling out of the blanket, you place the water-heavy fabric in the seat beside you as the car flies over the ground, speeding you into safety.

“I think it would be worse if I lied.” Itching at his chin, Hesh huffs and nods, his large body so close to yours that his shoulder bumped yours with every movement of the vehicle. 

Your heart is steadily calming, and you rub at your face. The feeling wasn’t bad, and you almost find yourself leaning into him and putting your head in the slot of his neck.

Stop that.

“Guess so, but it would make me feel less like an ass.” Smiling, you raise a brow and view the way his chest beats quickly through his clothes, bouncing his vest up and down with adrenaline. Green narrows at you and your face heats. “But, no, honesty would probably be best, Sweetheart. I’d hate for you to be hurting and not tell me.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you smirk, swiping fatigue from your eyes as you yawn. “You’re very nice, Hesh—your brother too. Not what I would expect.” 

Wide lids side-eye you, lips parted. There’s a second of still silence as you slouch back against the seat, placing your stitched arm over your abdomen and pulling Hesh’s hat farther down your head; even if it was wet, it had gained a semblance of a precious gift. Like a present on a holiday, one you shake because you’re so excited to open it you have to stimulate your mind with its hidden contents. 

David blinks quickly, looking away to stare out the window and see the dark sky outside and the shadows it leaves as the twenty-minute drive to Fort Santa Monica truly begins. He lets you rest your eyes, but the comment has genuinely struck him.

Nice was not on the list of what most people called him. Stubborn—a natural-born leader, ruthless, and prey driven. But…nice. He clears his throat quietly and watches the raindrops sneak down the glass. 

“You’re not too bad yourself, Ma’am.”

—

You’re sitting in a large room filled with screens playing black and white video footage, pulling at the collar of a two-size-to-big sweatshirt and shifting in large camo pants. They had taken your backpack. In front of you, the face of an older man was simply watching you as you looked around with fatigued wonder. Desks with stacks of papers; large computer data storage boxes, the entire works. One of the upsides to this, you blinked at a water dispenser and realized, was that the lights were dim in here and you were finally somewhere that had AC. 

Inside your head, you were at a standstill. Part of you thought this was a dream, was this really all here the entire time, and you and the others just—

“I think we can start with names.” Your eyes whip forward, finding Elias Walker’s cold brown stare and graying hair as he stands across from the table you’re sitting at; your feet shuffle under the wood.

Hesh and Logan are by the door, the younger leaning on the wall petting Riley and the older keeping his arms crossed and fingers loose on the collar of his vest. Green softens when you look over slightly, a comforting smile finding your vision. He nods.

No need to be worried, he seems to say, I’m right here with you.

Over your head, the damp beanie was still there, now only slightly water-logged. You pull it down over your ears with a slow grip and listen. 

“You can call me Elias, and those are my boys you met,” a pale hand is moved in explanation. He grunts, “I’d imagine you’re all acquainted well enough.” 

You nod giving your name and mutter, “Nice to meet you.” 

Elias crosses his arms over his chest—it’s not hard to see how all of these men are related, though Hesh is more of a carbon copy of the father. The older man has a calm but stern look on his face as he frowns.

“And what was it that drove a civilian down into Federation-occupied land? Past the Wall?” You fiddle with your fingers in your lap, licking your lips. Elias wasn’t one to beat around the bush. “Better yet, how exactly did you make it outside—only way out is through the checkpoint.” Brown darkens, “else there’s a breach I don’t know about.” 

You struggle to answer, not sure if you know how to formulate a sentence that would make any sense. But this was starting to make you nervous. The unyielding intensity, Riley glaring at you, your blatant tiredness. Shock was settling but you didn’t know how to explain.

“How…” speech falters, and Hesh watches closely, frowning but knowing that you had to show them how you had gotten beyond the barrier. It was a massive security breach—it was a miracle you were even alive, really. “How long has it been since that wall was built?”

Elias stills. By the entrance, Hesh’s expression freezes. It’s as if the very air flips at the bare insinuation you offer forward. 

Shifting his hips, the older man’s muscles tense, as if he’s thinking over something very important. “Ten years since ODIN struck. Work on the Wall started right after.” A silent pause. Expectant. You feel your face drain of blood; a blank horror. 

Ten…ten years? It was silly, but your mind quickly went to your age—adding the numbers together and the time you missed. Ten years of hiding; of watching rare acquaintances die, scavenging for supplies. Ten years and this entire time you would have been able to live normally had the Federation camps moved just a tiny bit Eastward to open a path for you. 

“I…” You clear your throat, forcing out a blatantly fake laugh through a whimper, “Wow. That’s something, huh?” 

“You mean to tell me you’ve never left No Man’s Land?” Elias leans forward, placing his hands on the table and closing in. He doesn’t look angry, but his tone is disbelieving. Accusing. “That’s impossible.” 

“Dad,” Hesh steps forward, holding out a hand in front of him and glancing at your numb face—the sway of oblivion. 

“Ten years,” you whisper, staring off into Elias’s tense neck. “But she died just a week ago. All this time we could have…” David turns his head to you sharply. 

It’s like time stands still in that room—a void completely separate from all else besides a brewing acceptance. No one knows who you’re talking about, but the context is little needed for the way you spoke. Obviously, you had lost someone terribly important to you and Hesh understood that the reason you had probably made it so far was because of whoever they had been. You weren’t exactly the perfect image of a natural survivalist—not helpless, no, just not like the Lieutenant of Sergeant. Certainly not like their father.

“Shit,” a hand is lightly placed over your mouth, stomach bunching in your abdomen. 

“Let’s do this another time,” David interferes, and his father throws him a sharp glance. “It’s late, Dad. Everyone needs some rest; we can pick it back up in the morning—first light.” His mouth quirks in a stiff smile, and Logan backs him up silently.

Elias stands back up to his full height, crossing his arms loosely, and you’re stuck in the well that makes up your consciousness, descending bucket being fruitlessly dragged back up by a rusty handle only to fail halfway in the air as the rope bunches. The father sighs deeply and shakes his head, giving in to his son after a clench of his jaw. But it was obvious you posed no great threat.

“Alright.” Hesh nods and walks over to you, placing a hand on your shoulder as you look up at him slowly. He plasters a small smile on his face. It looked incredibly kind—the strong set of his eyebrows now soft. 

“Why don’t you come with me?” Fingers squeeze into your flesh. “There’s a pretty good barracks building a five-minute walk from here—doesn’t smell like the others and you’ll get a room all to yourself.” Elias watches, face losing a part of that tense edge. He shares a glance with Logan and turns to resume his work. “That sound good? I swear I won’t put you up in building three.” You stare and he acts like he’s sharing some big secret as he lets you stand up. “Ant problem.” 

You spare a tiny, broken, chuff of a laugh and his face brightens. A small win.

“You coming, Logan?” The Lieutenant asks, but the blonde is already shaking his head ‘no,’ pointing to the back exit to the shooting ranges. He was a night owl, through and through, and hasn’t changed a bit since they were kids. “Sounds good. I’ll take Riley.” 

“You boys take it easy,” Elias says over his shoulder, and you stay at Hesh’s side as he leads you out of the room, whistling for the dog to come to a heel which the canine does with a lolling tongue and sharp ears.

“You too, old man. Don’t worry about us.” 

“I always do.” The door closes and once again you three are walking together—Hesh more present with using his own body as a barrier between your form and Riley with his right hand near the dog’s vest handle. 

“I think my dad came off a little heavy, sorry about that.” David’s voice brings you back, pulling that bucket a little farther up from the pit below. “It’s just…”

The sentence falls.

You bite your lip and say, “It’s just his job. Even when I think about it,” the man still hasn’t released your shoulder, but instead moves his hand to the span of your shoulder blades. You try not to shiver and fail when he listens as if you’re the most viable source of news ever created. “It does sound a little...insane.” For lack of a better word. 

David chuffs, tilting his head and scrunching one eye. “Maybe just a little.”

The man feels you shaking and he doesn’t think you notice. Eyes wide and fingers twitching from where you keep them. The noise probably doesn’t help.

Buzzing lights and conversations only a door away as the two walk down the hallway and make it to the stairs to lead down to the main floor. From there the sounds were more barking dogs, vehicles, and gunfire from the training grounds. 

This was a military base, after all, and it never really went to sleep. It must be grating to hear after the utter silence of No Man’s Land.

“...But you wouldn’t be the first, believe it or not.” David tries to keep your mind off it, keep your attention on him…but he was curious; desperately so. Yet still, he didn’t want to rush you. You looked so overwhelmed it made his chest squeeze. “Heard a few reports from Dallas before it fell—a family that had lived in a man-made bunker and were found by patrols five years in when they were out scavenging.” 

“Really?” Your lashes caress your cheeks, and a small smile comes to you. You wonder how this man can make you feel so comforted; at ease despite the dog at his side and the various intimidating-looking gear strapped to him. Hesh was good-natured, it almost seemed impossible to imagine him a hardened soldier like you knew he really was. Kind, if not a bit mischievous and blunt. “That sounds more interesting than what I lived like.”

“Well, I doubt that.” Lips perk in a smirk. “Anyone with brains knows that time spent outside the Wall is always interesting.” 

“We just moved around a lot,” you admit, “those soldiers were always changing camps so we never stayed long anywhere.” 

“Hm,” Hesh makes a sound in the back of his throat, nodding. “Could’ve guessed that. Bastards jump around like cockroaches—can never get a good hit on ‘em.” He doesn’t press. 

“Really?” You feel more present now, itching at your cheek before looking at Riley as he lopes along and watches the roads from where you walk on the sidewalk. “What about the pattern?” 

David blinks his green eyes at you, face creasing. 

“Pattern?” 

“Yeah, they shift in a hexagon pattern every month. I had a map with it marked so I knew where to set camp.” Breath stills and Hesh stares at you, shocked, but his tone changes to a serious rush. He turns you slightly towards him with two hands on your arms.

“Would…you be able to mark those points again? If you had another map.” You lick your lips, cheeks going hot as you stutter, and feel his hands press into you. His chest was incredibly close to you, body heat leaking into your bones. Riley glares.

“Y-yeah, I think so.” David studies your face, searching for any hesitance. He pauses, green glimmering. There’s a moment when you notice the fast blinking on his face, the slight flush to his stubbled jaw as he clenches it, and are reminded of the caressing thumb that had dug into your inner elbow. 

Delicate stitches. 

The world blurs like a reflection in unknown water. Ripples that distort the streetlights into the shadows on his face and create soft waves of old scars and pale flesh in their warm illumination. Hesh’s breath hitches.

“G-good.” And he’s releasing you quickly as you wonder if being found by him was truly the best thing that could have happened. You spare a glance at Riley with racing blood, trying to stop the smile that insists to form for no reason. The dog cocks its head. “We’ll…get on that tomorrow.”

“Okay.” Whispers dance on airwaves as David keeps his eyes forward. Clearing his throat as you clock that tick and pull his beanie off. You bump your elbow to his side and he snaps his neck back over like a line with a hook. “You should have this back.”

You both walk slowly, side by side down a back street, and spare each other quick glances with flaming faces.

“No, that’s alright,” Hesh utters, rubbing at his neck and avoiding looking at you head-on. Your fingers brush the fabric and your expression softens. “I have a whole bunch in my room, don’t worry about it. I’d…” he chuckles to dispel the strange tension in his shoulders. “I want you to have it. Don’t want you cold.”

Your eyes crinkle, and the man swallows.

“So you think that your hat will help with that?” Teasing, you take it back anyways and situate it back on your head, shyly putting your hands into your pockets. “What? Is it special?”

“Woah,” Hesh, smirks with a raise of a hand, pointing lightly at you. “Hey now, Sweetheart, don’t disrespect my beanies like that—they’ll save your life.” 

Laughs bounce off the street. 

“I guess I’ll have to keep a close eye on it then,” Riley huffs and Hesh pats his neck firmly, giving him attention. “For my safety.”

“Damn right.” Your heart hurts from how fast it’s beating, that great muscle like a large drum that echoes in your ears. Skin tingles with an undeniable tension in the air.

The barracks building comes into view. 

It’s nothing extravagant, but the thought of a soft bed and a pillow not filled with mold was addicting. Your eyes blink along the structure as Hesh leads you in, keeping the door open for you as he tells Riley to sit at the entrance. The dog does so, though obviously with disapproval—grunting in that lupine way as the barrier separates him and his handler.

“He really does not like me,” you mutter out, raising a brow and catching back up to David who waits a few more feet into the building. 

The brunette sighs.

“He does tend to hold grudges. Once he wouldn’t play fetch with Logan for two days because he forgot to give him his dinner.” 

“Hell,” your brows raise up, “my odds are in the ground.”

“Probably, Ma’am.” You elbow his side again and he chuckles, bumping his shoulder into you as his hands sway at his sides. “Ah, don’t hold it too close, Riley’s just a special case. My father trained him so he’s all business.” A smirk, “Nothing like me.” 

You stop as Hesh does—in front of a nice-looking wooden door.

“Here.” He points to the handle and you grasp it, twisting and pushing past. 

You enter a tiny but clean room smelling like linen and golden light. Delicately, as if the world would break apart if you touched anything you stare at the lamp on the nightstand, the curtain over the window; the…comfort. The sight of an extra blanket on the end of the bed almost made you cry. 

“Now,” Hesh slides past you as your lip quivers, wide eyes looking around. “No one else can access these barracks without an ID, so there’s nothing that should go…wrong…” 

He trails off when he sees your face.

“Hey,” David takes a step forward. “What’s wrong?” His eyes slip around, looking for what might have upset you as he comes back to you.

“Nothing,” fingers lightly rest on your collarbone as you shake your head; vision going blurry at the man’s worried face. “Nothing’s wrong, Hesh, I promise. Just…” you laugh wetly, and a tear drops down your chin. “I forgot what it was like to have an extra blanket.”

It was more than that, but the statement was all you could describe right now without making a complete fool of yourself. David’s breath stills, hand stuck an inch from your arm. 

He watches the tears fall from you and, without thinking, he reaches up the back of his pointer finger and brushes it along the flesh; creating a line of fire up until he completely swipes it away. After a second of quivering silence, the air flimsy as your lungs jump, he finds no fear or discomfort in your expression and does this again—wiping away any trace of past hurts. 

Blinking, you tilt your head forward and bump it into his chest. Startled slightly, Hesh grunts, but his hand finds the back of your head above his beanie and cups it, staring down at you with hot cheeks and a thick throat. 

“I…” he begins but can’t find the words. You made him want to skin his hands of calluses so that the roughness of his touch was foreign to you. 

You only deserved warm flesh and extra blankets. As much food as you could eat—soft mattresses and even softer clothes. So short of a time he had known you, but not a second more did he want you to suffer. 

Ten years. He can’t even imagine it, and yet here you are in his arms. Kind. Unbroken.

Hesh’s head stutters, hesitating, before his neck bends and he presses his face into the top of your head, closing his sad eyes and running his other hand up and down your back. 

Sniffling, you melt even more into him.

“She died a week before you found me—my friend. She was with me since the beginning.” The hitched voice that comes out of you is so quiet that the brunette has to strain his ears to listen but listen to you he does. Silent as a bug and tightening his hold so you hear his strong heartbeat rampaging in his chest. 

Logan and him did this a lot when their mother died. Just hugged and held each other as if their lives depended on it. He doesn't know why, but he knows it has to be the same for you as well.

“Infection. She fell,” your voice cuts out, “fell on a rusty nail. She’s the only reason I made it this far.”

“Where were you?” Hesh asks, lungs aching for you. “When ODIN struck—in town?” 

You return to that time, hand sliding up to wrap around his waist to ground yourself. David lets you, increasing the pressure of his gentle hand on your spine. “Hiking. It…it was a family vacation.”

His jaw clenched tight. A swelling hatred strangles his neck, a feeling that makes his eyes slip back open—forests burning in his iris’ in great waves of an inferno. He had never wanted to charge out into San Diego more than at this very moment.

A family vacation had turned into a decade of surviving. Hesh didn’t have the heart to ask about where your family was now. He already knew the answer.

“Everything just…fell apart.” Your ribs hide your fast-paced lungs, your sniffling nose stuck deep into fabric.

“I know,” the man grunts, “I know it did, I’m sorry.” It’s all he can say. He knows. David pulls you back by the shoulders after a moment and slightly moves his head down to look at you head-on. “But you’re here now, okay? Behind the Wall. You made it. And I’m gonna make sure that you’re never alone like that again.” He attempts a smile as you see his concerned expression, shining with sincerity and honor. “I’d stake Riley on it.”

The wet giggle that exits you is automatic, and Hesh chuckles right back; put at ease and ears bouncing with that sound that he commits instantaneously to memory. 

“That’s counterintuitive, Hesh. I don’t want your dog.”

“Well then, it’s a good thing I never break my word, huh?” Perhaps why he was so good at this, comforting people, was because of Logan. Only two years apart, but he’d taken the big brother role easily—loved it, in fact. It made him feel good to see people smile.

But it made him feel on the moon when it was you.

You watch his green eyes slip over your face, thumb going to wipe away the last drops on your under eye as a deep heat starts smoking inside of you. David speaks lowly, compassion so visible you find you want to gaze upon his face for hours; mapping lines and piecing together what made this man…him. 

“Feeling better?” Smiling softly, you find yourself leaning into his hands on your face. The brunette smiles back and chuckles. It wouldn’t be so bad, you decide, to stick by his side—even if Riley was less than approving.

“Feeling better.”

You sleep that night with an extra blanket wrapped around your body and a dark beanie on your head; taking in the scent from the fibers of thistle and dog hair. You’d never smelt something more comforting.

—

A week passes with a flurry of activity. You find out that Los Angeles is still habitable—in fact, there’s a stable economy in the city and people are thriving. Fort Santa Monica is home to not only a handful of civilians from before the war but also an incredibly large amount of military personnel all under Elias Walker's command. 

Hesh had taken you out on the third day for a ‘tour’ as he called it, but it was also due to the fact that you’d been too afraid to leave your room when not called upon. There were so many…noises…again. People laughing, happy conversations, and greetings thrown your way.

“Word got out about the girl that lived in No Man’s Land,” David had teased as you awkwardly waved at a woman in fatigues that had slapped your shoulder and invited you out for drinks with her friends. You had politely declined. “Everyone’s eager, seems.” 

“I think I forgot how to properly speak to people,” you had sent a frown and a huff his way, keeping close to him as he led you on with a wave of his hand and a deep chuckle. 

But in all this time you had earned yourself a big reputation for being the woman who handed over intel that others had only just begun to unravel. Federation base locations. Patterns on movement—irreplaceable data.

Which was why you’d been asked, rather told, by Hesh that you’d be going to the bar with him and Logan for drinks. On the house. 

You’d quickly found it to be a strange affair.

“Not feelin’ up to it, Sweetheart?” your eyes lift from where you’d been swirling your still-full glass of amber liquid. “I know it can be a little loud—I’m sorry. Merrick’s a giggly drunk.”

Green eyes stare at you with pity, throat bobbing as a beer bottle sits on Hesh’s lips; the last dregs going down before he wipes his mouth with his sleeve. 

“If you wanna leave I’ll walk you back, okay?”

“No,” you wave a hand, touched but hesitant, “that’s alright. I’m fine, really.”

The lieutenant smirks and tilts his head—raising a dark brow in disbelief. The two of you had gotten close over the days; he had told you early on that you were easy to read for him.

“Don’t make that face at me, David.” You glare, pointing from your seat at the bar top. Hesh rolls his eyes and shakes his head as if disappointed.

“Whoa, first name—that’s illegal.” 

Your lips pull up in a sharp smile, leaning over the table as the music from the building plays in your ears; warm light on your cheeks and nose. “David, David, David!” 

“Hey! Quit it!” You’d grown fond of him in a way you can’t describe. So short of time and yet you both still get giddy when you see one another—hearts hammering. Even now as the laughter spills from both of your lips and people in the bar spare knowing glances, you don’t address it. 

“But really,” Hesh levels and you watch him spread his hands in surrender, beer bottle still shimmering in one hand, “whenever you want to go, just ask.”

“Hesh!” A call bounces from the far corner and you both look over, startled, to Ajax at the pool table. “Get over here so I can wipe the floor with you!” 

There’s a bout of laughter from the other bar patrons, bets being placed loudly. 

“Hey, it won’t be that easy—you’re on!” Hesh is off with a rush, patting your shoulder as he passes. You watch after with a wide smile and a raised brow, muttering to yourself.

“He’s unbelievable.” You can’t deny the loftiness that you feel when he looks happy like that. Really happy. It’s nearly a curse to try and think about what he would have become if the Federation hadn’t fired ODIN. He would have been in the military still, no doubt, but not quite the same. 

Hell, what would you have been like, even?

A shadow slips into the chair next to yours, and you look over, content. “Hey, Logan.”

The younger brother nods to you, sipping from his glass of water, a greeting smile on his square jaw. True to the brunette’s word, he was very quiet, but you didn’t find it in a disrespectful way. Logan carried himself with a subdued power, and the dichotomy between Hesh and him was laughable when you really thought about it; polar opposites.

You didn’t mind in the slightest.

Holding an easy conversation with nods or tiny comments back, you spoke with him for about twenty minutes while Hesh and Ajax called each other names and threw baseless threats through smirking lips like toddlers. At one point a very drunk Petty Officer Second Class, Thomas A. Merrick, had to drag a laughing Ajax off the pool table while you and Logan watched with exasperated glances. 

But the air was easy and the drink was flowing—soldiers from all over the Fort were here tonight. For you, though most just came for a good sip of alcohol and you didn’t blame them. You just did what was right, nothing more. 

“I think I’m gonna head out,” you tap a fist to Logan’s shoulder and he looks at you, sparing a quick glance at Hesh. You smile. “Nah, I think he’s going to be at it for a while. I’ll just walk back by myself—I’ve got my keycard, so I’m all good.”

A yell of victory rings from the corner before a loud exclamation of, “Rematch, right now! Your foot hit one of the balls to the left when you were climbing it!”

“It did not!” Logan stares blankly behind you and you laugh, slipping past. 

“Tell Hesh I said to have a good night!” You call over your shoulder, catching adoring brown eyes following you out and a mock salute from his water glass. 

Riley sits outside, resting his eyes, but when the door closes behind you the canine springs to his feet. The week hadn’t soured your relationship, but it definitely didn’t make it better either. Frowning, you pause in the night and look at the empty food dish and the filled water cup set out by Hesh for him.

“Tough luck, bud?” A muzzle lightly curls, but at least he wasn’t barking at you. Ears stand alert and ready. “Look,” you level, pulling Hesh’s beanie farther down your head as those beady eyes glare. “I think we got off on the wrong foot, okay? It’s not like I want you to hate me—I was protecting myself. You,” your finger points, and a lupine huff warns you, “came at me.” You point to your chest. “Remember?” 

It was comedic the way Riley yawned harshly at that moment, and you scoff.

“Who am I kidding, you’re hopeless just like your handler. I shouldn’t even be doing this,” reaching into your jacket pocket, you produce a small, soggy, napkin. Bending down, Riley growls low in his gut, but you ignore him. Not to say that the sound didn’t make your lips thin, though.

Unraveling the knot you’d tied in the bar, you look down at tiny cubes of medium-rare steak and sigh. “Look if this doesn’t work, I’ll give up.”

Flattening out the napkin, you pick up a piece and turn your vision upwards to an intently watching dog. At the sight of the food in between your thumb and first finger, the dog’s mouth gradually opens, tongue beginning to lull. A black nose twitches quickly. 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” you grumble, “Hesh said you were a food fiend.” 

Tossing one of the pieces on the ground, you let him sniff it before his teeth flash and he grabs it quickly, tossing it up and munching on it. When Riley’s done he looks back at you expectantly, shoulders less wound up but still uneasy. 

“Well,” you push the rest forward before standing, “go on then. Don’t let me stop you.” 

Shaking your head to yourself, you leave him behind and set off down the street, mumbling, “You can’t say I never did anything for you…” 

You hear the sniffing before the clammer of biting teeth, happy pants, and tapping feet. Huffing, you can’t deny the slight jump that affects your heart. You’d have to tell Hesh about the progress tomorrow. 

Your cheeks heat, smiling to yourself as you think about the brunette. His hands always seemed to be on you one way or another and during the last two days he’d been holding onto you for longer; firm touches that he had to blink himself back to the present to take away. The actions made your skin tingle and more than once you’d caught your gaze lingering on his visage—his body. As if trying to will him back to you when he had to leave. 

But the staring was mutual. You had sworn at one point you had seen him more intent to fuzzily look at your moving lips than to focus on what you were explaining. Fingers absentmindedly tapping on a desk and humming at every word from you. The look had been…your body shivers warmly in remembrance, staring giddily at your shoes. 

You continue down the street, circles of light from the lamps hitting you one by one as you glide under them like a moth. Humming a light tune, you take the route that Hesh had brought you down the first time, imagining his hands on you and his lips on yours. 

When you giggle silently and chastise yourself for thinking like that, you hear the last whispers of a distant conversation that lead you to pause.

Your face freezes, smile stuck as your legs stall. It was Spanish wafting over the air, hushed and harsh. That wouldn’t be alarming, many people here spoke the language fluently as it was the native one of the entirety of the Federation—it was needed for intelligence gathering, or at least that was what Hesh had explained. No use going into No Man’s Land if you can’t understand the driving force occupying it. 

But this was hushed arguing, not some common conversation. It didn’t sound normal and the scuffling feet over the concrete gave you pause. The night suddenly became very cold. Backing up a step as you stare in the general direction of the increasing footfalls, the sudden sight of three heavily armed men as they round a corner with strong eyes. 

Your vision finds them immediately—and they do the same for you. It was instinctual, then, when your suddenly fevered face snapped to their patches. 

Gold stars and a black rhombus. Red outlined. Your expression utterly drops. 

There’s a single instance where no one moves, neither you nor those three Federation soldiers that now stare right back with an equal amount of shock. 

“Eh,” you make a sound in the confines of your throat and all hell breaks loose.

Jolting away, shouts ring out as hands snatch at your limbs, and you can’t even begin to think about how these people got into the Wall undetected. 

Everyone’s at the fucking bar!

Yelling loudly, you dash to the side, a quick swipe going above your head as the beanie is wrenched off of you instead of your hair. Not bothering to fight for it, though a large part of you wanted to, your feet take you anywhere but here. 

Roaring in anger, the soldiers pursued with rampaging boots and vitriolic order. Why they don’t shoot you is a wonder. Maybe it was because they wanted to try and salvage what they’d already lost. 

The screams escape you as you dash backward, retracing your steps but it isn’t going to be long before they catch you—true to that idea, just as the words exit your mouth, a harsh hand captures the back of your neck. 

“David!” The other winds around your mouth, muffled screams stuck behind gloves. Legs and arms striking out, your body is dragged into a back alley; the others all join to force you to submission. 

Your boot connects with someone’s kneecap, and a hoarse yell echoes as you rage with a frenzied pulse. Wide eyes look this way and that, sweat forming on your brow as a punch finds your gut and a resounding insult flies to your ears. 

Going slack for a moment, the violent white that bursts behind your vision leaves your straining muscles useless and you try to breathe behind the unrelenting hand over your mouth and nose. Like a shot deer, your dragging legs give out; coughing and gasping for air. 

Pain shoots down your chest with ruthless efficiency. 

You suppose in that moment of ringing ears, that it was chance that you heard the dull shunk of a knife being taken from a sheath. It wasn’t chance, though, when your desperate teeth snapped into the heavy hand, ignoring pain and the tears smeared over your face.

With a sharp cry, the hand loosens enough for you to get the last word, a brief moment of clear realization, “Riley,” you scream with little breath but sufficient volume, “Come!” 

The knife descended on you, but you jerked your shoulder to the side, head ripped back to bare your neck to the silent moonlight as the hand recovered your face. Black dots swirl, shadows lingering like phantoms in the recesses of your mind and spilling demons from your eyes. Hatred flares in you, but not as much as fear does. That silver blade connects with the meat of your neck and shoulder junction, tearing past muscle and tissue to rent a large slash open to the air. 

Your legs kick before arms wrap around them—more quickly called orders and insults directed at the one who had missed your neck peeling back the drums inside of your ear. Thick, hot, blood stains your clothes; the copper scent gets stuck in your nose as you gag and try to force your lungs to function with nothing to suck down. Darkness seeps deeper, and the knife is brought up once more, the tip digging into your cheek with a firm bite when you try to flinch away.

That’s when a guttural and vociferous yowl exudes from the chest of a rampaging canine as it bursts from around the corner of the alley, white teeth glinting and eyes red. 

Riley has the man with the knife by the neck in two seconds flat, reaming him back and clinging to his spine with only his fangs on his nape. Multiple wet crunches echo for but a moment, a small sliver in time, but then the loud pained bellows that follow after drown out all else. Like a bomb had been dropped, the man Riley keeps ripping apart falls sideways, hands reaching behind his head to try and pry the dog off. In a fit of fear and stupefaction at the turn of events the remaining men release you, tossing your body to the side and into the adjacent wall in panic. 

Hands reach for guns but it’s already too late. Riley has ripped the entire back of the man’s head off in a flurry of fur and jerking maw—flesh peeling back in long strings into a waiting mouth as the screams continue. Now, though, they come from only the remaining soldiers as you watch with mute horror; gripping your leaking cut and vision fuzzy from the blow that your head had taken from slamming into the wall. Lack of oxygen. 

With all the ruckus, it was only customary that the streets were soon awake with confusion and rising tension. You swore you heard your name being called streets over, hurried yelling as the lights flicker on from the building across the road.

But Riley. Christ, Riley. 

The second man’s pistol was stopped from rising any farther as fast fangs found a wrist, the shot bouncing off the ground as you balked back against the wall and cried out. Across the Fort, the yelling starts up. Louder now. That remaining soldier unaffected thus far by the feral rage is snapping into a ready stance—shaking as the barrel is leveled with the dog’s skull as sharp points go for the kill once again. 

“Riley!” You snag out a leg and rip it back, curling your foot around his ankle. Black clothes hit the ground hard, as the man inside went with them. 

It carried on just the same. 

Panting you stare into the blood-dripping muzzle that now turns your way, three opened necks pooling to the ground and twitching. Gargling gasps dribble like glasswork exploding in kilns; such a vulgar, primal, sound. But you only stare at the beady brown eyes as they seem to bite you as well. Framed with crimson, whiskers droopy as droplets hit your knee and rancid breath slides over your stalled face.

“Please…” you mutter, bruised head turning to the side, eyes clenched shut. Licking lips resonate and you clench your hands as you finally hear the frantic calling of your name coming down the road. Fast-moving shadows.

Hesh.  

Riley breathes on you, but before your swallowing throat can call out the brunette in fear of what the dog will do, a wet tongue licks a long stripe over your cheek. Eyes bugging, you snap your head back up, jaw slackened and brain struggling to calm down. 

The dog watches with a slow tilt of his head, tail lowly swishing. 

“What the fuck,” gasping wetly, the hand on your wound lessens, hot fluid gushing between fingers. 

Riley huffs, feet shifting. 

Laughing slightly in anxious confusion, your free hand lightly raises. Soft fur conforms to you, letting your digits weave through the locks. Riley licks his lips once more and sits on his fluffy behind, ears sharply up and twitching. 

Hesh nearly runs past the sight, heart too fast for his chest and teeth clenched tight together. His mind was as sober as it could be—a deep sense of unease clawing in his gut. 

He’s heard the screaming; the gunshot. When he’d run out of the bar after doing a quick headcount for you and being unable to place your form, Riley had already been gone. A trail of dust and a floating napkin were the only indicators. But the fear was worse than that.

Where had you gone? Were you in danger? No thought was behind his sprinting, just a flushed face and a deep need to keep you safe. He’d promised you. 

No one had been able to stop his senseless searching as he took off at a racer’s pace, looking down alleyways and carrying the pistol in his right grip until his knuckles had gone white and see-through. Like a loyal hound, Hesh was intent to find you. Even if it turned out to be nothing. 

And then the real screams started, and so he screamed too—your name.

But now he slams a hand into the concrete wall and reels himself back, a hunched shadow stiff in the side of his green vision before he can fully pass the alleyway entrance. 

“Holy…” Hesh trails harshly, gaze going wide. 

You were there surrounded by three Federation soldier’s bodies and while that was alarming, there was only so much you could do when you were a corpse. Riley held in your arms was something that Hesh couldn’t begin to explain. 

But the shock was short-lived.

“Sweetheart!” He called, boots propelling him forward as he slid to one knee in front of you, hands pushing past fur and muscle to bring yours forward by your shoulders. A handgun is placed into the back of his belt. “Woah, woah, hey. Tell me what happened. Where does it hurt?” 

Staring into your eyes you immediately relax at the presence of the man, his large body seeming to shield you away while sending glances around the area; not liking the thought of more attackers. 

“Hesh,” you breathe, massive weight coming off of you even as you bite your lip in a pained whimper. 

“I’m here. I’m right here.” Hands travel over your body, gliding over bumps and bruises quickly and efficiently. “What the fuck…” he growls deeply. “It’s all gonna be okay.” 

A swift glance is sent to the canine who watches blankly. 

“Good job, boy.” You stare blurrily into Hesh’s neck as he carefully peels back your hand, face scrunching and body pulling together as sparks of agony alight as the gaping cut meets the breeze. 

“I,” stuttering, you ignore his harsh inhale, the ripping of his shirt as he presses the tattered cloth to your neck. You shiver. “I lost your beanie.”

Fearful green eyes lock on your as the calls from the rest of the soldiers from the bar finally make an appearance. How fast had Hesh been running to find you? 

“Hey, don’t even worry about it,” his palm encapsulates your cheek like a prized family heirloom, keeping your face pointed toward him as you shiver. The soft scraping of his hard calluses itches your flesh. A strained smile graces his lips, “I’ll give you another one.” He looks the rest of you over and grits his teeth. 

He doesn’t care about the dead soldiers—the possibility of a breach. Suddenly, all of his priorities had shifted in the short span of a week, horrible loyalty rearing its head.

“I need you to stand up for me, Sweetheart, okay? I’ll be right here, I just need you on your feet. I know you can do it.” You nod shakily, pulling strength from his resolve as his arm pulls you to his chest like it had when you’d first hugged; using his muscles to drag you up a second after checking to see if you weren’t in too much pain. 

Standing now, his grip stays around you, propping you up into the crook of his arm and increasingly looking more and more worried. 

When you flinch and whine, he looks about ready to burn down cities to bring you comfort. 

“Riley, come on!” Hesh calls, then softer, “I know it hurts, but you’re doing great. Keep at it just a little longer.” 

He moves you quickly, and the pounding in the back of your head threatens to drown out everything—your neck and ribs barely made a dent like that did. A pan being hit with a spoon. Nails on a chalkboard.

“Logan!” David yells, and he feels incredibly warm. Riley brushes your staggering legs, keeping close and looking up at you. Leaning in more heavily, you gaze up into Hesh’s frowning face, his continued glances, and the furrow in his brow. 

You wonder how you’d never noticed how truly handsome he was before. Hesh had a strong face—good bones and a soft nature to his skin besides the stubble. And his eyes. Oh, his eyes. You blink up at him and he spares a stiff smile, mostly dragging you down the alley. 

Other feet pound the ground near the entrance.

“What’s that look for? Huh? Makin’ me nervous over here.” His fingers squeeze your shoulder. “Got something on my face?” 

“You’re kind, Hesh.” You whisper, blinking and stumbling before he grunts, twisting his grip to bring you up into a bridle hold. “Far kinder than you should be.”

His heart breaks.

Clenching your teeth, you bury your head into his neck before the brunette starts to run again. He pounds past Logan and a group of armed soldiers, who slide to a quick stop. Hesh only spares his wide-eyed brother a single, horror-stricken, look on the way through. Riley follows.

“Just keep talking.” He pleads, your dead weight in his grip worse than anything he’d ever experienced. “Y’know, you keep ending up in my arms.” He rounds corners, heading to the MTF with a bursting pulse. Hesh keeps looking down at you, pressing your head closer with a hand as if he could bleed himself to give you strength. “I think I should get my own plaque—Pack Mule. What do you think?” 

Laugh, please, laugh. Please, I need to hear it.

You laugh slightly, ear ringing to his blood flow. You want to melt into him, let him keep holding you like this and keeping you to him like a stuffed animal. His breath on your cheek, his glassy eyes and bitten lips. 

You’d known he was good from the moment you had seen him standing and gaping at your form in that bathroom cabinet, willing to treat your wound without even knowing if you were armed.

He’s good.

Hesh sprints past an entrance, shoulder slamming into a glass door as it’s thrown to the side. 

“Nurse!”

You don’t know why, but hearing his voice crack like that made you want to sob.

—

The soft antibacterial whip made you glower and flinch back, frowning straight into Hesh’s serious face.

“If you clean it anymore my skin will fall off.” You shoo his hand away from your shoulder, pulling the hospital gown back up in the process. 

“Just making sure it’s healing,” he looks up at you from his chair as you sit on the end of the bed. “Can’t be too careful.”

“Says the man who’s been here every day and leaves Riley to watch the door when he has to go to the bathroom.”

“Hey,” Hesh blushes, pulling back to slouch and crossing his arms. “It’s called being cautious. We still don’t know where the breach is.” 

You stare with a soft smile, exasperation in your eyes. 

“David,” he raises a brow at the title, “I’m okay.” 

Moving your hand from your lap, you absentmindedly pet the dog that sleeps on the hospital bed, itching behind Riley’s ears. Hesh watches, moments passing as the small tension seeps out little by little. He glances at the outline of stitches that he has to place bandages on soon but quickly looks away, frowning to himself. 

You sigh, shaking your head. 

“When I heard your voice from the alleyway entrance, I knew I would be just fine.” Green slowly slides back, gaze softening considerably as he watches your expression. A low grunt is forced out, a rubbing of a hand on his neck. “You promised, didn’t you?” Your head tilts. “You haven’t broken it.”

“No, I haven’t,” Hesh breathes, standing, “and I don’t intend to.” 

You smile, face hot as his vision blinks to the upturn of your lips. “Hey,” Riley stirs next to you, “at least I know I won him over.” Your hand pats the dog’s head. 

The brunette stares and a moment passes before he whispers, “knew you would.”

Blinking, you turn to find the most delicate expression on David's face and your breath hitches in your chest. He swallows but doesn’t hesitate. The words had been eating at him for a while, and as he was never one to shy away from speaking his mind, it was like torture to keep this from you. But now…now events have forced him into the spotlight. He can’t forgo this anymore, he can’t lie and say he hadn’t been sneaking glances or daydreaming about you. Your smile, your voice—even the way you walked or how your eyes lit up when you were passionate about something. 

It was just right, and seeing you like this now only strengthened that. Hesh had felt fear like he had when he was carrying you a total of a mere handful in his entire life. 

He mutters, “I knew from the second I found you out in No Man’s Land that you were special.”

Not believing your ears, you stop your petting. Wide eyes like dinner plates and a half-parted mouth. 

Was he…?

“I knew when you made me laugh when I was carrying you through the hills,” Hesh takes a step closer and grabs you lightly by the chin, tilting it up with a finger. His face was adorably burning, but you short-circuit at the words that continue to flow with candor. Your heart skips beats and with a clammy hand, you reach up to brush his wrist. Shivering, confidence builds. “I knew when I hugged you the first night you were here and,” he looked down, “I…I knew you were special when I felt my heart bursting out of my chest when I found you in that alley.” 

“Hesh,” you whisper, and you realize you close the two of you had become, breath mixing like a cocktail of glorious infection and stolen words. 

“If I hadn’t gotten there on time…” 

“Hesh.”

“...Even if I’ve only known you for a short while, Sweetheart, I can’t stop thinking the same thing every time I see you.” You stare, eyes wet, and suddenly no longer aware of where your head is anymore. 

His lips brush yours, but all you care about are those green eyes; digging, drilling past membranes and thoughts more effectively than any blade. You’re entranced, wholeheartedly frozen just for him—just as he is for you. 

It’s nothing but a whisper now. You feel the words more than hear them. His thumb tightens on your chin, and you don’t pull back as you steal his warmth. His kindness. 

His loyalty.

“...that even if I hadn’t entered that house on that rainy Tuesday,” he shutters, “I’d still be looking for you everywhere I went.” 

When his lips meet yours, you capture his soul, dragging him down into the depths of your lungs and breathing hope back into him. You smile through it, bandaged and stitched but happier than you’d been in a long time. 

Pulling back from a soft and delicate meeting of flesh, both faces are heated, burning under the pigments. There’s a moment of sanctity—holy silence one would find in a church during high mass—as you stare at one another. Hesh’s fingers run small movements on your skin. You beam and he says in a whisper, “Hey…I guess that means I did something right.”

“You’re lucky you’re perfect, David.”

“I could say the same about you, Sweetheart.” You giggle and drag him back in as Riley snoozes on, legs kicking in a silent dream. 

When the nurses come to check on you in four hours, they’ll find the bed occupied by three forms. 

A soldier, a patient, and a dog. All curled up in a pile of multiple blankets and hard pillows—arms wrapped around one another with the man pressing the woman’s face deep into his chest; even breaths of a soft sleep that sing like rare lullabies. All, in their own way, seem to have heavy smiles stuck into the lines of their faces.

They leave them be.

TAGS:

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#cod #cod x reader #cod x you #call of duty #call of duty ghosts #call of duty x reader #call of duty x you #cod ghosts #david hesh walker #cod x female reader #x fem!reader #x female reader #female reader #hesh walker #hesh walker x reader #logan walker #riley the dog #hesh walker x female reader #david walker #cod ghosts x reader

[eddie-sweetheart]

Spare me! - Part 1

You and Eddie have a crush on each other, but it takes Murray Bauman to make it embarrassingly clear.

Tropes: Eddie Munson x Henderson female reader, fluff, Murray exposing your feelings, forced proximity, a very soft Eddie.

Warnings: Mention and/or depiction of fighting and wounds, teeny-tiny diversion from the show's timeline (this one's more about the concept than the overall S4 plot😉).

Word count: 5.4k

Author’s notes: I recently rewatched all seasons of ST and noticed how Murray always knows what's going on in the gang's hearts... thought I'd give his Cupid skills a try with Eddie eheh

✨Part 2✨

🌹 Masterlist 🌹

Happiness can be found in the strangest of things; but it never occurred to you that happiness - or, better, relief - might one day come into the shape of a faded and battered-down warehouse in the outskirts of Hawkins. 

However, as soon as the once yellow and light blue building comes into sight as you come out of the woods at the side of the road, panting and with your feet hurting like hell from walking all that way, you almost feel like crying. 

“We’re here” you state with a tired exhale, a smile warming up your face as you turn to your side. “We made it, Eddie”. 

“Thank God” is all Eddie can mutter under his breath before tripping on his feet and almost falling to the ground. You rush to his side, throwing one of his arms around your shoulders as you try to support him. 

“Hey, hey, stay with me” you tell him, your free arm on his chest, holding him steady. “Just a few more steps and then you can rest”. 

You can feel his chest rising and falling into heavy breaths under the thin layer of his Hellfire shirt as he nods slowly. You’ve never been so physically close to him, you’ve never touched him like this - and sure enough, he’s never leaned on you like his life depended on it, as he’s doing now. The whirlwind of feelings is enough to send your head spinning, but now it’s not a good time for fluttery butterflies and quickened heartbeats: you need to take him inside before he passes out. 

You’ve been walking through the woods outside Hawkins for hours after escaping Jason and his crew of insane jocks. You were supposed to bring Eddie some food at Reefer’s Rick, but when you reached the boathouse it was too late: Jason and his goons had found Eddie and had cornered him, turning him into their personal punching ball. He’d been able to stall them for a bit with the same broken bottle he’d used to attack Steve, but it hadn’t been enough. 

You even tried to stop them, but Andy had mercilessly elbowed you away, making you trip and fall into the freezing waters of Lovers Lake. Soaking wet, you were struggling to climb back up on the floor of the room when it happened. 

Patrick was suddenly frozen still, eyes white and blind. Andy noticed it first, and he tried to bring him back into consciousness by calling his name, shaking him, but you knew he was gone now. You took your chance as soon as the boy started levitating, knowing well enough what was next - and the horror and stupor that possessed Jason and the others as Patrick’s bones started to snap was just the diversion you needed. 

While they helplessly tried to save their friend, in a rush of desperation you managed to rise from the lake, grab a semi-unconscious Eddie and make him barely stand up to get him into the boat in the middle of the room. And just as everyone else started to scream in despair at Patrick’s death, you were rowing away from the boathouse, towards the opposite shore of the lake. 

Eddie’s wounds, thankfully, weren’t as serious as you feared; but he was bleeding, and you needed a safe place where you could contact the rest of the group and set up a meeting. You needed the help of someone you trusted, who wouldn’t ask too many questions and who lived reasonably close. That’s when it clicked. 

You met Murray Bauman two years ago, when you went to his house with Nancy and Jonathan to expose the secrets of Hawkins Lab. Last year, he joined you and the others at Starcourt to bring down the Russians and their damned machine, which opened the Upside Down once again. He knows everything and he would understand - and that’s how you ended up buzzing his intercom in the middle of the night, with Eddie’s body slumped against yours. 

“State your name”

Murray’s voice echoes from a speaker above the door. You really don’t have time or energy left for this ritual, but you know it’s mandatory. 

“It’s me, Y/n Henderson” you urgently speak up, trying not to be too loud, “Murray, let us in - we need help”. 

“Show your face” Murray adds through the speaker, his tone as flat as that of an answering machine.  

“Murray, please” you hiss through your teeth, your voice edging towards desperation as you snap your head up towards the camera above you - wondering how he’s going to see anything more than a blurry shape in the dark.

A second later, the metal door of the warehouse swings open to reveal Murray Bauman standing in front of you, with nothing but a white tank top and matching boxers on. 

“What do you want?” He asks you, his eyes lingering inquisitively on an almost zoned-out Eddie and his black eye. “You woke me up”. 

“It’s back” you blurt out, “it’s back and we’re in danger. I’ll tell you everything, but we need a place to stay for tonight - he’s not doing well” you add, nodding at Eddie. “Please, Murray”. 

Murray’s face suddenly turns pale at your words, and he gives you a single, silent nod. He then moves to the side to let you in, his head turning left and right to look at the street before closing the door. 

You stumble towards the sofa, Eddie’s weight almost throwing you off balance as you carefully place him down. As soon as he lays his head on one of the pillows, he finally passes out. 

“So” Murray addresses you, his head tilted to the side as he nods at Eddie, “who’s that?”

You adjust a strand of Eddie’s curly hair away from his closed eyes and check his temperature and breathing to make sure that he’s okay before turning towards Murray. 

“He’s Eddie Munson” you explain with an exhausted sigh. 

Murray’s eyes widen as if they’re about to pop out of their sockets, Eddie’s name immediately reminding him of the latest news reports on TV. “Munson? You’ve brought a wanted murderer into my home?” He exclaims under his breath, hands frantically moving in the air. 

“He didn’t do it” you’re quick to add, a glimpse of anger straining your voice as you drop down on a chair next to a small table in the kitchen corner, “He’s innocent. I’ll tell you everything, I promise… but I need some water first”

Murray glares at you, but then he moves to the cupboard, grabs two glasses and proceeds to open the freezer. 

“I think I have something better than that” he states, taking out of the cold compartment a bottle of vodka. 

As you two drink a few shots, the liquor tingling down your throat and burning inside you (but bringing you some much needed comfort), you tell him everything from the start. How you met Eddie by giving Dustin, Mike and Lucas endless lifts to their D&D campaigns, how you and your brother looked for him with Steve, Robin and Max after the events at the trailer park, swearing by his innocence and supporting your claims with Max’s story about the flickering lights and Eddie’s own recounting of Chrissy’s death. How you’re now on the run from Jason Carver and the Hawkins High basketball team, and how you’re planning to meet with everyone else tomorrow.

Murray stares into the void as he listens, taking in every word and growing almost imperceptibly paler. 

Once you’re done with the story, the bottle is half empty and your head is slightly spinning. Murray is looking at you with a resigned expression, still sipping on his fifth glass of vodka. 

“You can stay” he finally tells you, “but just for tonight. I have a plane to catch tomorrow”.

Even if you knew he would say yes, you’re so relieved you almost hug him. You wouldn’t do that in any normal situation, especially not when he’s still half naked, but you’re so grateful that you’d even be willing to go past that. 

However, before you stop yourself, he immediately puts up his hands, shaking his head. 

“Uh-uh” he says, “Don’t come any closer, please - you stink. Go take a shower, there’s a clean towel you can use in the bathroom closet”. 

Now that the pressing need to find shelter and let Eddie rest and recover is resolved, you remember that you actually need to take care of yourself, as well: your hair and clothes are still a bit damp (and, yes, smelly) from when you fell into the lake, and your side is hurting where Andy’s elbow crashed into it. And, now that your body is finally starting to relax, you’re realizing how exhausted you actually are.

You get up and head towards the corridor, stopping by the sofa to glimpse at Eddie. He’s still knocked out, hair sprawled around his face and a ringed hand resting on his chest. Your gaze softens visibly as you lower your head over his to check his breathing one more time - and you realize that he’s probably shifted into a sleeping spell.

“Can you keep an eye on him while I clean myself up?” You ask Murray as you straighten yourself up again.

Murray knowingly looks at you with his eyebrows raised. “Yeah, sure, it’s not like I’m going anywhere at this point” he blurts out, ushering you with a quick movement of his hands. “Now please go, go, go”.

You get into the bathroom and as you close the door behind you, you finally allow yourself to take a big breath. You carefully remove your t-shirt in front of the mirror to check the damage and you notice that a black and yellow bruise is already forming on your side. You touch it slightly with the tip of your finger and, yeah, it hurts, but it seems quite superficial and not that serious - Eddie has it worse, for sure.

You get into the shower and the hot water makes you sigh in pleasure as soon as it hits your tense shoulders. You’d love to spend a whole hour under the heavy flow, surrounded by warm steam, but you really want to check on Eddie and be there when he wakes up. So, with great effort and a lot of resistance from your body, you turn the water off and get out of the shower box, grabbing a large white towel from the closet that Murray mentioned and wrapping it around your body. Then, you tiptoe back into the living room, trying not to drip too much water on the floor. 

“Do you have some clothes I can borrow, by any chance? Mine really need a wash” you ask Murray, who’s still sitting at the table while flipping the pages of today’s newspaper.

“Oh lord, and then what? A VIP ticket to Area 51 as well?” Murray sighs loudly while rolling his eyes, but he immediately pushes the newspaper away and gets up from the chair. “Let me guess: he’ll need my clothes too, right?” He asks you, nodding at Eddie.

“Uhm… yeah, I think so” you shyly reply, earning a glare in return.

“You’re lucky I’ve done an extra load of laundry today” Murray replies, pointing a finger at you before disappearing into the corridor.

You’re about to sit back down on your chair when a low groan makes your head snap around.

“Y/n” Eddie murmurs, his eyes flickering open as you rush to the sofa and kneel by his side on the carpet. 

“I’m here, Eddie” you tell him, scanning his face as he comes back into consciousness and feeling his forehead with the back of your hand to check for any signs of a temperature. 

“Wait, are you naked?” He slowly asks once he looks at you, still in a confused daze as a tilted smirk appears on his lips.

You let out a chuckle, your hands rushing to tighten the towel around your body. “Don’t even think about that, Munson” you reply, shooting back up on your feet as Murray comes back into the room.

As soon as Eddie sees him, he tries to sit up, but he struggles as pain makes him hiss at any attempt at moving. You help him, accompanying his body up by gently taking his hand with one of yours and placing the other on his back.

“Welcome back to the world of the living. Shower’s that way” Murray states, pointing back towards the bathroom before dropping a bundle of clean clothes on the sofa next to Eddie. “You can use these. I’m also getting you a first aid kit because, if I can be honest, your face looks like shit”.

“Uhm… thanks, man” Eddie tentatively replies, throwing a questioning look in your direction.

“Yeah, yeah, she’s told me everything already” Murray addresses him again, “I know you’re not a serial killer”.

Eddie’s shoulders drop, relief visibly filling him up as he grabs a pair of faded sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt from the pile next to him and manages to stand up, making a few steps towards the bathroom door. 

“Do you… uh, do you think you need help with that?” You ask him, blushing slightly at the idea of following him.

Eddie turns towards you, his signature grin back on his lips now that he knows he’s safe. “I can manage that” he says, looking for support on the doorframe as he stumbles a little, “Besides, I don’t think you want to see the sweet old tatties on full display” he jokes.

Your cheeks get even redder as you desperately hope that he’s not reading your mind right now. “Yeah, uhm, cool” you reply, catching a glimpse of a visibly stupefied and slightly annoyed Murray behind you, “I’ll get changed in the meantime. Once you’re done, we’ll try to patch you up”.

“Roger that” Eddie replies, finally closing the bathroom door behind him.

“Was all that flirting necessary?” Murray asks you as he leads you to the guest room, where you plan to change into the remaining gym shorts and hoodie.

“It wasn’t flirting - we’re friends” you briefly explain, shutting his protests down. “I’ll be back in a sec and then I’ll need your radio” you’re then quick to add, getting inside the room and closing the sliding doors. 

“We’re friends” Murray mocks you in a high-pitched voice as he goes back to the bottle of vodka, “Yeah, and I’m Russian”.

When you come out of the guest room and sit on the slumped sofa in the living room, Murray brings you his radio, dropping it unceremoniously on the coffee table. You thank him with a smile and start fiddling with the channels until you find the right one. 

“Dustin, do you copy?” You ask into the speaker. While you wait for a response, the bathroom door opens to reveal a cleaned up, but still limping, Eddie. He stumbles back to the sofa and sits down next to you. 

After a few minutes of silent buzzing, the radio crackles and Dustin voice echoes in the room. 

“Y/n, thank god” he exclaims, his familiar voice making both you and Eddie smile, “are you guys okay? You didn’t check in when we called you”

“Yeah, uhm, we had a little setback” you explain, “Reefer Rick’s is compromised - Jason found us. But we made it out and we’re safe at Murray’s. Eddie’s here with me” you add, glancing up at him. 

“Hello, Henderson” Eddie says as he leans down towards the radio, his damp hair brushing against your cheek.

“Munson” Steve voice suddenly echoes from the speaker, “do you know where Skull Rock is? Glad to know you’re okay, by the way”

“Hey, I was talking to them” Dustin mutters in the background. 

You and Eddie exchange a look, then he gently takes the speaker from your hands to reply. His fingers lightly graze yours with the gesture, making your skin tingle. 

“I know it, yeah” he says, nervously scratching his hair, “are we meeting there tomorrow?” 

“Yes, ten o’clock, Skull Rock” Steve repeats, “We have to go now, but we’re keeping the line open if you need us. Say hi to y/n for me and try to be careful in the meantime. Over and out”. 

Eddie places the radio speaker back on the table and slumps down into the sofa, his hands running up and down his legs. 

“Hey” you ask him, placing a hand on one of his to calm him down. “Are you okay?”

He looks at you, his gaze softening. “That’s a good one, sweetheart” he replies, absentmindedly intertwining his fingers with yours. Your stomach turns into a swarm of butterflies as you notice the glint in his eyes - what is going on?

Murray coughs, and you both immediately let go. 

“So, uhm, let me take a look at those” you stutter, nodding at the few wounds on Eddie's face as you gently touch him with the tip of your fingers, slowly moving his head side to side to inspect the damage. He has a split lip, a cut on his left cheek and a black eye, with some leftover blood dried just under his nose. Your heart tightens at the thought of what Jason, Andy and Patrick did to him. 

“Murray” you ask, turning around to face him, “what about that first aid kit?”

“Yes” Murray exclaims, clapping his hands before rummaging through one of the kitchen drawers until he takes out a small, white box. “This is it, but I’ll leave you to it and go back to sleep” he says, handing the box to you over the sofa, “you know where the guest room is - just don’t be too loud, okay? I’m not in the mood to listen to you two-” 

“Murray!” You exclaim horrified, as Eddie’s eyes run back and forth between the two of you in shock. “We’re not sleeping together- I mean, I will stay here on the sofa” you specify, feeling the heat of shame rising up your neck. 

“I’m not letting you sleep on the sofa - I’m sleeping on the sofa” Eddie interrupts you in mild confusion. 

“Eddie, you’re hurt-” you try to talk back, but he puts one hand up to shush you. 

“Nope” he says, shaking his head, “You brought this old, battered body here, you need to rest in a proper bed”. 

“Exactly” you specify, “your body is battered, so that’s why-“

“GUYS!” Murray interrupts you with a yell, “Enough with that lovers’ quarrel. Just sleep in the same damn bed like you both clearly so desperately desire and let me rest in peace”. 

“It’s not a lovers’ quarrel!” you and Eddie both exclaim, immediately exchanging a look. 

Murray stares at you in disbelief as silence suddenly falls in the room - however, it doesn’t last long. 

“Oh, spare me!” Murray finally blurts out, loudly. “Fucking unbelievable. Listen” he addresses you both, a finger pointed at your faces. “I’ve been through this shit twice already - Byers and Wheeler first, then Joyce and Hopper. It must run in your whole damn Ghostbusters slash Scooby-Doo group, I swear. You” he turns to Eddie, who looks at him with wide eyes, “you’re the nerdy metalhead that nobody in the whole world would ever love because he’s a freak, am I correct? So you hide behind an unnecessarily thick wall of sarcasm and cynicism because if you don’t put up that façade someone might actually find out that you crave to love, and to be loved. And what happens one day? You find her“ he adds, turning to you next. “And it’s a fucking cliché, because she’s your best friend’s sister and oh my god she’s untouchable and she will never look at you, right? Wrong! Because every time she looks at you - and boy, she does that a lot - she basically melts into the ground, turns literally purple, loses all sense of reason and logic and starts waking up people in the middle of the damn night to keep you safe. On that note: Y/n, stop lying to yourself and finally admit that you’re head over heels about him - and stop being so insecure, so dubious, so full of useless self-pity and worry. Open your beautiful girly eyes and get a grip, because YES - he’s head over heels about you too, okay?”

Murray takes a deep breath as you and Eddie sit there in silence, avoiding each other’s eyes like the plague. 

“Good” Murray finally exclaims, proud of his little speech - he’s convinced he’s the best Cupid out there by now. “Have a good night, Mr. and Mrs. Just Friends” he concludes, heading towards his bedroom and locking himself in. 

The living room is so silent that you can hear the faint chirping of the crickets outside the house. Your hands are sweating on your lap as their grip on the first-aid box tightens, your eyes locked on it because you’re too embarrassed to meet Eddie’s. Your mind is spinning as it tries to analyze every single interaction, every word you’ve exchanged with him, looking for any possible instance of you slipping up and showing your true feelings - and, for a second, you also consider looking for signs that might confirm what Murray has just stated. That Eddie might actually feel the same. 

Little do you know that Eddie is doing the exact same thing. But he’s quicker to find a way to change the subject and tone down the awkwardness, because yes, he’s just been blatantly exposed, but making sure that you’re okay - that both of you are okay with each other - is way more important than finding a way to recover from Murray’s words.

“So, uhm…” he begins, stuttering lightly as he nervously starts playing with his rings. “Is there a… uhm, a bandaid or something in there?” He asks you, nodding at the kit with a tentative smile. 

You snap back to reality. “Oh, yeah, I guess so - let me look for it” you blurt out as you open the box, fidgeting with its contents until you manage to find a tiny bottle of disinfectant, a few cotton balls and two bandaids with a red and blue polka dot print on them. 

“Not so metal, I’m afraid” you tell Eddie as you show him the bandaids with a small smile that matches his own, making him chuckle as he realizes that yes, probably you’re still okay.

“As long as they keep these battle wounds from bleeding” he jokes, taking them from you before starting to peel one of them open, “I think they’ll do”.

“Oh no, wait” you exclaim, blocking him with your hands. If someone asked, both of you could swear that the sparkles erupting from your hands touching were brightly visible in the dim light of the room. “We need to clean those properly first”.

Eddie sighs in defeat and you proceed by pouring some disinfectant on one cotton ball, dabbing it on the cut on his lip and the wound on his cheek. 

“I’m sorry, I know it burns” you apologize as you feel him holding his breath, guessing that it’s because of the pain. That’s true, but just in a very small part - mostly, it’s having you so close to him that leaves him breathless and clueless about making any move. He’s actually too absorbed in admiring your long eyelashes and how they flutter as your eyes attentively scan his face, counting the pale freckles and tiny skin marks scattered on your cheeks and nose, noticing the clean scent of shampoo from your still damp hair and the faint hint of your cologne still left on your neck. Actually, the burning is welcome to him, as it’s the only thing keeping him grounded and restraining him from doing something stupid and way too risky - like, he guesses, kissing you.

“All done” you finally state, tapping on the edge of the bandaid you’ve just placed on his cheek before moving back away from him. Both of you feel the space between your bodies, and it seems as deep as the ocean.

“Thank you, kind lady” he replies, his eyes still lingering on yours.

You both stand up at the same time, the awkwardness back in the room as you nervously look at each other with an embarrassed smile - because, you’ve just realized, it’s time to make a decision on the bed thing.

“Soooo” Eddie tentatively begins, taking a strand of his wavy hair and barely hiding his face behind it as he looks sideways at you, “Since there’s no way I’m letting you sleep on this sucker…” he begins, waving one hand at the sofa.

“Eddie, come on-” you try, but he accepts no protests on your side.

“And you’re too kind and stubborn to let me be the knight in shiny armor” he continues as you scoff, smiling, “I guess we could, uhm…” he concludes, words dying in his throat as a wave of insecurity washes over him. Maybe what he’s about to propose is way out of line…

“Share?” you ask, finishing his sentence - but it’s more a wish than an actual question. 

Eddie’s lips curve upside down in one of his signature smiles. “If that’s okay for you, of course… I- I don’t mind” he tells you, waiting patiently for your consent as he begins fiddling again with his rings.

You give him one warm, matching smile. “Seems big enough for two” you say, nodding towards the bed that is visible through the sliding doors of the guest room across from you. “It’s okay for me”.

“Great… great, okay” Eddie states, finally taking a breath as he nods repeatedly. God, not even bullies at school have ever made him so nervous. He should really get a grip.

You head towards the room, bumping into each other as you unsuccessfully try to get in at the same time. You both let out a timid laugh and Eddie moves sideways, bowing slightly and showing you in with an extended arm. 

“Ladies first” he theatrically states, letting you into the room.

You take a few steps inside and sit down on the folding bed, which is set up with clean sheets. Probably Murray got it all prepped when you were in the shower and Eddie was still knocked out.

“Good, I always sleep on the left side” Eddie exclaims, as he notices you’ve taken your place on the right edge of the mattress. 

You chuckle as you lie back, while Eddie crosses the room to get to the other side of the bed. He lies down with a sigh, too, looking at you one last time for permission to turn the lights off. You nod slightly, tiredness already making its way through your exhausted limbs, and with a flick of Eddie’s fingers the room gets pitch black.

“Goodnight, Eddie” you whisper in the dark.

“Goodnight, sweetheart” he replies, the nickname he started to use as a joke (but that doesn’t feel like a joke anymore) escaping his lips before it’s too late, lingering in the air as silence falls between you once again.

You both turn around away from each other, facing the outer side of the bed. You close your eyes, feeling safe for the first time in hours (and, maybe, days), the comfort of Eddie’s presence next to you and the warmth of the blankets wrapped around you making your mind drift farther, and farther away…

But it takes you just a few seconds to understand that you can’t sleep. 

It’s one of those cursed situations in which you’re actually too tired to get some rest, and as your body finally relaxes your mind jolts awake, fully active and functioning better than it ever did.

You sigh deeply, the mattress creaking loudly as you move to turn around and switch position - just to find out that Eddie has turned around as well, and he’s now facing you.

His breath warmly and regularly fans over your face, and you figure he’s asleep - until his voice breaks the silence with a whisper.

“Y/n” he softly asks, “are you awake?”

You smile in the dark, your eyes still closed. 

“Mhm”

“I just wanted to say, thank you for today” he murmurs, “You saved my life. Very metal of you”.

“Anytime, Munson” you whisper back, “take it as a thank-you gift for keeping Dustin busy and relieving me of my big sister duties once a week for the past year”.

“That little devil” Eddie chuckles as he scoots closer to you. Your heart starts beating a little faster, as you feel the faint thread of electricity that has formed between your bodies. “I guess stubbornness runs in the family. But I’m grateful to him, actually” he adds, shuffling slightly under the covers.

“Why is that?” you ask him, the thought of sleeping now completely forgotten in some corner of your mind.

Eddie stays silent for a few seconds, then speaks again.

“I guess you don’t remember the first time you brought him to Hellfire” he softly says, and you think you can catch a glimpse of his smile.

“Actually, I do” you reply, the memory of that late September afternoon easily coming to your mind. “Especially because you kept staring at our car when we got there. Leaning against the school’s front door like a dark, mysterious character straight out of a fantasy novel” you joke, tentatively moving your hand in the dark to poke him.

And just as you actually find his body, Eddie finds your hand. His long, slightly calloused fingers intertwine with yours, his thumb drawing soft circles on your burning skin. He’s glad the lights are off, because he’s too scared that you’d back away if you saw the nervousness mixed with badly hidden love in his gaze.

“As nice as your car is” he says, chuckling, “I wasn’t staring at it, at all. I was…” he hesitates, before deciding to risk it all. “I was actually wondering how Henderson could have such a beautiful creature for a sister” he blurts out. 

You lie still in the dark, speechless, your hand still into Eddie’s. Your brain is running ten thousand miles an hour, trying to wrap around what he’s just said.

“I mean, he’s a, uhm… a cute kid, I guess?” Eddie quickly adds, trying to make sense of his words, “but when I saw you I thought… I mean, I actually thought, that’s how Arwen must have looked like. And that’s how Aragorn must have felt when he, uhm… ”.

He can’t finish the sentence, because your hand has moved from the gentle grasp of his fingers to his cheek, pulling him closer to you until your lips meet in the dark.

The kiss is soft and slow, and you pour into it all the words you’ve never said and feelings you’ve kept hidden for months, careful to avoid the healing cut on his lower lip as you move. Eddie’s arms wrap around your body, his legs now intertwined with yours under the blanket. 

You explore each other’s bodies - your hands through his hair, his lips down your neck, t-shirts lifting up and skin burning at any soft touch as the steel of his rings slides under the thick cotton of your clothes. You both feel safe, understood, and seen even in the pitch black of the room. It almost feels like meeting for the first time, too.

Eddie doesn’t let go of you, not even when you stop kissing to take a breath, the weight of the day now finally overcoming you both. As you lie in his arms, your head placed on his chest so that you can hear the beat of his heart, you realize that this is what true relief - or, better, happiness - must feel like.

“Guess your friend was right” Eddie says, his hand caressing your ruffled hair as his words are followed by a yawn.

“He usually is”. You chuckle, closing your eyes as your breaths deepen and slow down.

Then, you both fall asleep.

—♥︎—

✨Part 2✨

#eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #stranger things 4 #stranger things x reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson one shot #eddie munson x henderson reader #eddie munson headcanons #stranger things #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction

[sammyboyimagines]

Summer W/...Headcanons

These are some summer-themed headcanons for Eddie Munson! It will include both fluff and some smut, so MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY.

This is mostly for fem readers but I can make one for gender-neutral readers as well.

Eddie is not one for warm weather. As a man who wears many layers, he finds it unbearably hot once the temperature rises above 70 degrees.

It is a rare sight to see Eddie with a ponytail. He mainly wears it down but he knows you find it adorable when he uses one of your hairbands to tie his hair up. He especially wears his hair up on hot days, refusing to have his hair sticking to his sweaty forehead in the summer heat.

Speaking of summer heat, Eddie lives for pool days. If you have a pool at your place, you better believe he'd be knocking on your door every day to jump in the refreshing water.

But that's not the only reason he likes pool days. Seeing you in your bikini and having the privilege of rubbing your body down with sunscreen, he was in heaven.

"Eddie, can you get my back, please?" You handed him the bottle of sunscreen, blind to the obvious lovesick look in his warm brown eyes. "With pleasure, m'lady." He retorted with his typical nerdy responses. It never bothered you though, because it was one of his cute quirks.

Eddie is shockingly pale during the summer. Every time he steps outside for more than an hour at the most, he comes back inside with skin as red as a lobster.

Which prompts you to rub aloe on his sunburn and listen to his whining when the sensitive skin burned throughout the day.

"Eddie, quit whining, please! I'm trying to get some sleep." You turn onto your side in your bed to glance at him as he lay face down to avoid laying on his sunburnt back. "But it hurts so bad!" His muffled voice could barely be heard through the pillow, making you laugh. "Sorry baby, I tried telling you you needed sunscreen!"

Speaking of, Eddie constantly pushes you away when you offer him sunscreen. "I need a tan anyways." "You always do this, you're gonna get a horrible sunburn!" "And you always give me special treatment, all the more reason to get burnt!" He smiled at you as you slapped his shoulder.

If you're a fan of ice cream, Eddie loves to go get ice cream with you. He'll take you to the nearest ice cream joint on particularly hot days as if it were tradition. "Maybe we could skip ice cream today?" You propose, eager to get home and spend some alone time with him. A pout appeared on his face. "But...we always get ice cream? What do you mean?" He was absolutely devastated. "How about instead of ice cream, we go to my place and turn on a movie. My parents aren't home, and I can think of a good way to beat the heat..." As you hinted at your intentions, you slowly slid one strap of your tank top down your shoulder. Eddie's eyes widened in realization. "Yeah-uh we should definitely skip the ice cream, what was I even thinking?" He made it home after speeding through the town.

Eddie had never been to the beach before he met you. It just wasn't something that he or his uncle could afford. The road trip was long, but Eddie was prepared. He brought a mixtape of his own, with all his favorites on it. "Seriously Eddie? Is this all Metallica, Dio, and Iron Maiden?" You had only heard the vocals of the three bands so far. "Yup, only the best for a ride with you, sweetheart." Though his words pulled at your heartstrings, you were still confused about the little variety on the mixtape.

Speaking of the beach, Eddie quickly found out that he was not very fond of sand. "Jesus Christ there's sand fucking everywhere." Eddie brushed off the excess sand from his time at the beach, annoyed by the grainy texture touching his skin.

Eddie hates summer, but he tolerates it because he gets to spend more time with you.

For example, when Wayne is out for the day, Eddie will turn the heat up in the trailer if he knows you'd be coming by. "Jesus Eddie, is your air conditioning broken?" You fanned yourself mere minutes after stepping into the trailer. He just shrugged at you, keeping himself from smiling at your discomfort. You slipped off your tank top, leaving you in your bra and shorts. This was exactly what Eddie had been waiting for. "I don't notice the heat." He was lying straight through his teeth, and you caught on quick. "You just want to see my tits, Munson." "Damn right, sweetheart."

Eddie often uses the heat as an excuse to get away with things. "Sweetheart, please? It's hot outside and you know how I feel about the heat making my hair frizzy" Eddie was begging for you to wash his hair yourself. He used the guise that it was all frizzed out and sweaty from the humid day but really he wanted your soft hands touching him, gently scratching his scalp until he was practically asleep in your presence.

If you have a summer birthday, Eddie takes extra time to make your day memorable since he has more time after school ends. Eddie plans a whole itinerary for your special day. Ice cream, pool party, cold drinks, and sweet music; Eddie went the whole nine yards for you.

Something you both do that annoyed the hell out of Wayne is open the door repeatedly, going in and out at all times during the day. One of you would go in for a drink, then 10 minutes later the other would come in to cool off, etc. Finally, he'd had enough and told of the both of you. "Uh uh, no more of this shit! You're either staying in or staying out, stop letting the cool air out!" He firmly told you. As he walked away, the both of you erupted in a fit of quiet laughs at the situation.

On a dirtier note, the summer air brings out a different side of Eddie. He's doting on you more, and he's extremely needy for you. His hands are on you, your waist, your hands, your thigh, etc. He loves feeling your warm skin under his hand or pulling your clothing off when neither of you can keep your hands to yourself.

Also, pool sex is a must for Eddie. The pool in your backyard became one of Eddie's favorite spots to hang out during the summer. Watching you in your bathing suit all day? Priceless.

That's all I got for now, thank you!

#stranger things #stranger things netflix #reader insert #eddie stranger things #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson smut #eddie x y/n #eddie munson #wayne munson #eddiemunson #imagine #eddie munson headcanons #stranger things 4

[greyskyflowers]

I think it's so powerful that all the strawhats represent the ideals for a good adventure. They're the gods you'd pray to before setting off on the adventure of your Iife.

💙💙💙💙

There are things to be done before one can set out to follow adventure and hear the welcoming call of the sea. They must find and honor the Gods and Goddesses that they hope to carry on their journey.

You know exactly which ones you want to carry. You've always know.

Your parents are happy but still cry as they watch you gather your gifts and offering, their little one all grown up and ready to set sail. You assure them they have time because you're expecting it to take time to find all the ones you want to carry.

The first is easy. The sun god who plays in grassy fields and shore lines, always found under summer skies. You ask him for adventure, happiness, and the will to follow your dreams.

You leave your old hiking boots, laces fraying and heels worn but it's your favorite pair. They look well loved with a flower scribbled by your best friend on the side in faded ink, a black spot from where you got too close to the bonfire making marshmallows, and a hundred memories pressed like dirt into the soles. They've been on so many adventures with you but they can't go on this one.

You leave a photo of your family, brother and you front and center with big gap tooth smiles. It's old, years ago, and it has tape stuck on the back from hanging it on your wall but it looks perfect in the sunlight.

You leave a four leaf clover, hardly anything worth offering really, but you've always loved the idea of picking up luck on the side of the road. It feels right to leave it even though it's lost among the other flowers and grasses on the edge of the field.

The last offering is carefully wrapped in thick cream linen, a combination of dried meat and crackers. It's not a lot but the meat is from a local hunter and the crackers are your favorite.

They say this god has a big appetite and a even bigger heart.

You hope he's full when you leave.

The second god is your favorite, although you never admit favorites outloud, it's disrespectful. He's older, something ancient, and strong.

He's harder to find and you wish for your old boots by the time you find a spot worth stopping. You find him in the forest when you ask for protection, strength, and devotion.

It's dusk and everything is caught in shadows, the late summer humidity has sweat running down your face. There's dirt on your hands and some blood from where a very aggressive stick got in a hit but you feel like he'd approve.

You settle on a flat stone under a fallen tree, tangled in moss and ivy.

You leave a bottle of rum. It's old, dusty, although you tried to wipe all the age off earlier with the hopes of making it look more expensive than it actually was. The bottle is pretty though and fits well in the hand.

You leave rain water, caught from a downpour last night and sweet on the tongue when you went outside to collect it.

You leave a old pocket knife, confident in the offering but hesitant in how it will be received. It's small, hardly even the size of your palm, and it's dull from age and broken. But it was your great grandfather's and you think it's spirit will be happier here than tucked away in a box.

You leave incense, the smell of something warm and earthy. The humidity has made everything too wet to worry about it catching but you still sit with it for a bit while it smokes before gently putting it out and leaving.

You get home later than planned and your mom scolds you, but laughs when you tell her you got lost on the way back. She knows exactly who you went to see.

The third is a goddess, known for good fortune and guidance. She lounges in sunbeams and chases lighting, gold hanging from her wrists.

It's storming when you visit her but the hair on your arm stands up more as a greeting than a warning.

The little stream at your feet will quickly become a river, and once the rain dries it will go back to a small dip in the ground. Right now though, it's all her.

You leave a gold coin, not worth much but you made it shine as bright as it could. It gleams even under the storm clouds.

You leave a broken compass that's always stuck pointing north. It makes you think of the stars and specifically the northern one that always hangs in the sky over your house, and you hope this will be accepted.

You offer a orange, which looks oddly out of place next to the dark, wet earth and grey skies. It's ripe and beautiful, you picked the prettiest one you could find.

The edge of the stream is growing wider, carefully pulling at the offerings like it's curious.

You leave without looking back, they'll find their way to where they need to go.

The fourth god always has good hiding spots, some people having never even found a good place to leave his offerings.

He's steadiness and bravery, the children say he tells them wonderful stories when they get scared at night.

This one is odd and you debate where to find him. You shouldn't have worried though. The answer, it turns out, is right under your nose. Literally.

You bed is hardly off the ground, just enough to shove some things under when you don't feel like cleaning. It was big enough to hide all the monsters when you were little though and maybe, just maybe, it's big enough to hide a god.

You offer the book your mom always read you when you were little. It's not the same book since you no longer have that one, but this will work. You hope he likes it enough to read it to the children he comforts at night.

You leave a small, potted plant. It honestly has a better chance of life with a god than to stay in your hands. You can practically feel the poor thing give a sigh of relief to be free of you. It's kind of ugly, prickly, and oddly colored, but you love it. You hope this God has a better green thumb than you.

The last is another non physical offering. You smile and suggest a game. You offer two truths and a lie.

That night you think of everything that scared you when you were little and you fall asleep to dreams overrun with old fears.

The offerings are gone when you wake up and you had the oddest dream about a man with a ridiculous nose who asks for two truths and a lie.

The fifth god is a little harder and it takes a while before you find someone who welcomes you into their kitchen.

It feels odd to ask a stranger but the man is happy and curious at the request. He's not someone you know well but you've seen him around the town before. He's the only one you know who still has a spot in his kitchen for a fire and uses it.

He asks a lot of questions at first but you find it easy to get carried away in the conversation. The food is almost ready when you remember why you came.

You apologize for the inconvenience but he waves you off, watching as you carefully set your offerings just off to the side of the hearth.

You leave fresh, baked bread. It's not very pretty because you've never been very good at the visual part of cooking, but it tastes good. You added in some honey from the beekeeper down the road and it's just the right amount of sweet.

You leave a small cup of salt water. You're not sure why that one feels right but it does. The glass makes the water look blue and it's like a small part of the sea.

The last is a old note from a past girlfriend. It's worn from where it's been folded, the ink almost gone in the creases and the edges soft. You haven't been able to bring yourself to get rid of it and passing it on seems easier.

They say this God is a lover, a admirer of passion, and fullness for life. You hope he appreciates all the love you have left for him.

The old man insists on sharing his dinner with you so you leave full and with a laugh still laying on your lips.

The hearth is empty when you glance back.

The sixth one is always a fun god to find, known for playfulness and good health. The frozen grass crunches under your feet and a deer watches you curiously before darting back into the timber.

The garden is frozen and dead now but that's okay, there's life in the roots for next spring.

You leave your offerings by the garden gate, next to where the ginger and lavender grow.

You offer flowers from the garden, ones just found and still covered in the first frost. They're a little more brown then you had hoped but the frost was a little late this year. They look beautiful edged in white though.

You leave a handful of berries, a mix of your favorite. The blackberries stain your hand purple and the blueberries are round, rolling a little before you get them all gathered.

You leave a small tea candle. This one you leave burning, it's small and will go out quickly in the cold. It's white, and smells like peppermint. Memories of being coaxed into taking cold medicine cross your mind.

You hope the scent makes him think of healing, of being cared for, rather than sickness.

The seventh goddess is wisdom and grace, beauty in darkness, and the library loves her. They encourage offerings, more than happy to see you when you stop by one winter evening.

Your nose is red and your cheeks burn but you smile as the librarian fusses over you and goes to get you a towel to dry snowflakes from your hair.

It's quiet with her gone and the little corner behind the first shelf catches your eye.

The spot is warm, even with it being by the wall, and you place your gifts down.

You leave your favorite book. It's worn, the cover scratched and torn, notes inside from over the years. Part of your soul is stuck in those pages. All the times you were lonely and would read to forget for a bit, all the sleepless nights where curling up to read would eventually lead to drifting off in uncomfortable positions, it's all in this book.

You leave warm tea. The cup is something you bought second hand but it's beautiful with hand painted flowers and a rim like gold. The tea is your favorite, not caffeinated but soothing. The warmth from the thermos thaws your hands as you fill the cup.

The last offering is a little different but you think she'll like it. The secret leaves your mouth quietly and rushed, something you've never spoke aloud or told anyone before. Telling her has your chest feeling lighter and life fills you lungs.

The librarian comes back with a towel and a small smile to the offerings before urging you to sit down and stay awhile.

The eighth god you find down at the docks, tucked away between boats and building materials. He's creativity and creation.

The spot you settle on is a little quieter than the main walk ways and you feel less like your being observed.

The wood is soaked with salt water from the tides when you set down your offerings.

You leave a nail, old and brown. You pulled it from the walls of your home, the same one you grew up in. It's from the foundation of who you are and what made you. It's a little bent, a little odd, but it represents home.

You leave a firework, a small one you stole from your brother before he could set it off somewhere he shouldn't. It's just a simple one that will pop and sparkle for a few moments but those are your favorite kind.

The last offering is a soda. You spent a little more money and got something special. It's sealed in a skinny glass bottle and bubbles slide along the side when you move it. It's made with the good sugar, a treat that you don't often allow yourself.

You leave with knees damp from the wet wood and end up spending a good part of the day talking to the workers and breathing in the sea air.

The ninth god is for perseverance and hope, and he's sad in some ways.

You find him in the cemetery under a old cypress tree. It feels a little lonely so you decide to sit for awhile, you don't have anything else to do. You offer your gifts while you sit.

You leave a silk handkerchief that you painstakingly made yourself. It's bone white and the edges are ruffled. You're very proud of it and you ignore how your finges feel the phantom prinks of a sewing needle.

You offer a bowl of ice and salt. This might be one of the oddest gifts you've given and you're not completely sure how you even got the idea. It's a pretty offering. The little, metal bowl you found has frosted up from the ice and left little sections of frost here and there. The salt is melting the ice faster than you thought though and the melted water is murky where it's mixed. You kind of give up on the gift after looking it over, offering a apology and using your nail to draw small animals in the frost. One side has a lion, a mane of little lines from his slightly oval shaped head. The other side has a whale, a large blob drawn with a small little tail.

The final offering is following your growing trend of verbal offerings. It's a joke. A really bad one you heard from your dad and even telling it makes you groan, but it also makes you laugh until your stomach hurts.

You leave with graveyard dirt stuck to the back of your thighs and a song you don't remember hearing stuck in you head.

With all your offerings given and your heart ready, you go back to the beginning.

The field is in full bloom and the grass reaches up to your waist. The small drop off at the far side hides a shoreline that's perfect for watching the storms roll in or the sun kiss the horizon. Your feet hang off the ledge over the sand just high enough from the ground to swing them.

The sea calls your name and it sounds welcoming.

💙💙💙💙

Listen when I tell you this ran away from me I mean it. I wrote this in-between tasks at work so please ignore any mistakes because let me tell you my fingers were speeding to keep up with my head.

#one piece #op #luffy #usopp #sanji #zoro #nami #franky one piece #brook one piece #nico robin #tony tony chopper #mugiwara pirates #straw hat crew #strawhats #mugiwara crew #mythical au? #i have no idea what this is tbh #setting sail with greyskyflowers #writing with greyskyflowers

[rea-can-yeet]

Not me casually dropping part two after a long time of me being MIA. Sorry about that! Y'knowzzz life and all hahahaha! I edited my tumblr pinned post where I put my current status there so yeah if you wanna know what's going on with me you can check it out haha anyway here's chapter two of 'mutineer'! Does anyone still remember this?? Or even this blog??? Oh god what if y'all thought this blog was dead??? Or worse- sagau ain't a thing much now? Wait lemme double check after I post this-

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REMINDER: This is gender neutral for all readers. Sagau stands for Self Aware Genshin Alternative Universe, but this is leaning much towards the God/Creator AU where the characters are aware that they’re being controlled but not aware enough to know that they’re in a game. This story is set in God/Creator AU, imposter AU, and lastly villain AU. This contains religious and cult themes, graphic violence, and probably some suggestive scenes (not this chapter yet, but the series will show some) so viewer’s discretion is advised.

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🔻

🔻

♦️

𝕄𝕌𝕋𝕀ℕ𝔼𝔼ℝ

"Damn, Y/n. There you are."

A friend, who she met when they were little and still vibe with even when they first became aerospace engineer students, commented while leaning against the old chipped doorframe. Her eyes landed on s/c skin, the arms to be specific, sweating. Her friend was huffing while holding a wooden bat, hair covering e/c eyes from her view.

She looks around at the damage the h/c haired had caused. Broken glass bottles, wrecked armchairs, holes in the blackboard, mirror shards around the floor, some damaged computer screens, and keys from shattered keyboards near the left cracked wall.

If this classroom wasn't abandoned or owner-less, she would have to use her wealth to bail her angry friend from being punished.

She had to witness Y/n being reprimanded for something they didn't do.

Stealing.

Ridiculous, she thought. Just because you hate a student doesn't mean you get to blame them for stealing your stuff just cuz they happen to be the last one to get out of your classroom, stupid petty karen teacher. If her friend wanted something, she knew that her friend wouldn't try stealing. And besides, she was willing to buy whatever Y/n asked, but she knows that idiot wouldn't like to ask for a lot of money from her. Y/n is greedy, but she knows Y/n is not that greedy. And of course, not greedy enough to steal.

And if the Y/n did resort to stealing, Y/n would have never been caught. She would bet her whole wealth on that.

Not only that, her prototype project for Aerospace Design class was dropped on the floor, breaking it. The culprit? One of the rowdy jocks. The man didn't even apologize and proceeded to run to who knows where while being chased by his friends.

And as if two bad things were not enough, Y/n somehow left a very important item back home; lunch.

That must have been their breaking point. So she had to follow Y/n. It took some time to find them, but she somehow found a Primogem keychain and thought 'Ah yes Y/n must have been here', and was led by crashing and banging noises. That was how she found this abandoned school a few streets away from the main road leading to their university and into the woods.

She knew Y/n's side that they rarely show to some extent, knowing her friend's tendency to be a daredevil, but she didn't think that Y/n would actually go destructive if being angered without a proper cause. There's an inkling feeling, of course, just being proven correct was a whole different feeling.

Her friend got a bad record and is being under surveillance and suspicion, hard work was unjustifiably destroyed, and lunch was left at home.

One bad thing after the other.

"Sorry." Uttered her friend, not much making a move of some sort, not even a turn of a head, still catching their breath.

She only sighs and lets out a little chuckle. Y/n is a nice person, loyal, and dependable. She understands that people have their own bursts of anger sometimes. Though, her friend has a little destructive flavor to it.

"You okay?"

"...Yeah." Y/n takes a few more breaths, taking in a deep one, then exhale. "I calmed down a bit." They say as they stood properly and turned to the person leaning on the busted doorframe that Y/n may or may not have also hit a bit. Dropping the bat carelessly, glass clinking from the impact, Y/n dragged up an armchair that miraculously survived their wrath. They sat down and wiped the sweat from their brow, their friend pushing herself from the doorframe and proceeded to sit on the armchair's table.

"Here." She pulls out Y/n's favorite drink. "Got you your bag and some sandwiches too." She hands them and Y/n accepts them with gratitude. Y/n puts the bag beside the chair and opens their drink.

"So question, how'd you find this place?"

"I have an attraction towards signs that have 'do not enter' or 'danger, not safe' on them if you didn't noticed. Or places with rusty barbed wires in the middle of nowhere." They take a swig of their drink. A breath of relief and satisfaction escapes them after. "This place was abandoned because of a strong earthquake years ago. This place will be bulldozed into a new establishment soon. Until then, this has become one of my 'Escape Places'."

She had to ask about this list of places her friend tends to escape to when she gets the chance later today when they play genshin at her mansion.

"How'd you get in the barbed wire fences anyway?" Asked Y/n as they eat their sandwich, e/c eyes turning to her.

She just takes out her assortment of skeleton keys. "I'm not athletic like you who can jump or scale over wired fences. I went through the gate. The padlock was rusty so it took some time."

Y/n hums, impressed. Then the face of amazement turns to surprise when she just drops the key on Y/n's lap. "You can have it."

"Why???"

"I found a shop that sells these in any color you want. I want them pink so you can have these since I'll be buying new ones anyway."

"You gotta stop giving me free stuff, I'm being spoiled rotten." The friend just laughs, picks up the keys, and shoves them into Y/n's bag. "You also gotta stop shoving people stuff when they try to refuse."

"Hush my child, eat and replenish. You have to help me farm soon. Those Regisvines are a pain." She zips Y/n's bag shut and sat back. "So... What are you gonna do now?"

Silence came between the two, though it wasn't uncomfortable. Her eyes scanned the destruction caused by her friend. She knew Y/n was a kind person at heart, and they tried their best to be good. To mind their manners, to be respectful. But she knows Y/n gets these impulsive thoughts sometimes. But she knows Y/n is goodhearted. Y/n knows their limitations and where the line is drawn. A very good friend.

But she knew that if being pushed to a corner, left with no choice, being wronged unfairly... Y/n wouldn't just stand by. And if given an unholy amount of freedom or autonomy, in short, freeing Y/n from any restriction or any 'leash', who knows what Y/n might do.

Y/n's chewing could be heard after some seconds before gulping followed.

"Not to worry," there, she saw it, that smile, that fucking smile that only meant one thing.

Throughout the time they've been friends, practically became soulmates, she knew Y/n had a variety of smiles that indicate different things.

A smile that meant Y/n was not okay.

A smile that meant Y/n's up to something.

A smile that meant Y/n's on their last bit of sanity.

A smile that meant Y/n found something interesting.

A smile that meant Y/n is in trouble.

There were many smiles belonging to Y/n where she knew what they suggest.

And this one... This smile meant only one thing...

"I happen to catch a glimpse of that asshole's ID and locker number, I'll be putting that skeleton key to good use. And I got a receipt at the same time the crime happened. But I won't stop at just proving my innocence. I happen to know how to retrieve deleted CCTV footages."

A smile that meant Y/n had won.

.

.

.

.

.

Bennett walks around the edge of Dragonspine in hopes to find any treasure in his ‘adventure’. It may be uneventful, but his optimistic self continued on his path determined that today may be different.

Of course, he wishes to go on adventures with his creator guiding him again. Adventures with the divine one spreading their warmth upon him has always been the best feeling he has experienced, thrilling adventures brightly shining on his path. But he understands that someone as mighty as his god can also have weeks where they’re busy. In fact, he is already grateful to be one of the lucky people graced with their god’s blessings and guidance. Bennett never once thought that he’d be one of the blessed vessels in his lifetime. As if all his bad luck was meant for this very good one.

So while he waits for their holiness to come back, he embarks on another adventure on his own.

It was getting dark, but the moon was kind enough to illuminate his path to the camp he had set up. As he walks along the trees, he notices something swirling in his chest. The same warmth he feels when his creator was visiting Teyvat. His lips formed a huge happy grin as he jumps excitedly around. He awaits for the dreamlike subconsciousness to seep through.

He waits…

And waits…

He stopped to raise his palms, he was still in control.

That is strange. By now, he should have started running around or scaling high mountains, visiting foreign lands, or even doing simple commissions for others. He puts one hand to his chest, and he takes note that the divine aura felt strange, different even. As if the aura itself was thin and feeble, yet, it was not unnoticeable that’s for sure. As if the aura was swaying along the cold eternal winter wind from the near mountain, unlike the warmth that usually resides within him.

As if the aura feels less like an ‘aura’.

He can’t quite put a finger on it yet, but the change in the usual sensation of being guided by his god was concerning. He was just about to leave when he notices something from afar, much deeper into Dragonspine. He squints his eyes at what seems to look like a leg. Was there a person behind that bush? Worried for someone’s well-being to be threatened by the harsh weather of Dragonspine, he immediately runs to it.

But upon arriving to assist the person, his eyes widened at the sight before him. Laid behind the bush was a figure he frequently see around Mondstadt’s church, little statues of them on altars in households around the city. A face that he sees in paintings and on some Bibles. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing, not trusting his eyes as they could be playing tricks on him.

There stood before your unconscious body was Benny, eyes wide with only one thought running in his mind.

Is he actually looking at the Creator right now?

He snaps from his frozen demeanor when he realizes that he was supposed to help you. He can’t leave you laying here in the freezing cold. But Bennett was hesitant, not sure how to approach you. He shakes his head from the nervousness, ready to help regardless of what identity you may have.

He kneels beside you, taking note of the rising and falling of the backpack on top of your chest. You were breathing, which was always a good thing to him while he places his hand on your shoulder to gently shake you awake.

He hears you groan, making him sigh a bit in relief that you were not completely out of it. He backs away on reflex as the person he is currently helping gently pushes the foreign and weird-looking backpack to the side. You inhaled deeply, making Bennett realize that the bag must have been making it hard for you to breathe due to its weight.

“H-Hey! Are you alright!?”

He can see your eyes still hazy and unfocused, but the air in his lungs was stuck to his throat by the sensation he was feeling from your waking presence.

It was undeniable to him now.

No wonder the aura felt less like an ‘aura’. Because it no longer felt like an aura, it felt more like …a presence.

He is kneeling beside his god. They’re there, with him, in the flesh.

His god blinks a few times, e/c eyes that he reads about shine under the moonlight. Glimmering eyes that seem to be glaring angrily towards the sky. Bennett stops his staring to avoid being rude and checked your body for any injuries.

“…That’s some rad Benny cosplay.”

You spoke, and Bennett never felt so stunned to hear the same voice that whispers around him to be murmuring coherently in front of him. And their first words were about… cosplay?

You sat up, with his help of course, and you looked closely at him. He sweats while casting his eyes away from you, unnerved to be narrowly stared at by his god. You looked around and Benny can tell that you were confused.

“Okay, what the… This is not my friend’s garden. And I swear it was summer. Why am I seeing snow?” You said as you looked at him, seemingly looking for an explanation. Of course, he is also as lost as you. But he did manage to find his voice and answered.

“Oh, um, we’re in Dragonspine…?”

And your immediate response was to laugh. “And you sound like him too!! Hahahaha! Oh man, and I’m in Dragonspine? Pff! Funny man.”

Benny only smiled while trying to make sense of your words.

“Man, not only does your voice sound similar to Bennett, your costume is so on point! Like- look at the detail! The shop you buy from is literally doing justice for Mihoyo’s drip marketing.” You looked around again, becoming more concerned. “No seriously, where are we? I don’t see my friend or her mansion or the tree house I fell from.”

You turned to the boy who held a nervous and unsure look on his face. “And what’s your name, exactly?”

“You just said it, your grace…”

“… You’re Bennett?” E/c eyes wide as saucers stared back at his green ones.

“Yes. I am. Your grace.”

You stayed seated, ignoring the cold as you stared into his eyes, looking for any traces of a lie. You trust your instincts in evaluating a person, your survival skills were honed by your parents after all. But it was still so surreal. You? in Genshin? No fucking way.

No fucking way.

You're in Genshin.

You see a flaming flower stamen nearby, and a sweet flower. The familiar sky. Dragonspine from afar, HD and all.

No fucking hell.

"... I'm actually in Teyvat."

You were well aware this isn't a dream. Despite your ability to discern reality and dreams, you tried pinching just in case. Yup, you were in your game alright. And surprisingly... you're not actually losing your shit.

Surprised? Sure.

But you can blame it on your survival reflex behavior to be whelmed in an unbelievable situation. You could release your burst of excitement later, right now there was an important matter at hand.

It'd be nice to chill in Teyvat if only you knew how to get out. Yeah, you weren't just gonna decide to stay forever. Teyvat may be cool, filled with characters you simped for and adventure and magic you could only dream of!

But you have a life.

It may not be perfect, it had downs and failures, but you couldn't just abandon that.

You wanted to become an aerospace engineer! Be close to the stars! Further the studies of astronomy! Help humanity reach the furthest parts of the universe, however small your contribution is!

Animes! Shows! Fics! Games! There were so many on your lists that you haven't checked yet and some are still unfinished and waiting for updates!

And also there were some people you want to get back at too. There's no way you're going to hell without settling some scores. You promised that when you're successful enough, there wouldn't be any reasons for you to stay as a goody-two-shoes anymore. And you would have to show those who wronged you who's boss, directly or indirectly, depending on that person and how they slighted you.

So you can't stay. You want to go home.

"Um..." Let out Benny as you turned to him. He was unsure. Not the unsure of someone so strange suddenly showing up, no, you were not that dumb or oblivious. It was much more. As if he wasn't sure what to tell you, movements showing that he knows what to say but is unsure when is appropriate.

He knows something you don't.

He called you something earlier. Your Grace. Were you some kind of high-status person? Is this a reincarnation scenario? Where you wake up one day as royalty who turns out to be the villainess in a novel for someone's amusement while stuck in class?

Nope, you checked yourself, and still in the same state as you were before you and your friend were falling to the ground. Dang, you hope your friend was okay, it looks like you were the only one who got sent here, which was good in a way. You like your friend's company, but dragging her to a place where she could get plummetted by a wild boar? Yeah, your friend would not survive long enough.

So what's with the title? You seem to have some sort of identity already in Teyvat despite being here for the first time, at least with the memories that have served you so far.

Maybe you could ask right now. But you want to butter him up first, get him comfortable. Of course, you know what kind of person Benny is. But with the off chance that Benny would be different than what Hoyoverse has displayed, you want to play it safe. At least, complete the evaluation to be sure that Bennett is the same Bennett that you knew in the game.

"Hey... I'm also at a loss here. I don't know how I got here. But I do want to find a way back somehow. Do you think you know where I could get help?" You asked, smiling nicely.

"I-I-I-!" You notice that he looks so surprised, there was a linger of disappointment too. Interesting, he wants you to stay a bit longer?

"I w..." There was a pause, you noted, "I could show you to Acting Grandmaster Jean. She should know how to help you!" You smiled happily, showing him you were grateful for the help. He slightly gets flustered and says that he has something to warm you up in his bag as an excuse to hide his face.

As soon as he distracts himself finding the item that might have probably been dropped somewhere with his luck, seeing as he's frantically still looking for it, your smile dropped, and stared at him.

He seems to know you to some degree, but he did not explain further, only saying that you should meet Jean for help. He should have explained something, seeing that he held no suspicion on you when you knew his name, and with the title he used for you, there was something. You heard his hesitation before he suggested Jean. He looked like he wanted to say something else. Of course, you could tell that he doesn't have any ulterior motives, but more so that he chose a different action instead.

Is it out of caution? Was he trying to be careful?

You have no choice but to gauge that out of him later when you get him comfortable enough.

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End of chapter 2: Rhododendron

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#Yall I wonder if you guys ever thought about flower language lmao #genshin cult au #sagau villain au #sagau cult au #imposter sagau #SAGAU impostor AU #sagau #genshin

[skelliko]

kazutora hanemiya |°- identify discovered

๑- plot summary: y/n is in a different gang (wilder lands, (i made it up) ) but tries to hide her identity as a girl with a mask and ect, but then gets found out

a/n- [this is the first part of a fanfic I'm currently writing just out of boredom] nvm its on haitus

°- Kazutora hanemiya (Walhalla)

a little run-in was certainly not what they both expected, but it was something that the other wanted. upon seeing the person in front of kazutora with a black mask covering half of his face and a gang's jacket having the name 'wilder land' written downwards the left sleeve, it's made clear that he's the one that has infiltrated Walhalla's territory.

• the jacket is black all over and has the gangs symbol of a white rat from behind and as well as the name of the gang written downwards on one sleeve

• wears a mask to cover up her identity, for her daily life and so other members don't recognise her to be a girl

"you rat!" Kazutora immediately called out making y/n to get a little frightened due to her not needing this run-in so soon after some recent events that she previously had to deal with, she's not fully recovered enough to deal with this right now.

"shit" y/n whispered to herself before trying to sprint away from him, she knows her limits and doesn't dare to overstep them in case she misses a step, so running right now instead of getting into a 1V1 fight is the best option. but even then, stamina is still pretty low.

"oi don't run away you wuss!" kazutora yells from behind but soon enough the large gap they had when they first noticed each other was caught up and it was a close goose chase.

the mask that y/n wore didn't exactly help with her breathing so for a short moment she lowered it down below her chin so she could breathe properly, kazutora was behind so the only way he could see her was if he moved to the front.

turning corner to corner, and risking herself by running across roads hoping to not get hit by a car, it was getting exhausting and her legs were starting to get strained, even a stitch has developed on the side of y/n's stomach from running too much.

y/n ended up running into an abandoned warehouse with the first doors already wide open. old, broken crates and boxes sat by the sides and litter scattered around the floor such as empty bottles and wrapping, there's a high chance that it's probably someone's hideout but a good risk to take nevertheless if it means possible escape. y/n put the mask back on over her mouth and nose and stopped in her tracks to look past the doorway to see if the Walhalla's number 3 is still lingering by or not,

bending down a little to rest her hands above her knees to catch her breath while staring down the doorway without blinking, for a moment it seemed like she had managed to get away but that thought didn't relax her since anticipation floated around instead, and exactly then kazutora's shoes skit the gravel underneath him and stopped In front of the open doors where y/n's eyes were locked in at, "I'll snap your legs in half so you stop running!" he exclaims almost scarily enthusiastically, potential adrenaline kicking inside of him

panic flooded y/n making her jump slightly and upon instinct she whipped out a small blade from her pocket in case she had to engage in a fight, the silver blade glistened from the light and kazutora stopped in his tracks for a split second before he continued to keep moving, he both found this chase aggravating and entertaining. he certainly was the tiger and her being the rat.

her body trembled slightly from the strain that she had to endure and her mind was close to becoming foggy so she tried to run despite if doing so she wouldn't get anywhere far and instead just collapse on the ground, but it's still an option to take.

either run till you pass out or pass out getting beaten.

hurriedly running towards the other end of the warehouse where the two back doors are shut, upon reaching the two doors and almost painfully smashing the side of her shoulder against the door and wobbling the handle to try and open it but all it did was make the doors rattle, they were locked.

before she could do anything else a hard wack crossed the side of her face and a forceful arm took hold of her, as if a large snake had curled up and begun to choke her neck. kazutora had hit y/n and had placed her in a chokehold.

Kazutora won't admit but he had noticed an off feeling about the guy who he chased down, something such as a feminine feel but if questioned kazutora wouldn't be able to answer why, other than 'smaller than most'. but the thought immediately went away when he noticed the previous blade in the 'rats' hand was nearing Kazu's arm so with the other hand kazutora loosened the choke hold to grab hold of the blade resulting in Y/n being in no shape or position in having the higher advantage. other than her having propper airway now,

in this very moment she was weak, before the chase she was weak, maybe if caught at another time she wouldn't have been the rat.

kazutora inspected the blade that was now in his hands for a second or two before waving it around next to the side of y/n's face out of humour, nausea grew over her and almost nothing made sense to her anymore, was it the sprinting in the cold weather making her temperature jump from hot to cold?

"shouldn't play with knives" he mocks and a smile crosses over his lips, his eyes then fell onto the black mask and curiosity flooded his mind, "firstly, let's see what's under the mask ey? gotta know who's the one trying to sneak out information" kazutora then pinched the middle of the mask and forced it off from her with the straps sliding over her ears.

y/n's warm body from when she started to feel sick then fell back down into a normal temperature as cool air flowed through her mouth. she's aware of what's happening, and is aware that if she tried to move she'd only struggle, so the only option she had was to face it, deal with it and just suck it up.

in kazutora's mind, who was known to be a 'boy' is actually a girl. he stared at her not him for what felt like both a long and short moment. he didn't know what to do, he couldn't tell if his eyes were even working, maybe this person in front of him is actually a guy but just looks like a girl??

"you gonna keep staring or what?" y/n finally spoke, a bit of a worn out, raspy voice was heard but her voice was certainly one a girl would have. at that moment kazutora realised it was his first time hearing the person talk but also at that moment realising that person is a girl.

"you..." he let go of her and took two quick steps backwards but gripped the blade that he had previously taken off from her. he didn't know what to think, the whole time that's a girl? his eyes darted all across her, from head to toe and was unsure if he should still try to attack or not. despite being an enemy of Toman, old habits and rules still stick by him, to not harm girls. but nevertheless, if she were to lunge forwards he wouldn't hesitate to fight back.

y/n also took a few steps backwards and turned around to face him while bringing up a hand up to where she previously got hit, a hint of awkwardness lingered between the two as any clear direction of what to do next was pretty much out of the window

y/n hesitated briefly upon speaking up, biting her lower lip as her eyes darted around kazutora not daring to take her eyes off him, pain from when he had hit her previously rose up on the side of her temple making her endure the pressure, she cleared her throat briefly before finally speaking up "will you... rat me out?"

though right after this words were spoken she cringed, why wouldn't he tell her secret out? she's been lying about being a guy for quite some time and even then she's the one that infiltrated his hideout to evedrop and be a secret nuisance

"why shouldn't I?" he straightened himself up a bit but still had his guard up and shifted the knife in his grasp. 'not a bad looker' he briefly thought but that wasn't his main thought at all,

"don't know. forget I asked" she replied almost immediately after,

"...I'm gonna quickly ignore the reveal and cut to the main part for now, the fuck were to doing spying on us and what do you know?" he firmly spoke up,

"what if I don't say anything?" knowing that playing around and testing the waters isn't the best option but considering how he reacted when realising that y/n is a girl and chose to let go of her that couldn't be ignored and instead used as an advantage

"you-! I would have punched you so hard if you were a guy!"

"no please do, I know I fucked up so I'll take a hit, i can put back on my male persona so it's easier for you, just please hit me" she sounded desperate with the thought of feeling physical pain other than being pained that she will soon enough have nowhere to belong if this secret gets out, what else is there for her?

a lot actually, but she doesn't want that.

"the hells wrong with you now? just what kind of secrets are you hiding?" he took a singular and small step forwards but all y/n did was shuffle her footing only going back by an inch.

"okay maybe that came out a little unexpected but I have all the reasons but none to give" she admitted

"stop trying to say smart things and just spit the information out would you! I don't have the time and I won't make time" he's clearly growing impatient

"I fucked up, that's all! I thought I was doing the right thing cause you can't keep your guys in control and their prowling around our turf so why couldn't I?" she busted the word out

"stupidity is all I hear, I can't even tell if that's a lie or the truth seeing its coming out from you..."

"...I'm still conflicted about you being a girl, how do you get away with that so easily?" he was starting to get cautious now and pry interest into the topic "and most of all why?"

"wasn't and isn't easy for various reasons but the reason for why i did all this in the first place is something that i cant and simply won't share, i aint one to just give out personal information like that"

"oh? so you can sneak into our hideout, pry around when we're not looking and listen in into our conversations and run around freely but cant say why you pretended to be a guy? why a girl like you chose to live the lifestyle of gangs and violence?" kazutora became a bit more intimidating and if not that, then definitely a lot more forward and critical while walking closer to her,

"tell me, why does a girl like you think that you have what it takes? why do you carry around a knife but can't use? all you can do is run around and act like you know what you're doing but you don't" he brought the knife up and pointed it at her chin before speaking up again, "quit playing pretend and actually become useful for something, delinquency or harsh reality isn't meant for you"

whilst still pointing the knife at her he took a step backwards and let go of it letting it hit the smooth, yet worn out and jagged concrete with a clang, he looked at y/n as if he was searching some sort of reaction from her but all he could find was nothing, just dull eyes and an expression that can't be explained which he considered to be strange but without sparing another second he started to walk away in the direction of the first entrance to the warehouse.

in his mind he thought of y/n to be like any other girl, weak-minded and secretly has a perfect life, a little spoiled and has a functioning family. but that's far from the reality that he's unaware of, he can't help but think that she was trying to prove something that she can't prove and never will be. maybe to what y/n had heard kazutora say to be mean but to himself he considers that to be a teaching for her to try and not get involved in places where she knows she doesn't belong in.

though he barely knows her and doesn't even know her name, which thinking of that now made him slow down his walking and debate on going back, but what would he gain from a name of a random girl? so he just kept on walking.

even with hearing footsteps hitting the gravel from behind him he kept walking away not expecting much from the girl, though that was mistaken cause his steady balance was taken away and he fell flat forwards and heavy pressure was placed on his back, his chest pressed against the sharp graven was like laying down on bent screws.

the side of kazutora's head was laid down on the ground and his eyes looking up at y/n,

he could have easily tried and pushed her off to the side and gotten up however one thing that did fully register in his mind was a sharp, metal point underneath his jaw. the previous knife.

"I expect you to keep it a secret, I didn't gain shit from walking into your turf so there's no need for you to gain anything from this" she spoke quite harshly but never rose her voice,

one knee pressed against the upper center of kazutora's back and with one hand she took hold of one of his wrists and forced his arm down to the gravel while with her other hand she dug in the blade into his skin, she only dug a little, enough for it to cause discomfort as the very tip of the blade is hidden from skin being pressed inwards.

"your not gonna do anything" kazutora spoke through his teeth

"no I won't, but that doesn't mean I don't have an advantage, I mean I could probably give you a neat scar... or better yet ruin that tattoo"

"don't try and speak all highly, the hell is it with you?" he spoke back, barely reacting to the situation

"I'm sure it's quite obvious what I want, I don't need you running your mouth around and ruining what I have, i-"

and just then it seemed like y/n's strength wasn't able to pin kazutora down for long, that must have been obvious when pressing a knee down to his back since his stiff back could be felt, and also the hand size comparison when she took hold of his wrist.

y/n was now on her back and it was a painful pin due to the gravel and the different-sized rocks scattered around outside the warehouse, how she knows how he felt around the ribs

kazutora is now sat on top of her with one hand holding both of her wrists together and with the other hand he pointed the blade that he took away by twisting her wrist, the blade under her chin quite similar to before but now touching her skin how she did to him.

"you bitch" y/n whispered but it was clear enough for anyone to hear that so happen to be as close as kazutora is

"I wanna know why your so keen on being kept in a gang? do you hate baking cupcakes? do you not have any friend's? why don't you go home and watch some sappy romcom"

"your just thinking of a stereotypical girl" this is getting awfully annoying for her but same goes for him having to deal with this,

but just then a thought appeared, why not try and pester him a little. "what happened to you being in toman? I thought they were all about keeping a girl safe" she then tried to move her wrists away since he was holding them up and not pinned down but that was useless because it did more bad than good cause it made her shoulderblades to dig deeper into the gravel and him just pulling her hands back like a leash to an eager dog

"the fuck you say?" clear anger and almost confusion filled his expression, even his grip around her wrists increased and he began to dig his short nails into her skin making her to hold her breath

he leaned down just a little "Mention toman again and ill make sure you understand how much things are different from then to now" his whole mood has switched up, sure previously he was already quite annoyed but this is completely different

"don't mention anything about me then, and I won't tell anyone about there's a spy working for you"

he lowered his chin a little as his mind began to think of what she meant but then it finally clicked, kisaki. 

he couldn't help but stay silent for a brief moment, 'so she does know something after all, if she knows that much then certainly she knows everything else' he avoided eye contact with her and looked off to the side, he stopped digging his nails into her skin and relaxed a little causing the knife that he was holding to loosen a little away from her skin, but didn't let go.

after a few seconds y/n spoke up but then got cut off,

"so what does that-?"

"Why don't you shut up! should have kept the mask on so I really could've punched you"

his mood is currently all over the place, jumping from line to line between being angry and annoyed to needing to admit defeat and sort things out quickly. he can't stay here forever.

being a girl really does have its advantages, but that doesn't mean it'd work for everyone or simply anyone, just got lucky that it was at least kazutora who used to be in toman that was learnt not to harm girls, if it were any other walhalla member then y/n would have definitely had a few broken fingers so that she would never be able to pick up a knife or let alone a fork.

after another short moment of silence and tension kazutora made a move and drew back the blade as well as slowly let go of her wrists, he got off from her but couldn't help but feel a little humiliated by the whole situation and the position.

"I'm keeping the blade" is all he said as he took a few steps away and turned back to look at her

"on cmon don't be a prick" she protested and sat up from the ground, wincing a little as the gravel fell down from the back but the relief quickly flooded over her upon him being off of her,

kazutora turned back around briefly, "me being a prick would be telling everyone just who you are and nailing you inside of one of those empty crates-" he pointed at the open door to the warehouse that had some crates inside "-and me being stupid would be to give it back the second time"

he did have a fair point, not so long ago he was being threatened with it. she scoffed and stood up from the ground and brushed down any dust and dirt that stuck to her clothes, "fair enough" she mumbled not exactly wanting to admit it

"What's your name?" he wants to at least know something more. clogs are still turning in his head as he's still trying to process it all, the rival gang member that is occasionally seen around Walhalla's territory as if he's searching for something... has always been a girl,

she thought about it a little before replying, though the name that she gave was her fake name. the name she uses in the life of delinquency.

"f/n"

"only giving one name? fine by me" kazutora knew it was a fake, but trying to interrogate something small as a name would be pointless, he'd seen her around before and would definitely see her again. except with some change, still an enemy though.

"Okay f/n... tell me how much you know about Walhalla and what you've heard and I won't say a thing about you" he took a step forward prepared to grab hold of her if she tried to run, even though there was no good in running

she shuffled her footing a little and thought of a good response before replying,

"enough to know that 'wilder lands' and 'tokyo manji' could be potential allies, if not, then be on mutual terms. enough information to make your plans fail"

she spoke confidently but inside her mind, she wasn't even sure, and one thing that did come out of kazutora was clear annoyance and even disgust as she spoke about allying with Toman, so freely too.

Walhalla is just a mix of Tokyo manji haters with past grudges and unresolved fights.

"just cut the crap and spit it out, I don't need to keep asking"

"no one's asking you to do that. you already know what I know and I know what you know about me. let's just leave it at that, you wouldn't want anyone to see us having a little chit-chat making suspicions, would you?"

she tried to get him to lay it off but also make his nerves flame up.

he was practically looking down on her, girl or not she's still a rival, a pest that won't go away that thinks they're in a clear just cause no one noticed them, or maybe they have noticed but can't do anything about it due to other, bigger concerns.

which in his case would be to firstly take down Tokyo manji.

'Wilder Lands' and 'Walhalla' can barely be called enemies but also nowhere near being mutual. They're not at each other's throats, digging daggers into their ribs but instead throwing little pins at the back of their necks back and forth,

fights sometimes tend to break out both day and night between the two different members, using punches and kicks and even to play dirty with bats and pipes on some good days. but then go to not even bat an eye at each other the second they've gone 5cm past.

a lot of the time it's always the same people though, at this point it's like a constant rematch but no one's counting points.

how did all that even start? from an over arrogant Walhalla member bickering with a 'wilder lands' and constant words being spat at each other, from that point onwards it just grew to be a moment to waste time from both sides and have an excuse to hate.

sometimes it gets out of hand though, it's not always pathetic bickering but also some broken bones and jaws if not stopped quickly. currently not all fun and games.

--

kazutora dropped the topic and watched as y/n took out a new black mask from her trouser pocket. her previous one was taken off and dropped on the floor back in the warehouse just a few steps away from them, it's probably all dusty and filthy.

"now that I look at you, you sure don't seem all that of a guy" he connected a few dots from before and now and compared her to any other guy. even with the baggy uniform more points clicked in his mind.

"just shut up and leave" she rolled her eyes at his comment but didn't ignore it, 'i should probably try and do more work on my disguise, probably try using make-up or something' even though that's not exactly the main problem.

but he still hadn't left, kazutora still lingered by with more questions. "how long have you been part of the whole thing? and can you even fight?- how are you even still alive?" thought he was more or so mocking her rather than being curious

"long enough, I'm leaving" is all she had to say before turning around and walking off, occasionally would turn her head back to see if he was still there but by the second turn she saw his back walking away in the opposite direction.

she wasn't there to have a little chat, though neither was kazutora, he just wanted to see if he could get something out of her, though y/n was sure not to give too much Information about herself even though the questions he asked weren't all that personal but trust issue always poked at her brain and told her to shut up.

they'll definitely meet again but under different circumstances than before.

 ♡----

#tokyo revengers #kazutora #kazutora hanemiya #fanfiction #kazutora x reader #kazutora hanemiya x reader #tokyo revengers kazutora

[hetaherr]

the moon as our witness

: wanderer/ scaramouche x reader

: i dont know how to tag this, maybe fluff? crack?? angst

hey this is my writing practice because i struggle with the flow of my writing, especially like pacing and stuff so it's pretty bad imo TT but it's practice so its allg ig. this is very experimental , and i feel a little outta my element because i lowkey am hella informal with the way i write and IM JUST REALLY NOT USED TO IT???? anyway thanks for reading and if u have any advice please drop them! ok anyway reblog to win ur 5050s love u

watching the scene lay out in front of you was the very embodiment of your doomsday, it was the nearest thing to an apocalypse you'd ever seen- to your world of course. it felt like you were spiraling, you felt so asphyxiated as you watched him press himself against that- that bitch as if you didn't even exist. and almost as if the world was solely out to get you tonight, cigarettes after sex just had to start playing. like seriously, was catching your boyfriend cheat on you not gutting enough as it is, you did not need a song to tell you when to 'cry'.

pushing through the sea of people transitioning from jumping up and down to swaying with their partners was absolutely suffocating. in any other circumstance, the crowd would've been just right- like the calm ocean after a storm. but at this very moment, it felt like you were drowning, being dragged into the abysmal nothing that was the deep blue sea.

with a slam of the door, you found yourself rescued by the crisp night air. barely making it a few steps, you crumble by the side of the road. it feels like tonight the tears stung even worse than usual, you can't scream, you can't wail, your throat is all clawed up and drowning feels like it's becoming a lot more literal than metaphorical at this moment.

through your tears, the faint echo of music can be heard, and a soft clink sounds beside you.

"i think you need this more than me." he says, you cant see him clearly through the tears that still continue to pour. you look down and there's a glass bottle of whatever everyone's been drinking tonight.

"i don't drink."

"you look like you should." he comments, you can only scoff at the remark. he takes a seat beside you, a bottle in hand. he hesitates a second, but you don't tell him to bug off. there's a soft silence that comes with his presence, neither of you talk- unless you consider crying to be talking. it feels so pathetic, you can't understand what you could've done to be tossed aside so easily. but the more you think about it, the harder it becomes to contain your emotions.

"ah fuck this." you mumble, reaching out to take a swig of liquid courage. you hiss as it leaves a burning sensation down your throat, flushing your tears away leaving behind a bitter taste. the boy, shifts his gaze toward you- his head resting on his knees, hair framing his face so nicely and it feels a little unfair how fucking pretty he is.

"so much for not drinking." he says, his face is blank but there's a teasing notion to his words and just the way he was looking at you. you let him stare, violet eyes burning into your skin you feel like it's going to leave an imprint. you look back at him, under the warm glow of the street lamp. as you share the gaze, there's a feeling of guilt that has been set aflame within the pits of your heart, after all you still hadn't broken up with that jackass.

you unconsciously continue to stare at the boy, pondering. should you just break up with him through text? should you storm in and scream? should you even make a scene? maybe ghost him?

"a penny for your thoughts?" he speaks up, words so gentle it makes your heart flutter and it feels like the guilt burns worse than the alcohol.

"do you want to help me break up with my cheating boyfriend?" you think out loud. you watch his eyebrows furrow, and for a second you wonder if you made him uncomfortable. he blinks at you, and then slightly shrugs.

"sure."

within seconds, the chilly breeze outside is replaced with the smell of sweat, cigs and alcohol. it's disgusting. the boy takes your hand and lets you guide him through the horde of horny and drunk people that were either passed out or making out. you are reminded of why you didn't frequent these parties. the floor is sticky and you just hope whatever it is you just stepped on was not human fluids. and then you see him, sprawled across the couch with the same girl sitting way too close to be considered 'just friends'. with a smile so smug, that made you glad god gave you patience and not strength.

"that's him?" noticing your hesitance to move forward, the boy follows your gaze. the tears are already threatening to spill yet again, anymore and you fear the headache that follows. and yet your feet don't move, all the courage that that brown bottle clearly gave you wasn't strong enough. you barely hear his words, it feels like your body is moving on it's own as you nod. you hear the boy sigh, his hands gently grab your wrist and pulls you behind his frame. you're not able to react before he speaks up, this time his voice is a lot more harsh.

"yo asshole." he shouts, his hand still gripping onto yours, though it is a lot tighter than before. it startles people around you, and just like all humans and their natural desire to fulfil their curiosity, heads turn toward your direction. you can't even process the next few seconds, as he grabs the bottle out of your hand and pours whatever was remaining of the now warm booze down all over the cunt that sat before you.

"maybe think twice before cheating dickwad" he can't contain his laughter as he looks your now ex, up and down, eyes full of judgement. you look horrified, looking between the boy and your ex, noticing the rage building up as he spits a variety of cuss words. you can't suppress your own laughter, albeit the fact that it's slightly laced with fear- fear that your new friend would get punch right in the nose. so your feet decide it's time to get the fuck out of here, and you pull him out the door running so fast your gym teacher wouldn't have believed it was you.

there's another wave of silence as the both of you were bent over trying to catch your breath, everything that happened tonight was unpredictable and didn't feel real. you took a peek at the boy, he seemed to have the same thought as you catch his gaze. the silence is finally broken as you start laughing, like a maniac you couldn't stop your giggles. you are glad that there is no one else around to see your fit of laughter. there is still that redness and puffiness of your eyes from earlier, its odd given how drastic the contrast is to your current state, its so big that even the black hole would have a difficult time sucking it in.

"after all this, i still don't know your name." you huff. his violet eyes are morphed into that of a crescent. and with the moon as your witness, he smiles.

"you can call me, scara."

#genshin impact #wanderer x reader #scaramouche x reader #genshin impact x reader

[luveline]

maybe this is too cliche but for the zombie au, what if reader is running low on meds and steve goes out to find her some, because he’s dumb and reckless and doesn’t want her to panic?

baby I love cliche! thanks so much for your request, this is a great idea. i decided to make it so that the meds r needs are not critical but make a big difference to well-being, hope that's OK! ♡ zombie!au | fem!reader

Steve knows he's making a mistake. He's just too bone-headed to turn around and go home. Home as a funny word, home as nowhere permanent, home as wherever you are. He should turn around and march straight back to your side where you're sleeping in a derelict but otherwise secure condo just outside of the Michigan border. He should not be out alone.

He and you have been walking for weeks. It's miserable and exhausting and Steve knows you're not telling him how tired you are. Of course you're tired, as he is, as he imagines every survivor out there is tired of this life.

He scoffs and steps over another smashed bottle. He's not sure you can call this existence a life, anymore. The irony isn't lost on him.

He trudges through the wreckage of a pharmacy about thirty minutes from the condo. Remarkably close. Steve had searched every rest stop along the road you'd followed to get here for usable maps, half too old and simplistic to make proper sense of, the others destroyed by mould or wet or blood. When he'd finally found one yesterday morning — inside the miracle condo, his first stroke of luck in months — he'd immediately searched for a pharmacy. Upon locating it, his plan was born.

Wait for you to fall asleep. Secure the condo. Find your medication.

To leave you asleep and vulnerable isn't the sort of thing he ever wants to do, but he'd weighed his options heavily. Bring you with him, tired and sick and especially open to attack, or leave you behind.

He can't decide if it was the right thing to do even now. He thinks of a geek scratching you in your sleep and has to take pause.

"Fuck," he mutters, wiping his eyes. They start to sting, sweat and dirt rubbed into his bottom lashes.

There's no time to waste. The quicker he can find your meds the quicker he can get back to you.

The pharmacy is pretty badly ruined. He doesn't know where to start or where to look. There's obvious signs of multiple struggles, most anything worth having has been looted.

Steve picks his way towards the appropriate section. He makes no sound that he can't help, practiced now in silent footfall, in holding his arms at a certain height to stop the chafing of his jacket. He tries very hard to remember the exact name that he'd seen on the bottle in your bag, the brand, the specification.

He's stricken when he can't immediately find it. He's put you both in danger for nothing.

A sound echoes from the front of the room.

Steve is immediately on pins, sliding the baseball bat where it hangs from the strap of his rucksack into his hand. Its weight is both familiar and disconcerting.

He holds his breath. The barest hints of daylight stream into the room, the water of a river broken by a thousand rocks. Steve looks between each ray of light and finds only dust, dust, and more dust, motes like pinprick stars drifting between them.

The zombie appears as a dark silhouette.

Steve takes an impulsive, unfortunate step backwards and his bag scrapes the shelving unit. Pill bottles rattle, a minute sound that may as well scream his location in the quiet.

Fuck, he thinks.

There's no telling what kind of zombie you'll be met with. Some are faster, some are smarter, some can smell you from very far away. Like the people they once were, each geek possesses their own strengths and weaknesses.

In life, this one seems to have been an imbecile. Its gory mess of a face looks toward him, looks straight at Steve and his hammering heart, and then looks the other way. He drifts from the room like a grey, disgusting apparition, and Steve's left alone in the room

Somebody grabs him from behind.

Steve shrieks and forces the entirety of his weight down to the floor. It's the first trick you'd taught him, that to be grabbed by the hair is hardly easily escapable, and that your best chance of surviving is to let yourself fall swiftly and fiercely into the force of it. It goes against everything the body desires to do, to move toward the thing grabbing you rather than away, but it always works.

His scalp tingles with shattering pain. His spine aches from the sudden collapse. Above him, a geek turns his dripping maw down to look at him, bloody saliva pooling at the chin. Freshly dead.

Steve scrambles away gracelessly, a half turn, on hands and then up, he stands and brings the baseball bat to his chest. He should run. If he fights this thing the sound might be enough to draw the second, and a second would probably kill him.

But Steve's just spotted your medication.

"Fucker," he says, and snaps the full force of his strength across the zombie's face. Metal bruises its way through flesh like a baton into pear flesh. A depression gets left behind. Steve from before the apocalypse would've gagged.

Steve now takes a second swing.

-

You're crying with both hands pressed to your face when the door downstairs opens. You immediately choke on your tears, half terror and half hope.

It could be Steve, you think. It could be him. Maybe he didn't leave after all, maybe he just went for a walk, maybe he just-

Of course he left. He was always going to leave. You can't hold him to his promises, because why would he stay? To always look after you? And you've been so tired, so unwell, you've caught him looking at you with this awful unhappy look like he can tell how much of a burden you're going to become.

If it isn't Steve, it's someone else. If it's someone else, you're in danger.

You press your hand over your mouth and try not to breathe. All your things are in the bedroom. If they come in here they'll see what's left. They'll know someone was here, but maybe you'll get lucky. They'll take your stuff and never think to look under the bed. You'll survive.

And then you'll die of starvation.

But if you can drag your things under the bed with you they won't know you're here at all.

You crawl across the floor and breathe hard through your nose, a sluggish tear falling over the slope of your cheek as you go. It falls into the rug, lost forever, and you climb over it. You loop your hand around the strap of your backpack and tug it backward with you, suppressing a sob as footsteps sound up the stairs.

Hidden again, you wait. You hold your breath until your throat burns.

The door creaks open.

"Y/N?" Steve asks. He talks as he always does, quiet and steady. "Are you in here?"

You loose the breath you'd held like a barb. The sound is pathetic, like a crying little kid.

"Y/N?"

You push your bag away from you and crawl out from under the bed, wiping desperately at your tearstained cheeks.

"I thought you were somebody else," you explain quickly, standing on wobbly legs.

You check him over and then avert your gaze, not wanting to look him in the eye, only he's covered in blood. You do a double take.

"What happened?" you both demand, staring at one another in shock.

You press your lips together and wait for Steve to explain first.

He drops the backpack off of his shoulder and unzips it. "I went to the pharmacy. Had to fight a geek for it, but I have something for you."

"What..."

Steve holds out a bottle of your medication.

His hands are white with cold and ice to the touch as you take it. Your ear is ringing.

"Why would you go by yourself?" you ask, numb.

"I don't know if you've noticed, babe, but you're not really up for expedition right now."

You laugh wetly and fight against another oncoming wave with your dirtied shit sleeves. "I'm not that bad."

"No, you are. And that's fine. But hopefully these'll help."

You stare at him, his dirty hair and unshaven face, the blood dried over his jacket and the similar splatters under his jaw. It looks as though he'd tried to wipe away whatever was on his face, iron streaks dissapearing into the shorter hairs of his sideburns.

You're not sure if you're too emotional to see the truth or if you're delusional with sickness or both, but you're almost a hundred percent sure that Steve initiates the hug, and not you.

His arms go over your shoulders. It's a slow, sweet thing, hesitant in his hand placement and the pressing of his cheek to the top of his head. You're not nearly so tentative, desperate for reassurance as you wrap your own arms around his back. The cold clings to him. You rub your open hand uselessly against it, trying to pour every bit of warmth you have into the gesture. Your other hand clutches the pill bottle so hard your knuckles ache.

"Sorry for scaring you," he says, "I would've used the signal, but I thought you'd still be asleep."

You're embarrassed. You want him to forget all about it as fast as possible.

Regrettably, with you and Steve, it seems as though every interaction is its own chapter of an increasingly long book. There's nothing else out there. The desolation and loneliness of your lives has made it so that each interaction is felt in excruciating detail.

Though sometimes that's nice.

His hug seems to go on forever. His arm tightens around your shoulder and his hand encircles your upper arm while the other bunches up the fabric of your hoodie.

"Are you okay?" you ask.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"You're like a Jackson Pollock of gore, Steve."

"What's a Jackson Pollock?"

You rest your cheek against his shoulder and stare at his neck, all his little hairs and pores and skin. "He was a painter. He did, um... splatters. He was quite famous."

To your surprise, Steve still doesn't let you go. He hugs you and hugs you and it's not like he's never hugged you before, he has, usually in similar times of high emotions. But still. He's not exactly tactile. Not with you.

"You shouldn't have- You shouldn't have risked-" You clear your throat. It's a struggle to say it aloud without insinuating a second meaning. "Thank you," you say instead. "I don't know how I'lll..." make it up to you. Make it out of this without you.

"Would you look at the back of my head?" he asks abruptly.

"What?"

"I fell. Think I might've cut myself. Or gave myself a killer concussion, at least."

"Oh no," you murmur, genuinely sympathetic.

Steve and you set down on the bed. He lets you card through his hair, careful, delicate, and search for his injury, a patch of irritated skin and a small lump. You fawn over him and rub a little antiseptic into the wound. Only afterwards when you're laying down to sleep beside him with the door barricaded do you realise what he's done — Steve doesn't care about small bumps or scrapes, he'd let you look after him because he'd known it would make you feel better.

When you're sure he's sleeping, you bracelet his wrist with your fingers. His pulse capers under your touch.

-

more steve zombie au

#steve zombie!au #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #stranger things #steve harrington x reader #steve stranger things #steve harrington #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fanfic #zombie!au

[writingwithciara]

Can’t Keep Fixing You ~Corbyn Besson~

summary:  every time her boyfriend hurts her in any way, y/n runs to corbyn, hoping he'll fix her over and over again. the day's going to come when corbyn has had enough of it.

word count: 2k

pairing: corbyn besson x reader

warnings: heartbreak, angst

a/n: listened to ‘hard’ by why dont we & came up with this.

masterlist

“You’re going to get hurt again but you’re still gonna run back to him anyway, I just know it.”

Those were the words that were repeating in y/n's head as she waited for her boyfriend to come pick her up. She had been waiting for an hour before he finally arrived.

“Sorry babe. Traffic sucks.” He apologized as he pulled up. He didn’t even open the door for her like he usually does. Y/n got in and looked at him.

“Where are we going tonight?”

“It’s a surprise." he looked in his rearview mirror and backed out of her driveway. Y/n played with the clasp on her bag as she waiter anxiously for Damon to reach the surprise location. The only thing she knew about where there were going was that it was supposed to be fancy, since he told her to dress up.

It was their 3rd anniversary together so she was hoping tonight would be THE night.

It was not.

Corbyn sat at home, waiting for the inevitable ringing of his phone. He knew y/n would be out with Damon tonight and whenever they went out in public, he would find some way to hurt y/n. Their date nights always ended with her running to Corbyn, tired and broken, and he would always put her back together.

It killed him to watch her leave whenever he fixed her because he didn't like to see her repeat the same habits all over again. He was in love with her but there was nothing he could do to convince her to leave Damon.

As he waited, he went through their photos and videos together. His absolute favorite photo was one that Jonah had taken of her. She was gazing at a large, open field of sunflowers. They were her favorite and the smile that adorned her face was the brightest thing in Corbyn's life. He missed seeing it.

Around 9:30, his phone began to ring. He didn't even have to check the caller ID to know it was y/n. The ringtone was all he needed to hear.

"Where are you tonight?" he sighed. He could hear y/n take a deep breath on the other end before she spoke.

"Montclaire's. The one downtown." y/n sniffled. Corbyn grabbed his keys and got in the car.

"Go inside, where it's safe, and stay there. I'll be there in 10 minutes." he pulled out of the driveway and headed downtown. He knew he shouldn't keep rescuing her but it was a pact they had made over 7 years ago. They would always be there to fix the other if their heart was broken. Unfortunately for Corbyn, his heart was breaking and he couldn't let her know.

When he pulled up to the restaurant, y/n stood up off the curb and Corbyn got out to open the door for her.

"I told you to go inside where it was safe." he sighed and shut her door, climbing back into the driver's seat and heading far away from the fancy dining establishment.

"I know. But Damon was still inside and I didn't want to see his stupid face again." she grabbed a tissue from the glove box and wiped underneath her eyes. "Thank you for coming to get me, even though you hate doing it."

"I don't hate it. I just want you to be safe." he kept his eyes on the road but he could feel her eyes burning a hole in the side of his head.

"I know." she sighed. "I'm lucky to have you."

Their conversation ended there and Corbyn pulled up to his house, knowing it was where she wanted to go. They both climbed out of the car and went inside. Corbyn grabbed her favorite hoodie and a change of clothes from his room before meeting her in the kitchen.

"I'm gonna get a bath set up for you, alright?"

"Okay. Thank you." she looked through his fridge for the drinks she kept hidden from the other boys. When she found one, she chugged it quicker than it took her to open the bottle. Corbyn returned a few minutes later to inform her that her bath was ready. Y/n disappeared in the bathroom, leaving Corbyn alone for the next hour.

It wasn't long before Jack was walking through the door. He saw Corbyn and raised and eyebrow at his disheveled look.

"Y/n?"

"Mhm." Corbyn had his eyes closed and he felt the couch sink next to him. "She's in the bath right now."

"Bro, how much longer are you going to keep fixing her? Can't you just tell her how you feel about all of this? It's obviously hurting you & I don't like seeing my best friend go through the same heartbreak as the girl he loves. You two deserve so much better than what you have."

"Don't you think I know that she deserves better? God, she is the greatest person I know. An angel in the best possible way. But I can't help it if she loves Damon."

"He doesn't deserve her love. Not after the way he's been treating her."

"I know that. And part of me likes to believe that she knows it too. She's just too stubborn to leave him because she thinks she doesn't deserve better." Corbyn opened his eyes and looked at his best friend. "I love her so freaking much, Jack. I hate this feeling."

"I know, Corbyn. I know."

Corbyn got up and went to lay down in his room. He thought that counting the sounds his clock made would help him fall asleep so he could forget about today, but he was wrong.

About half an hour later, his bedroom door opened and he didn't even have to look up to know it was y/n. She slowly made her way to his bed and laid with him.

"How was your bath?"

"It was relaxing. Thank you."

"No problem." he paused. "Are you really done with Damon this time or are you going to run right back to him as soon as he apologizes?"

"He already apologized. Called me while I was in the bath." she took a breath. "Told him I really had to think about this one, but I probably won't go back this time."

"Good. He doesn't deserve your love if he's going to hurt you every other damn day." Corbyn turned his head to look at her. She was staring at the ceiling. "But we both know you're going to go run back to him and then the cycle is going to repeat next week."

"I can't help that I love him. He's all I got."

"That's bull & you know it. You got me."

"I meant romantically. Romantically, he's all I got. I don't have much options, Corbyn."

Corbyn didn't respond with words. He just shook his head and laughed dryly. This caused y/n to sit up straight.

"You act like I have other options!" y/n began to raise her voice.

"If you actually took the time to realize how amazing you are, you'd see that there is always more options. Some may even be close by." Corbyn sat up too.

"I'm not attractive. I'm really lucky that Damon has stayed with me this long."

"Dude, stop putting yourself down. You are so beyond beautiful. And if you don't believe me, ask Jack or any one of the guys. They'll all tell you the same thing."

"Oh yeah, I'm so sure they will." y/n climbed off the bed and began pacing. "Why are you even more concerned about tonight than you've ever been?"

"Did you ever stop to think that I'm always trying to mend your broken heart because I love you? It kills me to help you and every single time I do, I hope thay maybe you'll realize just how in love with you I am and that you'll finally leave Damon for good. But I'm sick and tired of fixing you, only for you to keep repeating the cycle every damn week." Corbyn sighed. "I can not keep fixing you, y/n. It hurts too much."

Y/n quickly went to the bedroom door and opened it. She locked eyes with Corbyn but quickly looked away.

"Where are you going?"

"When you start making sense again, I'll come back. But for now, I'm gonna go sleep on the couch."

The rest of the night was quiet. Corbyn didn't sleep at all so he was wide awake when he heard y/n leave. Maybe confessing his love wasn't the greatest thing.

"Good morning, Corbyn." Jack greeted his roommate cheerfully but earned a groan is response. "Well, technically, it's afternoon now. So, good afternoon."

"Jack, I think I fucked up last night."

"What did you do?"

"I told y/n that I was in love with her and that I couldn't keep fixing her, just so we both can get hurt."

"And what did she say?"

"She said I wasn't making any sense and that she was going to sleep on the couch. I stayed awake all night, trying to convince myself to go out and talk to her but I couldn't do it. I was awake when she left this morning. It was really early too." Corbyn sighed. "She hates me."

"She doesnt hate you."

"She definitely hates me." he shook his head and drank his coffee. "I need to see her."

"Call her. Maybe she's just at home & maybe she didn't go to Damon's, like I know you're thinking."

"No. I gotta go see her. I can't call. What I gotta say has to be said in person." he quickly stood up. "It's too personal and emotional."

"Well, then go get her buddy." Jack patted his friends on the back and retreated to his bedroom with his coffee. Corbyn grabbed his keys and when he opened the front door, y/n had her fist raised and was ready to knock.

"Hey. What are you doing here?" Corbyn looked down at her. "Shouldn't you be with Damon?"

"Actually, I just got back from his place. We, uh, broke up."

"Did you actually break up or are you gonna end up running back, like you're so used to doing?"

"Well, I broke up with him so I'm pretty sure I'm not gonna run back to him." she looked down at her feet. "Can I come in?"

"Yeah. You know you don't have to ask." Corbyn let y/n in and followed her to the kitchen. "Have a seat. I can make some lunch."

"I don't really feel like eating. Can we just sit and talk?"

"For sure. Yeah." he sat at the counter with her and sighed. "I am so sorry for what I said last night."

"Why? You didn't say anything wrong."

"Yes I did. I told you I loved you, told you I couldn't keep fixing your broken heart and then you said I didn't make sense and you proceeded to sleep on the couch. I was stupid for ever bringing any of that up."

"I didn't get any sleep."

"Come again?" his attention was on her again.

"I stayed up all night trying to process what you said and I came to the conclusion that I had to breakup with Damon once and for all. It's just not right to keep dating a guy who keeps hurting me when I'm so much more loved by the greatest human being ever. The same guy who I coincidentally have been in love with for the last 6 years."

"I really hope you're talking about me." Corbyn smiled and held out his hand, the smile only growing bigger at the sight of y/n's smile and the feeling of her hand being placed in his.

"Of course I'm talking about you, Corbyn. I'd be an idiot not to love you. And I'm sorry it took me so long to actually realize the truth."

"You don't have to be sorry. I should've said something before you met Damon. We could've been so happy together."

"Dude, we're 23 years old. We've got the rest of our lives to be happy together."

"Okay, yeah. I'm okay with that." Corbyn smiled and kissed y/n's knuckles. "You and me forever, huh? I really like the sound of that."

"Yeah, me too." she looked into his eyes and held his gaze. "I love you."

"I love you too."

taglist: @worldlxvlys​

#corbyn besson x reader #corbyn x reader #corbyn besson #why dont we

[trifoliate-undergrowth]

Dollars fandom event day 1: Meeting

The man who called himself Angel Eyes could appreciate a good saloon. He liked whiskey, though this wasn't quite up to his standards, and he generally preferred to enjoy it in private rather than surrounded by a crowd of loud, noisy people--but the people were of course the main draw of the place. He studied them, their clothes and mannerisms, amusing himself by guessing where they lived and what they did, ending finally with the man sitting down the bar from him, the man he was deliberately not interacting with--yet.

He wasn't important, but in a world full of unpleasant people he had a special skill for unpleasantness, and a certain lack of self preservation instinct which had led him to antagonize a man who could afford Angel Eyes' payment. For all his swagger he was fairly boring.

Angel Eyes wouldn't attack here--too many people who might interfere, too many witnesses. Messy. But he'd watch, he'd find out where he was staying, and then he'd plan his move. Already by listening to his conversation with his friends he'd found out exactly how long he was in town, and where he was heading after. Angel Eyes considered ambushing him in the desert when he left, but he didn't feel like waiting a full three days for that opportunity. He was sure he could find a good opening sooner. Maybe he'd make it a little challenging for himself on purpose. Make it interesting.

He was idly considering the pros and cons of using a knife versus a gun when the man's head snapped to the side in a spray of red. Angel Eyes jerked upright on his stool. He'd almost missed it. A perfect shot, nailed him right through the temple and out one eye socket. He noted the broken bottle on the wall behind the bar, the rum now spilling off the shelf. Meanwhile, the man's quicker or more foolhardy friend had spun around and reached for his gun and also, unsurprisingly, been shot. Angel Eyes watched him slump to the ground and admired the perfectly centered bullet hole in his forehead.

The man's third friend sensibly took his hand away from his gun, and for a moment the shooting paused.

The shooter laughed. He wore no holster--interesting. Perhaps he appreciated the stealth of keeping his gun hidden in a pocket, or perhaps he couldn't be bothered. He wore light clothes, dusty from the road, wild dark hair clinging to his sweaty forehead. Probably Mexican, probably one of the local bandits. Angel Eyes didn't think he was wanted yet in an official capacity (though maybe today's stunt would finally get his face on a poster) and hadn't bothered to research him.

"Smart! Alright, you can live," he said, waggling his gun at the last survivor of the now-defunct conversation Angel Eyes had been spying on for the past half hour. Interesting. Angel Eyes would have shot him.

The man got up and slunk out, a bit shaky-kneed, following the shooter's prompting gun gestures--he handled it quite flippantly for someone with his level of skill. Then he turned his attention to the rest of the crowd, now huddled in shocked silence.

"Alright, you too! Everybody out! Not you," he pointed at the bartender.

The saloon emptied rapidly. Angel Eyes was surprised nobody tried to exit a window. He sat at the bar and watched the shooter, who was watching the person stampede in amusement.

When he turned, Angel Eyes and the petrified bartender were the only others left in the building. He seemed surprised by Angel Eyes.

"You like danger, huh?" he asked, subtly adjusting his grip on his revolver.

Angel Eyes contemplated the thin ring of liquor still clinging to the bottom of his otherwise empty glass and set it down on the bar with a quiet thump. "Buy me a drink."

The shooter's eyebrows raised. He considered this for several moments, then stepped to the stool one down from Angel Eyes, nudging the body out of the way with his foot. "Two," he said, waving his gun at the bartender.

Angel Eyes took his drink and toasted to him. "Much obliged."

The shooter took a gulp of his own drink. "You like this?"

Angel Eyes shrugged. "I've had worse."

"Look, you take what you can get out here--" the bartender started, before apparently remembering who he was talking to and cutting himself off.

"Quite right," smiled Angel Eyes. He let his drink rest on the bar and leaned slightly towards the shooter. "Now, that man you just shot--"

"Which one?" the shooter grinned.

"The first. He'd upset a rich man. I imagine he upset you, too, at least he was egalitarian about it."

"Ewhat."

"My point is, I was planning to collect money for killing him."

"Ah! That's funny, I got here first! Well, pay me half and I'll let you say you did it."

Angel Eyes laughed. The sound was like something breaking, and the room became, somehow, quieter than before. "No. When I'm paid, I always follow through. But I don't take payment for a job I didn't do. It's just professional pride, you understand."

The shooter looked at him without comprehension. "You don't want the money?"

"I want you to compensate me for claiming my kill."

"HA! I did your job for you and now you want me to pay?"

"Careful," said Angel Eyes to the bartender, who had started to reach for something out of sight, and who immediately froze in a very suspicious manner.

"That better be a bottle you're reaching for, señor," said the shooter, reaching behind the bar.

The bartender raised his hands and backed away.

The shooter pulled an old musket out from behind the bar, laughed derisively and tossed it to the floor.

"Well. Perhaps we should continue this conversation elsewhere, before the rest of the town arms themselves," said Angel Eyes, finishing his drink and standing.

"What is there to discuss? I'm not paying you for doing your job, you should pay me," the shooter grumbled, but grumbled on his way to the door.

Angel Eyes paused in the doorway to look down the street. No posse just yet. He took a moment to light his pipe, then turned and shot the bartender.

"What was he going to do?" the shooter asked, staring.

Angel Eyes shrugged, smiled, and beckoned Tuco towards the horses.

#dollarsfandomevent #Angel Eyes #Tuco Ramirez #fanfic #typed this on my phone last night in the apartment. no wifi no furniture #by last night I mean now. am tired. goodnight #anyways. I keep wondering how they met and tonight I thought wouldn't it be funny if..

[baby-jaguar]

Kyle Garrick; Saloon Owner

Introduction to the AU, Meeting Kyle

Let's meet our candidate!

Where is he from?

New Orleans, LA

Where does he live?

Jerome, AZ

What's his livelihood?

He was a bartender before settling out West to create his own business and make a name for himself. He loves to create new drinks, add his flair to entertain, and use his saloon to help the people of Jerome in any way he can.

What are his qualities?

Kyle describes himself as a young entrepreneur who owns Free Falling Saloon, having become successful with his natural charisma and talent for making people feel welcome and comfortable. From his writing, you can already tell he is a sweetheart and a charmer, now looking for someone to drive him crazy with the finest love no bottle could ever pour. He is looking for a spouse who will help him run his saloon during the day and into the night while spending late nights and early mornings with him.

He is charming, intelligent, and a bit of a flirt but no flame could hold a candle to the one he chooses to be his own. He is loyal to those in his inner circle and has high respect for hard workers who have strong capabilities and good merit in society. While he was raised to show respect at all times, he can tend to have a small mischievous side when having fun or with those he is comfortable with.

Biography

Kyle Garrick was born and raised in New Orleans, Louisiana, in 1864. As a young man, Kyle first worked as a bartender in the busy hustle and bustle before moving west to pursue his dreams of becoming a successful businessman. When an opportunity arose to travel to Jerome, Arizona, to create a saloon, he jumped at the chance. Once quickly settled in, he found a small storefront on the main road and converted it. He named it the “Free Falling Saloon” where he wanted to provide a place for miners to gather and blow off steam.

It didn't take long for word to spread about the new saloon in town, and his establishment quickly became a popular watering hole for the miners in the area. Despite the dangers of the Wild West, he worked tirelessly to create a peaceful and prosperous community, and his influence extended far beyond the walls of his saloon.

Kyle does not tolerate any mal intentions and is quick to settle any outlaws or disturbances with his hidden tough demeanor. Kyle flourishes in Jerome, known for his friendly attitude and sharp business acumen, and his saloon has become a popular hotspot for those seeking good company and cold refreshments. He has developed a reputation for being a successful and clever businessman, known to make a profit in any situation. 

Kyle is a charming, outgoing, hardworking man with a quick wit and a ready smile. He has a big heart and is always willing to lend a hand to those in need, whether it means fixing a broken door handle or offering advice to a friend in distress. In his spare time, he enjoys practicing bar tricks and creating intricate cocktails, a skill he has honed to bring smiles and cheers to his patron's faces. 

Despite his successful saloon and love for his home, he finds himself growing weary of living alone. He wants someone to spend his days with, to share the joys and challenges of his life while having aspirations as his, to become successful. He describes himself as a man of means, with a heart of gold. He emphasizes his devotion to his craft as a bartender and saloon owner, making it clear that he values hard work and creativity.

#task force 141 #cod mw2 #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #kyle garrick #gaz mw2 #kyle gaz garrick #gaz garrick #tf 141 x reader #tf141 #gaz cod #gaz garrick x reader #kyle garrick x reader

[insomniamamma]

We Came Along This Road: Frankie Morales x f!reader

A/N: This one got angsty and a bit personal. My little boy had colic and my milk mostly dried up at around 6 months, but I had to start supplementing with formula long before that. Colic's a funny thing. It really does sort itself out at around 3 months, but those three months are a fucking eternity. Silver Airways is a real regional airline serving the south eastern United States, the Bahamas and Caribbean. Since Triple Frontier was set in Florida, I figured this in an airline Frankie could fly for. His job would probably involve multiple short-hop flights a day. Written for my year of kisses, as part of @yearofcreation2023, the prompt being a kiss goodbye.

Warnings: Drug and alcohol use, hospitals, pediatrician mention, colicky baby, reader has a new baby. Fuck-ton of angst related to raising a child. Emotions that are all over the fucking place. Jumps around in time. Frankie's a fuck up. Broken relationship. No happy ending.

"Can I?" "No. Don't you dare wake him." Frankie bites at his lower lip, that same bit of flesh you used to suck between your teeth when you kissed him. His entire back would lock up when he felt the graze of your teeth, his breath would draw in sharp.

Gabe is colicky. The pediatrician assured you that he would sort himself out at about three months, but that seems like an eternity from now. Doesn't matter if you nurse him or bottle feed him, the bloating and crying happen anyway. Your milk supply is not what it should be. One more thing to worry over, and you've switched formulas but nothing seems to work. You hate yourself for it. This should be easy. When he nurses those big dark eyes are locked on yours clumsy baby fingers patting at your side, looks at you like you hung the moon and stars, but then he's screaming twenty minutes later, face crumpled up, mouth an endless zero, a black hole and you run through the steps in your head, rock him against your shoulder and pound his back to get him to burp and if that doesn't work, there's the simethicone drops and belly rubs and most times he'll fart and his huge eyes will goggle even wider and you laugh, how can you not? Better out than in, huh, buddy? And most times he'll calm after that, but sometimes he won't. Sometimes the moby wrap is the only thing that works, him tied against your chest in a fabric cocoon while you try to keep up with the dishes and washing out the bottles and trying to keep everything in some sort of order so you don't go insane.

Push everything out of your mind except the here and now. Try not to think about how Gabe's dark puzzled eyes had locked on to Frankie's and how Frankie had smiled so broad and wide, tears running unbidden and ignored down his scruffy cheeks, when he'd cut the cord and they'd tucked Gabe against your chest, the fever heat of him, so small and soft and warm. He felt impossible. The lactation consultant had showed you how to get him to latch, you're a natural she said. And the two of you discharged into the care of a flustered Frankie, I can fly a fuckin Blackhawk but this car seat almost got the best of me. Hey language. He doesn't understand yet. No, but he will. I would very much like his first word to not be fuck. Fair enough babe. Fair enough. Frankie looked at you and you both turned to look at Gabe dressed in a onesie with little foxes on it, already sound asleep. Holy shit. We're parents, he said, and those lovely dark eyes shone with tears that strained not to fall. Take us home, Frank.

You try to hang on to that feeling, now that it's just you. Just you and Gabe. Frankie's staying with the Millers for now. You found out he'd been using again late into your third trimester and he'd dropped down on his knees and swore to you that it was a one time thing. You know how they over-schedule us, Babe, his big warm hands folded around yours, eyes locked on your steady and sure and not sliding to the side when he promises you that he's done. I fucked up, squeezes your hands in his and looks up at you from on the floor, around the ripe curve of your belly, but I'm done. I swear to you.

And you wanted to believe him, feeling your son kick inside of you, press against the prison of your body and what choice do you have in that moment but to trust that he means it? The alternative is too bleak to think about. You can't do this alone. You realized that the second you peed on the stick and cried over the results until you couldn't breathe, he said he'd do right by you and, God, you wanted to believe. This shit? You can't get caught, okay? You can't. You think I don't mean it. I don't care what you mean! It's too fuckin late for that, cradling your distended belly in your hands, the baby's kicking, he never stops kicking, you get caught and you lose your job. You lose your job you lose our insurance. You got an extra 15k laying around? You get caught and we're fucked. I won't get caught. I told you, I'm done. And I'm telling you that you cannot get caught with this shit.

Gabe's finally down after what feels like hours so shushing and rocking and simethicone drops and tummy rubs, held him tucked against your shoulder listening to old country songs, Johnny Cash and Pasty Cline and Loretta Lynn, held him and rocked with him until he went slack against you, fever-warm and drooling into the crook of your neck. Prickling cramp in your tits and you carry him up the stairs, dribbles of milk let down warming and then cooling through your shirt. You'll pump, or try to, once you get Gabe settled, not that you expect much. You know that having to give Gabe formula doesn't make you a bad mom, you know that in your mind, but it's hard to hang on to that when the internet is full of contentedly nursing mothers with babies who sleep through the night and don't scream like the world is ending after every feeding. Settle him in his crib and hover. He stirs, stretches his arms on either side of his head like a cartoon cactus but doesn't wake. His mouth moves like it does when he nurses, tiny Cupid's bow of his lips pursed around nothing, but at least he's asleep.

I know it's hard now, but around three months he'll sort himself out, or so the pediatrician said, but that seems like an eternity from now, a whole different age. And for now Gabe sleeps, cactus arms stretched on either side of his head, but you know he won't stay down for long. You debate the merits of trying to sleep versus trying to tackle the mountain of dishes in the sink, trying to pump even though it's an increasingly fruitless venture, and then the door bell rings. It's not loud, about the volume of a stifled cough but your first reaction is rage.

You are so angry you can't even make words. The form letter from Silver Airways trembles in your hands as you shove it into Frankie's face when he comes in the door, his hands raised, as if that will make things better somehow. Suspension pending review, that phrase stood out when you opened the letter and the rest dissolved into tear-blurred hash, You fuckin told me you were done with this shit!-- Whoa hey Babe-- You got down on your knees and promised me you were done and now you go and get yourself shit-canned? What the fuck were you thinking? I know it sounds bad, Frankie takes a step back from you, hulking large in the door frame, But they've got a program, ok? For first time violations. Other than this my record is spotless. I'll make this right-- You won't, you say and his eyes go dark and hard, Gabe's high, reedy cries rising in the background, You couldn't stay clean for him. You won't stay clean because of what some councilor tells you. What are you trying to say? Tears run hot down your face but inside you are cold as the space between stars, a future stretched before you dark and wide, one that for the first time since you fell pregnant does not involve Francisco Morales. I think you should leave. He reaches to rest a hand on your upper arm, a gesture of comfort, of grounding, a gentle touch you've felt so many times before, but you bristle back as if burned. Are we-- Just go. I'll call, he says, retreating into the dark, M'not gonna ditch you. You don't say anything, just watch his headlights turn on, the rumble of his battered truck backing out of the driveway, crunch of tires on gravel and then the endless bug music and humid night.

I just got him down, you think, pulse hammering in your ears as you descend the narrow stairs, rushing to get there before the bell can ring again, not much louder than a stifled cough but with the struggles you've had getting Gabe to sleep it might as well be a sonic boom. "I'm coming," you call as soon as you think it's safe, something like a stage-whisper, open the door and there's Frankie, filtered through the window screen, hands stuffed in his pockets, eyes shining in the ugly yellow porch-light, little glittering arcs beneath the bill of his hat. "Hey," says Frankie. And that knot clenches in your chest. Anger and grief and want all smeared together. You miss him, looking right at him in the bug-humming glow, soft pink!pink!pink! of moths and junebugs and christ knows what else suiciding into that sizzling orb, nothing you're feeling makes itself into words, you're so tired, so fucking tired, eyes filling up with tears, you cry so fucking easily these days and Frankie's through the door and folding you up in his arms before you can tell him to go to hell, that you don't want to see his face, sink into his familiar warmth, his palm cradling the back of your head, tucking you into the juncture of his neck and shoulder and he smells like laundry soap and beer, faint tang of sweat, warm and solid and despite everything you want to stay there forever, you want to be soothed, to be rocked and held and you are just so goddamn tired, but you extricate yourself and step back from him, scrubbing your wrist across your eyes. "Why are you here?" "I wanted to see Gabe." "He's sleeping. I just got him down." "Something's come up," says Frankie, "I've got a job, and I'm gonna be out of town for a bit." He's smiling, but it doesn't quite hit his eyes. "A bit? How long's a bit?" "Ten days at most. I won't be able to contact you though." "Christ. I thought you were done with this kind of shit." "The money's good," says Frankie, "It's just a quick recce. One and done. Redfly's with us this time." His hands find yours, fiddles absently with the ring you can't quite bear to take off just yet, squeezes your fingers. "It'll be enough to see us through til I complete the program and get my wings back."

You wouldn't let the nurses take him out of the room for tests. And when they tried to appeal to Frankie, all they got back was, you heard the lady. Gabe stays right here unless she decides different. You can do the tests in here. He can sleep right here. So they let him stay, swaddled and tiny, soft, snuffling breaths and you slept with your hand reaching into his crib, plastic box on a cart on wheels, your hand on his tummy, feeling the rise and fall of his breath, Frankie passed out on the narrow couch, hat pulled over his eyes. Gabe's here and he's perfect and he's yours, and you drift off to the rhythmic breathing of the two people you love most in the whole world.

"When do you leave?" "Tomorrow morning," says Frankie, takes his hat off and rubs his hand through his curls before putting it back on, a nervous gesture you've seen many times before. "Can I see Gabe? I've missed you guys so much." "It took me forever to get him down." "I just need to see him, okay?" "This job. This recce. How dangerous is it?" "It'll be fine," says Frankie, "Pope's gathering intel and we're backing him up. Low contact. Everything goes right the mark won't even know we've been there." "Where?" "Better you don't know, babe." "Jesus." "Hey," he curls his hands around your upper arms and gives you a little shake, "I'm not gonna ditch you okay? I'm not ditching him. I'm going to make this right, okay?" The breath that comes out of you is wet, wavering, and you nod, not sure if you believe him or if you just desperately want to, and those big brown eyes meet yours, his gaze sure and steady. You nod. "Yeah. Okay."

You and him stand side by side, peering down at Gabe in the soft greenish light from the swirling stars projected on the ceiling, soft hiss of white noise that he seems to prefer, his tiny hands balled up on either side of his head. Cactus arms. "He's filling out some," says Frankie, voice pitched low. "He is." Gabe's face has lost the newborn scrunch, "He's a little behind growth wise. The colic--" "He's perfect," says Frankie. Fake stars pass over his face, shifting light shining in his eyes. And you feel yourself smile, as tired as you are. "He's gonna be just fine." Frankie reaches into the crib and strokes the pad of his thumb between Gabe's eyes, and you draw a hard inward breath. Gabe's faces screws up and then smooths out, lips purse and suck at nothing. Frankie leans over the crib. "Hey little man, Se bueno con tu mamá, ¿vale? I'll be home soon." Frankie presses two fingers to his lips and kisses them, presses them to your sleeping son's forehead. Gabe stirs but does not wake.

You stand in the ugly light with Frankie, bugs doing their endless, mindless dance in the yellow glow and his hands find yours again, warm and calloused and familiar and gentle, thumbs smoothing over your knuckles. "I'll call. Soon as we're back state-side. We'll figure things out from there." You pull your hands away. "Sure." "Take care of yourself. You won't do Gabe any good if you run yourself into the ground." Turns and walks down the path to the driveway, turns back to you and smiles. "Stay off of those fuckin mommy blogs, okay? Those people are crazy." And you laugh. Frankie fuckin Morales. He can always surprise a laugh out of you. And for a moment it feels like before, before he started using again, before he got busted, before Gabe, just you and Frankie sharing a laugh, his eyes crinkled and warm, that sweet dimple sinking itself into his scruffy cheek, curve of his cheek as he turns from you, boots crunching over the pea-gravel driveway as he retreats into the dark. Dark that swallows him whole beyond the weak circle of porch-light, you can still hear his footsteps, fading into the endless, mindless song of crickets and rising scream of cicadas. You know in a moment you will hear his truck start up, rumble of a muffler that badly needs replacing. You almost call out to him, but you do not.

#year of kisses #frankie morales x f!reader #year of themes 2023 #triple frontier #heed the warnings kids #angst for days

[royalstydia]

make me forget his name

rafe cameron x reader 

warnings: 18+, mentions of alcohol, cursing, SMUT, just your average fucking IN PUBLIC, oral (fem! receiving), fingering, unprotected sex (but maybe wrap it before y’all tap it? also she’s on the pill so no sperm babies), slight praising, mentions of bodily fluids, sorta choking, also this is in 1st person pov??? 

request from @jakson2003 : rafe smut where the reader is dating jj but finds out he cheated on her so she gets drunk and ends up on the side of the road then rafe finds her

Most of the time, I maintained the status of being the chill, nonchalant girl. I was usually phased by very little. However, JJ made me feel things I never even thought were possible. He was broken and in many ways, so was I. 

It was probably the reason I was driving back to figure 8, absolutely pissed off and in tears. Catching JJ shacking it up with some girl in the chateau was yet another heartbreak added to the list. But hey, how can I be mad when everyone warned me that’s who he was. 

Moments like this were the ones when people would silently ask themselves how much worse shit can get. And oh, did it get worst. 

I found myself in the middle of the road with a broken down car. I screamed, punched the steering wheel, blamed JJ for being in this position; All of which ultimately did nothing. A groan slipped past my lips, as I sunk into the driver’s seat. 

Still, I figured there was no way it could get any shittier from here. But nevertheless, the dead battery on my phone proved me wrong. A sigh of defeat came out, as I grabbed the bottle of liquor I kept in the glove compartment. 

—— 

An hour had gone by and my figure was sat on the curb of the road. Not one person had sped past, thanks to taking the backroads. I was tipsy, but it wasn’t enough to help me forget. The memory of that blonde, blue-eyed fuck getting his cock sucked by some random girl kept replaying in my head. That was all it took to have me swigging another shot of alcohol. The small sting in my throat not even bothering me anymore. 

The bottle touched my lips, but left the minute I heard a car approaching. To my luck, that car happened to be Rafe’s. I closed my eyes for a moment, inhaling a sharp breath and mentally preparing myself to talk to him. The sound of his door slamming shut filled my ears. His footsteps got closer, until it stopped. My head stayed down, even after my eyes caught sight of his shoes. 

“I”m really not in the mood right now, Cameron.” I said lowly. My voice raspy from all the crying and screaming earlier. 

“Even I’m not that much of an asshole to ruin your day any more than it already is.” He said, after locking eyes with my bloodshot, puffy ones. 

I nodded, before looking down. I felt his presence next to mine, as he sat on the curb. 

He didn’t say anything, rather just keeping me company. We sat in comfortable silence, both staring off into the distance. 

It was cut short, when he grabbed the bottle pressed against my mouth. “Hey, what the fuck?” 

I attempted to reach over him to get it, but his arm held me back, which I happily shoved to the side. 

“Cutting you off.” He simply stated. 

I scoffed. “So much for not ruining anything.” 

I quickly picked myself up, beginning to walk the opposite direction, when I heard him call out my name. 

“You really going to walk all the way home or are you going to come here and tell me why you’re sitting in the middle of the fucking road?” He questioned. 

I stopped in my tracks, taking a breath. 

“He cheated on me.” I seethed. My back faced him, not wanting to see his reaction; Or better yet, not wanting him to see the pained expression on my face. 

“Yeah, no surprise he’s an ass. So, what are you going to do about it?” He responded back. 

I turned around, inching towards him. He was now standing near my car. I wasted no time grabbing his shirt and pulling him in for a kiss. I felt him kiss me back. It lasted all of a few seconds, before he pulled away. 

“You’re drunk, Y/N.” He stated, staring into my eyes. 

“Sober enough to remember his name.” I uttered back. 

My lips were mere inches from his, as I whispered, “You asked me what I was going to do about it- help me forget.”  

I couldn’t read the expression on his face before it briskly turned into a smirk. 

“How do you suppose I do that?” He chaffed.

“Fuck me so good that I’ll barely even know my own name, let alone his.” I enticed. 

That was all it took to have him pinning me against the hood of my jaguar. 

Rafe peered into my warm hazel eyes for any sign of uncertainty, only to find none. He gripped my neck, yanking my lips back onto his. 

The kiss was rough and sensual. I then felt him press a soft kiss against my collarbone. It was enough to foster a small pool of wetness between my thighs. 

My fingers wrapped around his dirty blonde locks, as my head tilted back, allowing him access to pepper a trail of tiny kisses down my neck. A quiet moan slipped past my lips as he sucked on my sweet spot.

His lips opted to place small hickeys on the tops of my breast. His hand grazing my bare chest when his fingers made its way under my shirt. My right nipple hardening from the slight pinch of his fingers. 

His other hand lingered down the front of my body, lightly trailing over the top of my shorts. 

“Rafe.” I breathed, my voice laced with desire. 

“Talk to me, pretty girl.” He hummed. 

“Touch me, please.” I glanced up at him, doe-eyed. 

He wasted no time unbuttoning my shorts, his hand slipping into my laced panties. He held my gaze, his eyes brimming with lust when he felt my arousal. 

He rubbed my bud softly, tracing his fingers between my folds. His thumb pressed against my clit, drawing figure eights. 

I let out a sigh of relief when he pushed two fingers into me. He slowly pulled them out, before inching them back in. He finger-fucked me at a torturously slow pace, taking his sweet time to tease me. 

Only after little whines left my lips, did he dare to speed up. His digits started pumping into me, my wetness coating his thick fingers. 

A soft moan erupted as he curled his digits, hitting my g-spot. 

His fingers started pumping into me at an ungodly pace, my hand reaching to grip his wrist, the pleasure becoming overwhelming. To no avail, he failed to slow down, edging me on further. 

Before I could cum, he pulled his fingers out. He stopped the whine ready to come out of my mouth by pushing his fingers past my lips. I sucked on it, tasting myself and humming lightly. He groaned at the sight, reaching down to adjust the bulge in his pants.  

My eyes followed, noticing the outline of his length. I quickly replaced his hands, opting to lightly stroke him through his pants. 

“Let me help you forget, pretty girl.” He spoke, softly. 

One of his hands came up to my chin, forcing me to make eye contact. Both our eyes brimming with lust. 

My soft browns maintained a pleading look, silently begging him to fuck me. A smirk slowly made its way onto his face, acknowledging the affect he had on me. 

I swiftly unopened his slacks, pulling his boxers down along with them. 

His hard cock sprung free, slapping against his abs. I refrained from licking my lips at his size. 

My fingers reached to touch him, sliding across his tip. I wiped off the pre-cum, bringing it up to my lips and licking my index clean. I stared at him as I wrapped my hand around his shaft and pumped him a few times. 

He grabbed my wrist, stopping my movement. He opened the passenger door, his gaze flickering to the seat, telling me to hop into the front seat. His hands hooked unto my thighs, pulling me to the edge of the seat. 

His tip rubbed against my slick folds a couple times, leaving me wanting more. I pushed my hips forward, right before he pushed into me. 

He gave me a few seconds to adjust before he retracted his dick and slammed back into me, causing a loud pornographic moan slipped out of my mouth. 

His strokes were short and hard, as he grabbed my hips, pushing himself further into me. I groaned as he lifted my left leg, resting it against his shoulder.

His cock sunk deeper into me with the new angle. My back arched, my top half falling onto the middle console, while his movements got faster. 

I screamed his name, as he pounded into my pussy. 

My mouth hung open and my hand reached to grip the headrest of the seat. His fingertips dug into my hips, certain to leave an imprint on my skin. He mercilessly fucked into me. 

One of his hands released my hips, lightly wrapping around my neck. He pulled me up by my throat, so he could see my face as his large cock teared into me. 

“You fuck me so good.” I cried out. 

“Yeah? How good, pretty girl?” He chaffed. 

“So fucking good, Rafe.” I moaned.  

He continued to rail into me, while I moved my hand down to massage my clit, moaning loudly as I touched my sensitive core. 

I felt a knot form in my stomach, before I clenched around him. My body arching off the seat and my toes curling. My breathing grew heavier as I came on his dick. 

His movements didn’t halter, chasing his own high. A throaty groan managed to slip past his lips, as he came inside me. 

Both of us stared at one another, struggling to catch our breaths. I gave him a half-hearted smile, which he returned. My eyes widened when he lowered his head and licked a stripe up my slit. His mouth began sucking on my clit. I let out a mewl, my hands latching onto his dirty blonde hair. 

He continued to tongue-fuck me, occasionally nipping at my tender bud. 

I hummed, throwing my head back. My vision blurred and my mind was decisively hazed. Maybe it was the pleasure or the sight of having the kook king on his knees on bare concrete in front of me, but in that moment everything was just pure bliss. I forgot every painful memory, every excruciating feeling and every person who had ever did me wrong. 

I gasped, as I released again on his tongue. He gazed up at me with a shit-eating grin, before cleaning me up. 

He helped me get dressed, prior to putting on his own clothes. 

“Let me give you a ride home, pretty girl.” Rafe spoke softly, offering a kind smile. 

And maybe it wasn’t just for a moment. 

— 

not my best tbh but i was supposed to post this a hot min ago 

and for everyone who requested something, i’ll be writing it soon lol

for the person that requested this, i hope you like it and i’ll probably end up editing it soon

royalstydia <3

#obx imagine #Outer Banks #rafe smut #rafe cameron #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x reader #rafe obx #the kooks #The Pogues #jj maybank #rafe fic #netflix outer banks #drew starkey #drew starkey smut #rafe #rafe cameron one shot

[checkxmaster]

"The hell is your problem, dude? Did you seriously forget about me? Or what, you think I'm a clone? Be for real."

It was getting dark, so Chad pulled his armored vehicle over to the side of the road and set about preparing to settling in for the night. Over the years, he'd accumulated a lot of tech to help him survive, from computers and GPS, to motion sensors, timers, and alarms. Generators and power storage units were essential, as were solar panels and other methods of harnessing power as electrical grids began to fail seemingly everywhere.

Some of the tech he built himself, having raided hardware stores for parts, and others he'd acquired from abandoned police stations and homes. It passed the time, to sit and occupy himself with building computers, or to set up surveillance systems, or to create spreadsheets to catalogue all of his supplies, and he liked to keep his skills sharp. Why? He didn't really know anymore. Maybe it just kept him sane. He had about a million flashlights, flares, weapons, and a multitude of ammunition types, complete with all the batteries, solar chargers, hardware enhancements, additional parts, and optional adjustments he could store.

Metal boxes, backpacks, and duffel bags were stacked in an almost hedge-maze-like fashion inside the armored vehicle he'd taken over after it had been abandoned by the military. His bed was little more than a shelf nestled into all this organized chaos, but he found it strangely comforting to be boxed in while he slept... especially since he was alone most of the time.

Occasionally he joined up with some survivors, but he found it difficult to remain with them. Their goals were vastly different, with civilians wanting to find somewhere safe to hunker down and barricade, and Chad wanting to keep on the move to see what he could do to screw Umbrella over or help other people.

He'd gotten his motion sensor perimeter up around his mobile home, as it were, and had just taken his nightly dose of painkillers so he'd have half a chance of sleeping. The deep scars from where the licker had grabbed him as well as the pain of a few broken bones that hadn't quite healed properly from being thrown off the train on the way out of the Hive had him pretty much in near-constant pain. He'd learned to live with it, and as long as he was busy and moving, he could ignore it. At night, though, he needed some extra help from good ol' pharmaceuticals. Just over-the-counter, though, nothing too heavy. He couldn't risk not being able to wake up if something significant went down. And absolutely nothing with an Umbrella logo on the bottle.

That was when one of his alarms went off, indicating that something was moving in the near vicinity of the vehicle. "Really?" he groaned, his head falling to the right as he lay in his bed to look at the screen across the way. Sure enough, it was blinking. Sighing, he sat up and typed away, looking at the camera feed indicating movement. To his severe disappointment, it wasn't one of the undead. It looked like a soldier of some kind. "Just perfect," he said cynically. Grabbing a couple guns, he went out to investigate. What he found was... startling, to say the least.

It... it was Rain. His heart began to pound. No, Rain's dead. Don't get fooled again by those stupid clones. Man, they were creepy... Clones of his now-deceased friends and comrades that often times acted nothing like the originals. The Rain ones... were always particularly nasty. He lifted his rifle, leveling it at her. "That's far enough," he said coldly, assuming this was a clone. How can it not be?

But then she spoke, and almost simultaneously he began to notice that she looked a bit older. The clones always looked young, pristine. Swallowing hard, Chad found it difficult to breathe with how vigorously his heart was now pounding, rattling his ribcage. Faltering a little in his resolve, the tip of his rifle slowly dipped a bit and he stared incredulously at her.

"N-no, I-... Of course I didn't forget about you, but..." But you're dead. You've gotta be. Forgetting Rain - or anyone else he'd lost in the Hive due to his incompetence, poor planning, and cracking under the pressure - was never an option. He saw their faces almost nightly in the twisted horrors of his guilt-fueled nightmares.

Chad blinked, not knowing what to do. The rifle lowered just a bit more at the mention of clones. "Yeah, actually, that's exactly what I'm thinking. Wait, you're-... Are you telling me you're not a clone?" Oh, how he wanted to believe that, but he'd been fooled before, almost fatally. "Come on, don't fuck with me..." he said, more with a crestfallen type of exhaustion than with any sort of real intimidation attempt. "If you're not a clone... then prove it."

If this really was Rain, the real Rain, then he was about to feel like a huge jerk momentarily. But if it wasn't... he couldn't afford to let his guard down...

#wanderingaroundwithmysoul #kaplan rp #{ on to the next mission } ʷᵃⁿᵈᵉʳⁱⁿᵍ ᵛᵉʳˢᵉ #{yassss let's get these two back in the saddle again haha}