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silkscream · 4 months

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once bitten, twice shy

megumi fushiguro x reader

ੈ✩ wc: 3.1k (i cannot write anything under 2k to save my life)

ੈ✩ tags: emotionally constipated megumi, tsundere basically, friends to lovers, a lil angst, not actually unrequited love, pining, alcohol, typical yuuji nobara antics

ੈ✩ a/n: this is not xmas themed despite the title BUT it does end up taking place on satoru's birthday for plot reasons. megumi fushiguro your intimacy issues bewitch me mind body and soul.....

megumi does not know what to do with his feelings.

he’s never been the type to be particularly in touch with them — he didn’t remember his parents enough to blame them for whatever avoidant attachment he’d accustomed himself to. or maybe, that was the exact cause of said attachment style. gojo taking him in when he was a child didn’t help either — the man also refused to be very vulnerable around him, merely acting as a benefactor and a nuisance at best.

and while he was closest to tsumiki, he’d still built up a wall around himself that she couldn’t get through, and she knew it. she couldn’t break through it in his pre-teen years, and certainly not his teenage years when he was taking out his aggression on his classmates. he would ignore her soothing words and resent her kindness. perhaps he’d taken after toji in that way. constantly fending for himself for the sake of survival. always convinced that he was doomed to be alone.

and then there was you.

he’d met you first at jujutsu tech before any of the other students could. after sparring with maki, he’d been dismissed to shoko’s office. he’d opened the door that september day and was immediately met with your wide eyes, your searing cursed energy. gojo had found another stray.

shoko had made him your first experiment and you excelled. his injuries were healed within minutes. if anything, he felt better than he had in months — after battling insomnia and panic attacks, he felt… calm. like his brain was cleansed and that he had nothing to stress about. (until the next time gojo had gotten on his nerves.)

your introduction to his class was nothing extravagant despite gojo’s theatrics. megumi couldn’t help but keep his eyes on you after that — during practice battles, lectures, or lunch. he was always hyperaware of your presence. he blamed it on your cursed energy.

he hates how enthusiastic yuuji is about you, how yuuji tells him about how he manages to get you alone even though you often keep to yourself, and how he thinks you’re so fucking pretty, and that you’d agreed to watch the human earthworm movies with him. (megumi had refused when yuuji asked.)

he stews in that anger quietly because he’d rather die than let anyone know. nobara knows better, of course. she teases him about it and brings up jealousy.

why should megumi ever be jealous of yuuji? the boy was a freak accident in human form, with no inherent technique. who fucking cares that he can make you laugh without any effort?

it doesn’t matter. it doesn’t. because you have no direct effect on megumi and you don’t distract him during school. he doesn’t cling onto the memory of your hands on his skin. he doesn’t wish for the feeling again. of course not.

he tells this to yuuji and nobara, too. there’s one day where nobara goes too far — she teases him about setting up a date, that you rave about him, that he’s definitely your type. megumi doesn’t believe a word of it, especially because you’re probably more comfortable with yuuji. he doesn’t care to date because it would hold him back. he’s too focused on his training, on being the best, because he’s determined to follow in gojo’s shadow even if he won’t admit it. he could be the second strongest. he could be the most reliable.

it comes out in all the wrong ways. he’s more irritable than usual, so he yells at nobara instead of seething in hushed tones. he rants about how he does’t need someone by his side, certainly not you, whose only benefit is to heal superficial injuries and not much else. how your combat skills are poor, how easily you get beat when you spar on the field. how compared to him, you’re weak, so you’re of no use.

unfortunately, you hear him. every thought on his mind that tumbles out of his stupid mouth, his tone spewing wrath. you know that megumi is a moody person, but you’d never think him to be mean.

you pretend you’re just passing by, but from the faces nobara and yuuji are making, megumi already senses your presence. the color drains from his face, cobalt eyes wide.

“i’m — i’m sorry, i didn’t mean —“

“it’s okay, fushiguro,” you say softly. even after that shitshow, you’re still fucking smiling. it puts a sinking feeling in megumi’s stomach.

“ah, i got an extra pack of mochi and thought you guys would like it.”

you hand over a small bag and megumi takes it wordlessly.

“that’s so sweet,” yuuji beams, attempting to deflect. “hey, i was just looking for you. do you happen to have those jujutsu history notes? kugisaki spilled a soda on mine.”

“you knocked it over!” nobara protests.

“you put it on top of my stuff!”

you take your notebook out of your bag and hand it to yuuji graciously, avoiding megumi’s gaze and making up an excuse to see all of them later.

apparently, “later” means a week after. megumi sees you in class, and while he attempts to walk you to the dining hall or invite you to hang out, you bolt out the door before catching anyone’s attention. he has to find out how you are from fucking yuuji, who somehow gets to see you around the dorms every other day.

“i think she just likes to keep to herself, s’all,” yuuji says. he can sense megumi’s anxiety just from being in the same room as him.

“but you see her all the time.”

“she’s been tutoring me a little. and we just like the same movies and stuff.”

yuuji shrugs casually. his nonchalance makes megumi’s blood boil, because of course he’s the one who gets to occupy all of your time. of course you’re probably most comfortable with him. he knows he shouldn’t be seething at the thought of you two together — it isn’t his right. but his jealousy is starting to get the best of him lately.

“are you guys together?” he blurts out.

“no?” yuuji furrows his brows. “if anything, i feel like nobara might be trying to make a move since she’s way nicer to her than she is to us. except i’m pretty sure she and maki have been going out lately.”

“maki?”

“dude, keep up!”

and when yuuji accuses of megumi having a crush again, the same way nobara did all those weeks ago before he made a fucking fool of himself, megumi shuts it down with a grimace and a blush. he’s merely concerned about your wellbeing is what it is. that’s what he’s able to muster up to yuuji, of course, who absolutely isn’t buying it based on his shit-eating grin.

it’s annoying, especially because yuuji can make you feel more comfortable, comfortable enough to hang with the whole trio, and the pink-haired bastard has to meddle like a little troll. bumping the two of you into each other like you’re in middle school. somehow, it worsens everything. not your dynamic, but megumi’s self-consciousness.

he was already so extremely aware of you, but now he’s convinced that some angel above has tied the red string between you both extra tight. megumi looks for you in every crowd, awaits your arrival every day in the classroom and at lunch, and it’s starting to feel pathetic — the lightness in his chest whenever you’re even so much as ten feet away. his heart even beats faster at the anticipation of your text in the group chat, for fuck’s sake.

and then there’s gojo’s birthday party, a surprise orchestrated by the four of you, despite megumi’s reluctance. you’re particularly more radiant than usual. maybe it’s the lighting. maybe it’s the dress you have on.

despite the amount of shots he’s been forced to take in the past hour (three), megumi is still sober enough to feel anxious around you. though, he thinks he might be drunk enough to be lost in your image, fixating on your collarbone and the way your hair falls in your face as you laugh at one of gojo’s stupid jokes. it’s when the two of you lock eyes that megumi feels out of it, because you smile at him. you fucking smile.

if the warmth of the liquor wasn’t currently raising heated blood to his head, he’d deny the sparks that came from the mere sight of your smile, but he was hopeless. you’re mesmerizing. dizzying. he doesn’t know what to do with his face, not when his cheeks are flushing red and his motor skills are slowing down. fuck, maybe he was a lightweight like gojo after all.

he’s clearly out of touch with reality, because the moment fades as soon as it comes. perhaps it wasn’t a moment at all. he watches you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, your mouth moving slowly as you mingle with other classmates. he’s fucking fixated on your mouth — your lipstick tonight is a blush red with a shiny gloss reflecting light. megumi has only dreamed of what your lips would taste like once or twice. no more than that. he swears on it.

there’s brief eye contact between the two of you again for half a second. there’s a coy smile on your face as always before you slip out the back door of the house.

there are so many bottles around the place that no one will notice megumi taking an entire bottle of champagne for himself. he scowls at the taste, of sickeningly sweet pears — courtesy of gojo, probably. his head swims and thinks of you.

his momentary peace is rudely interrupted by the sound of nobara’s voice in his ear, asking for you.

“ijichi’s setting up karaoke!”

“there is no way in hell that i’m—”

“i don’t care what you do, emo, but i need her to do a duet!”

megumi heaves a sigh, making his way to the backyard where he finds you sitting on a tree stump. even with the dim fairy lights, he probably would’ve missed you if not for the cherried end of your cigarette.

“fushiguro-kun,” you nod at him.

“megumi,” he rasps. “just… megumi is fine.”

“oh, i get special privileges now? how come?”

there’s no mirth in your tone. you’re teasing him. he doesn’t answer your question.

(the mere act of you teasing him becomes an intimacy in itself — he had never thought that you would be comfortable enough to talk to him in jest. you’d maintained your distance from him fairly well.)

“didn’t know you smoked.”

“only when i drink,” you shrug. “ieiri-san doesn’t make much of an effort to hide her cigarettes, either. don’t tell on me, though.”

“wouldn’t dream of it.”

he doesn’t know where to look. luckily, you’re not looking at him, so he can settle his gaze on your mouth nursing the cigarette. plump. glossy under the moonlight.

megumi is not used to wanting. he had never asked gojo for anything during his adolescence, and refused any gesture of kindness from anyone. he was convinced since childhood that there was no point in desire because disappointment would be on the other end of it either way.

he’d like to be a monk about it. he could control himself and focus on his studies. never spare you a glance again that isn’t platonic. and then a cool december wind blows past the two of you, and he smells your amber perfume.

and when he turns his head, you’re looking at him, eyes bright.

“so… not enjoying the party?”

“i’m not really one for parties.”

“me neither,” you shrug. “that’s why i like to do my little ritual of escaping.”

“we have that in common.”

you hum, a noncommittal noise. you take another drag of your cigarette, which disintegrates slowly.

“what a pair, the two of us.”

megumi can’t pick up any sarcasm from your voice, though he assumes it. it makes his stomach drop even though the statement is harmless. the two of you. together. it makes endless futures bloom in his mind. maybe it’s the prosecco, but it almost makes him want to vomit. to think that he was even good enough to be beside you in your future.

you curse quietly when you pull your phone out of your jacket pocket to check the time, realizing it’s dead. megumi gives you a once-over. the jacket you’re wearing is all too familiar. like him, you’re not one to wear very many colors. but this jacket is bright red, varsity style, and oversized on you.

“is that itadori’s jacket?” megumi stammers.

“oh, yeah. i didn’t realize how cold it would be tonight.”

��oh.”

“why?” you give him a curious smile.

“nothing,” he coughs. “are… you two…”

you laugh and it’s like a song to him.

“i think he might be my best friend, s’all. why? you jealous?”

he looks at you again, head-on, your eyes still bright. brighter than fluorescents. there’s something in your irises that is meant to provoke him, but he’s dispensed of his usual cautious nature after he takes another gulp from the bottle.

“more than you can imagine,” he huffs.

“sorry?”

“’m not repeating that.”

“what, you’re not saying you’re like, into me, are you?” you exasperate.

megumi remains silent, cheeks flushed. he thinks that if his head could heat up any more, he’d end up with a migraine.

you breathe the tiniest gasp. if it wasn’t for how close megumi was to you, he wouldn’t have noticed.

“i kind of thought you hated me, you know,” you admit.

“i could never hate you. i don’t think anyone could.”

“you don’t have to pretend,” you sigh. he didn’t notice until now that your cigarette was finished, discarded onto the dirt with your boot to crush it into ash. “i— beyond the politeness, i get it. that i’m not your type or whatever. you don’t even have to be friends with me, fushiguro-kun.”

“megumi,” he emphasizes.

“megumi.”

“i’m not pretending. i… i really fucking like you,” he slurs. “it kind of scares me how much.”

“you’re drunk.”

“i am. i know you heard me say all that shit to kugisaki and itadori, but it’s because they put me on the spot and i was nervous. i don’t know how to… deal with feelings. honestly, if i wasn’t even a little drunk right now, i’d probably have left the party with my tail in between my legs and avoided you for the next fucking week, and you don’t deserve that. you deserve… everything.”

“even you?”

when did you get so close to him? if he sauntered just a few inches in your direction, he could touch your noses together. he can smell your perfume so deeply.

“it’s the other way around,” megumi breathes. “i don’t deserve you. not anything close to you.”

“what if i want you regardless?” your voice is just above a whisper. a prayer, a hymn. a wish to be blown out.

megumi swallows the lump in his throat. he blinks at you, dark indigo luminescent. the world slows down. he may owe it to the liquor and the wine, but he assumes it’s just your presence. your scent, the softness of your hair in between his fingers, your soft breaths.

“what do you want, megumi-kun?”

he remembers something gojo said. that to be a jujutsu sorcerer, he has to be selfish. he’s not sure if that philosophy applies to the situation at hand, but he’d be damned if he let you crawl into bed tonight without knowing how he truly felt about you. so, uncharacteristically, he takes a leap forward.

he unwinds the tension in his body and presses his lips to yours. it’s soft, chaste, innocent. something like a pause. he’s afraid to touch you, but you’ve already reeled him in with arms thrown around his shoulders, fingertips touching the softness of his black hair.

you bump your nose with his, shyly, and he kisses you open-mouthed. tongue in your mouth, meshing the taste of tobacco and prickly pear. the vanilla chapstick that he’d put on before he followed you out to the backyard.

he has one hand caressing your jaw and the other on your shoulder, thumb brushing over your collarbone in a way that makes your entire body shiver. you’re embarrassed at the pool of desire in between your legs.

megumi has never let himself be full of wanting, but at the moment, his veins are surging with it. it’s like a drug to him — your warmth, your scent, the saccharine taste of your mouth. your flesh is so soft, so pliable, from the way you dip towards the cavern of his lanky body, pressed against him chest to chest. letting his hand dig into the fat of your hip. fingertips grazing the skin underneath your shirt.

maybe it’s the liquor, but he’s feeling experimental — he tucks your bottom lip in between his teeth. pulls your hair ever so slightly. you mewl into his mouth quietly and he thinks that he’s never felt anything better than this. you’re wrapped up in all of him. you can quite literally feel the heat on his cheeks and both of you realize how aroused he is, his bulge prodding your thigh.

“fuck,” he whispers into your mouth, and he pulls away. only a few inches are separating you as he takes a moment to breathe. his eyes are blown out wide, black stretching across dark blue. both of you are stunned, panting, and the tension is more palpable than ever.

a rustling of grass makes both of you jump. when he turns, he sees yuuji and nobara staring with wide eyes.

“you owe me 7,000 yen,” yuuji deadpans to nobara.

“seriously, fushiguro? i didn’t think you had it in you!”

“i always had faith in you, fushiguro!” yuuji chimes.

while you giggle, megumi growls under his breath at the new intrusions of dumb and dumber.

“i personally thought you were way out of his league,” nobara tells you.

“eat shit.” megumi seethes with arms crossed, and despite his wrath, he resembles more of an angry kitten to you than any potential threat.

“sheesh, don’t summon a shikigami on them, megumi,” you tease with a pleased grin.

“i—” he stumbles over his words in frustration, grimacing. “what do the two of you want, anyway?”

“gojo-sensei got ijichi to sing doja cat.”

“oh, i’ve gotta see this,” you snort, grabbing megumi by the hand as you begin to usher the crew back inside. his heart leaps at the feeling of your fingers intertwined with his.

despite his inhibitions, megumi’s decided that he could get used to this.

#megumi fushiguro #megumi x reader #megumi x you #megumi fushiguro x reader #megumi fushiguro x you #megumi fluff #megumi angst #megumi fic #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk smut

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pumpkinstrawbrew · 8 months

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"can it be, that you actually CARE about those creatures!? you are just as crazy as they are!"

and yeah, he sure does care. so let me present you, batman n' his 'creatures' aka you become forever responsible for what (who) you’ve tamed.

...

(i remember watching the lock-up ep as a child, and rooting for bruce to save the rogues. i always was a villain-lover type of kid, n' those 3 were one of my fav characters in the whole show, so naturally, i wanted them to be saved. but that aside, it also simply felt idk, ‘right’ for bruce to intervene? at that age, i didn’t fully understand the complexity behind the topic, but it was one of those episodes that stuck with me for years. it’s actually pretty mature for a kid’s show to show smth like that.

i honestly wish, that the ep was fully focused on inmates and/or bruce investigating the abuse vs how it went into bolton kidnapping gordon n’ other folks. but hey, what we got was nice too! there is something very lovely about the hero protecting their villains from anti-heros/villain-slayers. it’s a thankless job, clearly. but they still put themselves in harm's way, bc they don't approve of the abuse/murder. even if it’s their enemies. *or in some cases* esp if it’s their enemies.

now about the art...

idk, if the first one *the meme itself* was already done for lock-up ep or not. i mean, probably? maybe? either way, if it was done before, now there is another version for it.

n' ah. the second one is kinda just happen'. i was thinking about batman hanging out with every villain, who was in that ep. and how different it would have been, if it was actually about idk, batman, his rogues n' bolton trying to kill/capture them all or smth like that, rather than how it went in canon. anyhow, batman still wins in the end *naturally* and tries bring them all back into arkham, which is.....yeah, it prob will be difficult. mostly bc no one wants to go back lol. harley wants to see her trash man the joker, jon want to gas the city, wesker *actually* wouldn't have minded to go back, but the scareface wanna do crimes. n' bolton doesn't think, that he did anything wrong, so clearly he doesn't wanna be locked up *hehe, get it* with crazies as one of them. so basically, batman's battle for justice slowly turns into pokemon hunt.

in other words, bruce will have a long night ahead of him, with crane yelling into his ear the whole time. f in chat for our man bruce. he really needs it.)

#batman animated series #batman #btas #jonathan crane #bruce wayne #harley quinn #arnold wesker #lyle bolton #scarebat #brew draws

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greentrickster · 6 months

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What I really want to know is how Gabriel ended up working with Alya and Nino because, frankly, I'm 100% sure that it started out as a hostage situation and also that neither of the kids were the hostage. Seriously, just-

Gabriel, exhausted from another busy night of trying to help people and fight back against the Supreme's tyranny, using whatever secret passage he has to get into his lair (the one where his counterpart keeps Emilie's cryopod) but heavens forbid his son find out about and get involved in such dangerous activities, he could get hurt! And he's not despairing but he's tired, so just kind of walks in and immediately de-transforms so he can talk to Nooroo, because it always helps to talk things over with a friend.

Thus he walks into his lair, exhausted and totally focused on Nooroo, who just freezes in mid-air staring straight ahead, mouth open, "Uh... Gabriel...?"

"Yes, my friend?"

And the kwami points and Gabriel turns the way he's pointing, and there's Alya, tucked in a spot that would be easy to defend or hide in where she has a good view of the entrance but is hard to see from it, and, most importantly, phone out, up, and recording.

Dead silence as they all stare at each other.

Alya: "I'll admit, not the story I was expecting, but I can work with it."

Gabriel: "...I don't suppose I can give you a substantial amount of money to leave and pretend you never saw any of this?"

Alya: "Yeah, no, I want in."

Gabriel: "In? On what"

Alya: "On saving the world and getting rid of the Supreme, obviously."

Gabriel: "What?! Absolutely not, you- you can't be any older than my son, who is a child, I'm not endangering a child in this battle-!"

Alya: "Could you repeat that for me? Because it sounded a whole lot like, 'Why yes, Alya, absolutely post that video you just got of Hesperia turning into Gabriel Agreste on your blog'!"

Gabriel: "...you wouldn't. You'd ruin everything I've been working for, the only chance we might have-"

Alya: "Glad we see eye-to-eye, glad to be on the team, I'm Alya, where should I put my stuff?"

And then she drags Nino along to help out, because power's meant to be shared, right, and there's strength in numbers, and also we'll need Nino because someone's going to have to plan and DJ for their victory celebration when they finally win!

OoOoOoOoO

Alternative that could actually be even more fun: Nino's actually the first one to join the revolution with Gabriel just because he keeps accidentally getting caught up in Betterfly/Hesperia vs. Claw Noir and Shadybug shenanigans, to the point that it's just easier to recruit him officially than to let things continue as they are. Then Alya pulls exactly the same thing as in the previous scenario, except this time she's trying to find out what the bae's up to instead of get whatever dirt on Agreste she was after.

#miraculous ladybug #ml paris special #ml paris spoilers #alya cesaire #betterfly #hesperia #gabriel agreste #fanfiction #(sort of)#Tales of Miraculous Hesperia

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feirceangel · 5 months

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Imagine | Slice of Life (Luffy)

Imagine getting into a food fight and then cleaning up :)

Warnings: tooth-rotting fluff, bathing, non-sexual nudity, general good vibes.

Word Count: 1,056

(Not my gif)

"What's going on?" You ask with arms crossed.

"Nuf'n," comes the mumbled reply from Luffy. His face is stuffed full of the cake you had just finished icing, frosting plastered all over his face.

"Sure," you drawl, shaking your head.

Honestly, you excepted nothing less from Luffy. You know him better than anyone else. That's why you actually made two cakes and hid the other one where he can't get his grubby hands on it.

"You weren't supposed to eat that."

"But it was right here," he whines.

"No excuse."

He slowly pushes a piece of the cake across the table towards you.

"I saved you a piece."

You can't help but smile at that display of affection. Luffy is notorious for not sharing his food, but he always shares with you.

"Thanks, Luff," you grab a fork and sit down. "I'll forgive you this time."

He laughs, "You always forgive me, Y/n!"

You flick some cake from your fork and hit him directly on the forehead, "Only cause you're a dumbass."

He laughs harder at that, sending a splat of cake onto your cheek as he does.

Your laughter joins his as you stand and smush a larger piece of the frosted goodness into his face. He sits still for a minute before bolting to his feet and smashing his lips against yours.

Taken by surprise, you are quick to return the favour. The taste of cake on your tongue coupled with Luffy's lips is a heavenly sensation.

He breaks away with a huge grin, “I’m your dumbass, dumbass.”

You wipe some of the cake from his cheek, “We should go get washed up. You’re a mess.”

“So are you, shishishi,” he giggles.

“You two are making me sick!” Nami exclaims, having been silently judging you two for having a food fight as she sat in the corner and flipped through her ledger.

You and Luffy simultaneously stick out your tongues in her direction.

She rolls her eyes and goes back to ignoring you both. You know it’s all in good fun, Nami is your best friend after all. She just likes to tease you.

The weather has been excellent today, not a cloud in the sky. But you told Sanji you’d make dessert today, so that’s why you were in the kitchen. Luffy had snuck in after you went to tell Sanji that the cakes were done.

Now, you grab Luffy’s warm hand and drag him into the bathroom, serious about getting clean.

“Y/n, I don’t wanna,” he grumbles.

“But we’re filthy,” you reason. “Besides, I thought you didn’t mind bathing with me? Do you want me to go?”

You turn to leave, embarrassed at assuming he wanted to share a bath with you. Before you can walk out the door, hands grab your shoulders and spin you around.

Luffy pouts at you, having stretched his arms to stop you.

“Don’t leave! I didn’t mean that,” he pulls you close and you let him. “I like spending alone time with you.”

“Same here, Luff.”

You smile at him and he returns the grin. Turning the tap on, you fill the tub with hot water, adding sweet smelling suds.

Meanwhile, Luffy’s taken off his hat and shirt, tossing them on the floor. You grab a soft washcloth, getting the worst of the cake off of Luffy before focusing on yourself.

Stripping down, you and Luffy quickly step into the shower to rinse off before sinking down into the soapy water of the bath.

The tub has more than enough room for you both, but Luffy wraps his arms around you and draws you close to him. You lean back against him, smiling in his embrace.

It’s the tender moments like these that bring a swell of warmth to your heart.

Sure, you always know how much love you have for each other, but there’s something special in these quiet moments.

Normally, you’re both boisterous and loud. Making jokes and going on adventures. The last battle you went through had seriously drained your energy though. Luffy seems to realize that you need this downtime.

He slowly rubs circles into your arm with the washcloth, lazily washing you.

You let him, relaxing as he gentle cleanses you.

“Luffy, thank you.”

“What for?” He genuinely sounds confused. “I didn’t do anything?”

“Just, for being here and being you.”

“I’m always here for you, silly,” he pats your head.

“I know, I just want you to know I appreciate you.”

You take the cloth from his hand as you give him a small kiss.

“My turn,” you guide him in front of you, wanting to have a turn as the big spoon.

He obliged without question, resting his head on your bosom and gazing up into your eyes.

“I love you.”

“I love you too,” you kiss his forehead as you tenderly wash his chest.

Your hands cover each of his scars, replacing the traumatic memories of how he acquired them with your loving touch instead.

Water hot around you, you secure your arms around him, sighing contentedly into the crook of his neck.

He giggles and twists to kiss your lips again, “That tickles.”

“Whoops,” you chuckle back, chasing his lips when he moves away. “Get back here.”

He splashes you with water, effectively leaving you sputtering. You grin with fire in your eyes and return the onslaught of water tenfold.

The laughter must be extremely loud, cause a bang of the door interrupts your water fight.

“Don’t make a mess in there!”

You exchange a look with Luffy before guffawing loudly, “Too late, Nami!!”

She cusses you both out loudly as you laugh hysterically and continue your fight.

“We really should get out now though,” you say after it’s calmed down a bit.

He pouts and scrunches his face.

“Guess what?” You say as you start drawing the tub and grab a fluffy towel to dry off.

“What?”

You grin mischievously, “I made two cakes.”

His eyes light up brightly, “Really?!!”

By now, you’re already clothed and have your hand on the door handle.

“Yup, and it’s all mine!” You laugh as you race from the room, leaving Luffy behind as his legs get tangled in his shorts.

“Wait, Y/n-“ he yells after you.

Laughing, you race to the kitchen, Luffy close behind you.

#female reader #imagine #reader insert #one piece #one piece x reader #monkey d luffy x reader #luffy x reader #luffy op #one piece oneshots #mugiwara no luffy #straw hat luffy #xreader #op #op x reader #monkey d Luffy #fanfic

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twitteringthings · 1 month

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Fresh Thoughts Chapter 57

After reading spoilers on twitter (no spoilers here though^^)

The way Yoneda uses bl stereotypes as a tool while also rejecting some aspects of the genre is so interesting to read. In most bl I've read, sex is seen as the epitome of love - the culmination of two characters' pining and is seen as the end goal that suddenly fixes everything. The dick and brain are one and suddenly everything magically makes sense. But in Saezuru, Yoneda uses sex to unravel the characters while twisting them up even more-so. I believe that sex has never been and will never be the answer for Doumeki or Yashiro, and I think that is what she’s getting at. That is the point of all these sexual encounters that yield no real progress. You need more than three words and some head, ding dongs!

Doumeki thinks that all he has to do is give Yashiro passionate and gentle sex to make him realize that he loves him and imo he has it all wrong. It’s almost like Doumeki doesn’t truly hear Yashiro when he speaks. There's a pause and then a kiss or a continuing of sex as we've seen. I really wish he would’ve probed even further with the questioning instead of giving into desire and kissing Y. To me, it looked like Y was ready to talk more or hear what Doumeki had to say in response to his ‘confession.’

I don’t think D realizes that this is about Y and his view of himself. It doesn’t matter if Doumeki treats him kindly and calls him beautiful. Every person in Yashiro’s life has had an agenda against him or a plan to use him for something (nana excluded). There are always, always strings attached and his heart cannot accept anyone having no intention at all, except to love him purely. I do think D is on the right track though, making Yashiro chase him in a way. Not giving anything away as to make Y either trust his intentions or distrust him, Y needs to choose for himself.

It’s so interesting how the relationship between the two of them is outwardly focused on the physical aspect (which is definitely important), but the story is about the hearts of men. Twisted and broken men. Men with baggage and secrets and deep wounds. Men who seem to be the upmost composed but in reality, the soft touch of a feather can send their entire fortress crashing down. That's what we have here.

Yashiro’s coping mechanism protects him but is also the cause of his continuous pain. Saezuru is about choosing the right pain, the pain that will numb you and have you walk through life as a ghost, or the excruciating discomfort in accepting a foreign act of kindness that you know will save you. And for Yashiro, being saved means there was something wrong done to him in the first place - which I don't think he completely realizes yet. This would mean everything he ever told himself was a lie, and that he deserved none of the cruelty. The truth that would destroy him the most if he truly chose and accepted kindness, is that he is a good person and that he deserves to love himself and to be loved. With Doumeki, this has always been Yashiro’s battle.

Vile actions accompanied by cursed words are what has held Y back all his life from the moment he was raped by his stepfather and throughout the continued abuse, even up to the most recent events post-timeskip. And I think the exact opposite is needed from both sides to finally free both of them from their mental prisons. They just need to hold out and to talk to each other for more than five minutes. I hope they'll get there soon.

Lastly, I'm sure it wasn't her intention to make such an impactful story that subverts a genre and goes against the grain - in a wonderful way. I saw something another person posted that said this story and these characters are just a result of good storytelling and great care and I could not agree more.

I haven't posted anything of actual substance in a while (stupid work is stopping me from my true passion - alas!). These are some messy thoughts; I can't wait to read the actual chapter for true understanding! I need to analyze every pen stroke, blush, and body placement. I just had to get this out of my head, now back to my essay that's due at 11:59 *sobs*

Edit 1:55 am: Still have not started essay

#saezuru tori wa habatakanai #twittering birds never fly #doumeki x yashiro #yoneda kou #saezuru spoilers #saezuru fandom #messy thoughts #twitteringthings rambles

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luvjunie · 11 months

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Beyond the Spiderverse Theory!!

contains spoilers for across the spiderverse

okay so in the next movie, beyond the spiderverse, i think miles’ dad will survive. somehow, someway he’ll be saved from his untimely death.

miles was told numerous times in across the spiderverse that he cannot have his cake and eat it too. and he retorts with “unless you have two cakes!” miles is unmoving on his belief of “spiderman always does both.”

while reading out what he wants the bakery to write on the cake, he’s told it won’t fit on one. so he opts for buying two cakes, but while being spiderman, stopping a villain and swinging to his apartment, (aka: trying to do both) he’s late for his parents’ party, both of the cakes are ruined, he misses his dad’s heartfelt speech and then gets grounded. essentially the lesson from this is that he has to choose his battles correctly, that he cannot do both.

when miles finds out his dad is supposed to die, he tells miguel that he can save his father and save the city/civilians, because spiderman ALWAYS does both, but like we‘ve seen numerous times, sometimes doing both just isn’t possible. in order to have one thing, you have to give up something else. he’s told that this is what being spiderman is all about, that this is what he signed up for.

miles isn’t satisfied with this answer, and says he’s gonna do his own thing.

a good portion of the movie focuses on the development of miles’ and his mom’s relationship, while him and his dad’s is still kind of rocky. he’s growing up right in front of her eyes and she has to change the way she parents, but expresses that she’s scared of losing her little boy to the world, and that she just wants to protect him because others might not have his best interests at heart— and we end up seeing that later on. our focus is pulled from this when we see what miles’ canon event is supposed to be— his dad’s death.

where i’m going with this? the one you expect is never the one they take. usually the character who we think is the safest, is actually the one who’s in danger.

in miles’ comics, during the battle with venom, he saves his father from dying but while this happens, the police accidentally shoot (and kill) his mother, rio, when they were aiming for venom. and as she’s bleeding out in his arms, this is when he finally confesses to her that he’s spiderman (something he didn’t get to do at the end of the movie because he was in the wrong universe). more happens w this in the comics but we know sometimes movies don’t follow the plot to a T, and beyond the spiderverse is supposed to be the end to his story.

so let’s replace venom with another villain that we’ve recently been introduced to, the spot. another ridiculously powerful villain that the cops will stupidly try and apprehend with guns that don’t stand a chance like they always do.

that being said, i don’t think they’re going to kill off miles’ dad.

i think they’re going to kill off his mom.

#PLEASE GOD LET ME BE WRONG #they better not i stg #across the spiderverse #miles morales #beyond the spiderverse #beyond the spiderverse theory #spiderman astv #rio morales #jeff morales

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eirenical · 2 months

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Mysterious Lotus Casebook | Lian Hua Lou | 莲花楼 | Episodes 3 & 9 - The Letter

There is so much we don't know about what happened ten years ago between Sigumen and Jinyuanmeng. A lot of it gets unraveled as the show goes on, but one thing remains true: there is a hell of a lot of unreliable narration to pick through to get to the truth. And when it comes to the particular truths of what happened between the individual people involved, that becomes even more true.

And one of the little mysteries that always bothered me was this letter that Qiao Wanmian wrote to Li Xiangyi to break up with him. Because I absolutely could not figure out when he actually got that letter. Anyway, I finally caught a few details that helped me to tease that apart and my first realization was that he fucking LEFT HER ON 'READ' for about a month (Li XIangyi, PLEASE OTZ) and the second realization was that we get two different versions of these events YET AGAIN, but this time both from Li Xiangyi's POV in flashbacks, and I'm CHEWING GLASS OVER IT, so naturally I have to share.

So the first time we get this particular flashback is in episode 3. Li Lianhua is remembering the aftermath of the Donghai Battle, how he fell into the ocean and washed up on the shore... a husk of what he had once been.

He wakes up and makes his way into town and to Sigumen's steps, overhearing all this terrible news as he walks. People injured, homes destroyed, people killed, and so much of the blame being placed on all the sects, and on Sigumen in particular. And as he walks, you can see it all starting to weigh him down, until he's literally bent over from the weight of it on his back.

And then the final betrayal. His people, his friends, want to disband the sect. They want to walk away. They blame him and his hubris for this disaster. And the coup-de-grace is Xiao Zijin asking Qiao Wanmian... "You don't like this place either, right?"

And the sad look on Qiao Wanmian's face finally breaks Li XIangyi of his paralysis and he turns away, back to the scene unfolding on those steps and drifts back to the shore, where he ultimately collapses.

And that's all we get.

We know he returned to Sigumen. We know he overheard them wanting to disband the sect. We know he left without a word. And that's the end of the story as far as Episode 3 is concerned.

But this makes sense. Li LIanhua is mid-Bicha attack and has just left Fang Duobing on the side of the road when this flashback comes on. He's fighting his own body in a desperate bid for survival to complete the one task he's set himself and Fang Duobing has just dredged up all this stuff and gone off on a tear about how he's Li Xiangyi's disciple. A road Li Xiangyi never got a chance to walk. Another person he failed along the way. And so he's focused on all the ways in which he is a failure in that moment, all the ways he doesn't live up to Fang Duobing's hero, Li XIangyi, all the ways that he is no longer that man. So he zeroes in on the moment he lost it all: his reputation, his sect, his health, his power. So that's the part of the flashback that we get.

But in Episode 9, we have an entirely different set of circumstances. He's just saved his A-mian. He's focused on helping her let go of the man he thinks she still loves. He's putting himself aside to focus solely on her (or so he thinks—that's honestly a question for later, but bear with me, we'll get there ;D) and what she needs. And we get dumped into this flashback again.

Only this time it doesn't start on the beach. It starts here:

It starts with Li Xiangyi seeing his sect disbanded again. Only this time, he remembers the words that come from Xiao Zijin differently:

There's no speaking out load of "you hate it here too, don't you?" or any similar sentiment. Because at this point, Li Lianhua knows this isn't true. She can't hate it there. She lives there. She didn't leave. And she doesn't hate him because she very obviously misses him and mourns him. So in his mind, he gives this moment a little less abrasiveness. A little less fierceness. But because he's so focused on A-Mian in this memory, we finally find out that there is an entire piece to this incident that we haven't gotten until now.

A-Mian's grief.

A-Mian's recognition that he was there.

And the letter.

The letter she wrote a month ago.

A letter Li Xiangyi NEVER READ.

We get to see A-Mian's regret. We get to see her grief: both for her own sense of shame at being unable to keep up with the man she loved, and her sense of loss over her own innocence and the opportunities that they'll never have now to make amends. And we get to see her break from her grief for just a moment to rush down those stairs because some instinct in her just won't quit.

Li Xiangyi had returned.

And she knew.

But it was too late. She no longer trusted herself. And Li Xiangyi, having heard her outpouring of grief, had already decided that he owed it to her and to everyone else to just… walk out of their lives for good.

And he did.

But he owed her one last thing first.

He owed it to her to read the letter that she'd written him a month ago and he'd never opened.

So before he goes back to that beach, he returns to his rooms in Sigumen to retrieve that unopened letter and read it.

On first watch, I had assumed this was after his healing with Monk Wuliao. That he was RE-reading that letter, not reading it for the first time. But these are clearly his rooms in Sigumen. The desk he conducts business from is at the bottom right and the table he confronts Shand Gudao from is on the left. But unlike when we usually see these rooms, brightly lit during the day, they're now mostly in darkness, the sun clearly setting given the angle of the light coming into the room. This is the sunset of Li Xiangyi. The last moments of his life, in a way.

And the letter is very VERY obviously unopened when he first takes it out:

And reading that letter is the final nail in Li Xiangyi's coffin, I think. Final proof that he'd failed in every aspect of his life: being a brother, being a lover, being a sect leader, being a friend, being a student. After this, he leaves Sigumen and goes back to that beach to lay down where he washed back up initially, ready to let the death he temporarily escaped take him away. And when the monk saves his life anyway, he still manages to kill off the part of him that was Li Xiangyi. Li Xiangyi is dead, he insists over and over and over again, until he believes it himself.

Because in that letter—a letter he left unread FOR A MONTH—Qiao Wanmian manages to show him that he never really saw her at all. That he never saw one of his dearest loved ones in pain right in front of him—pain that he finally witnessed on the steps of Sigumen as she poured out her grief and regret in sending this letter to begin with. How ironic then, that a letter she'd sent intending to set him free of her to fly up to the heights on his own, was the final arrow that brought him down. I don't think that's what she would have wanted at all.

But I really feel for her. I do.

Just imagine sending this letter and knowing that it's sitting in Li Xiangyi's mail pile somewhere… and assuming that he read it and that's what spurred him on to this last desperate fight. Because in that outpouring on the steps that clearly what she thought she did. She thought this letter sent him to his death. And in that moment she's wrong, because HE NEVER READ IT. Not until long after that. Not until after this moment. And fucking HELL, but that just hurts me.

Maybe it wouldn't have changed anything if he hadn't witnessed that moment. Maybe it wouldn't have changed anything if he hadn't read that letter. Maybe he still would have felt that he'd failed enough to warrant death of some kind.

But maybe not.

I guess we'll never know.

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inkys-anime-blog · 2 months

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One Piece Surfer AU

This was a long ramble session put together by myself and my friends Jordon, @fashionable-hamster , @incomingalbatross , and @thehappybaker .

If anyone wants to draw these or muse around in this AU, please feel free (and tag me!) We had so much fun coming up with these!

Things that are the Same

Devil Fruits are still a thing (mostly because it's really funny if they're surfers and can barely swim. They all wear inner tubes and water wings.)

Crew Compositions are also the same! They are now teams.

Sea Kings and assorted monsters are still here. They are, in fact, more common. The job of Life Guard is not only to keep people from drowning, but to fight monsters so your friends can surf in peace.

World Changes

Almost every dead character you can think of is alive. Because this is a fun, low stakes AU.

"King of the Pirates" is now "King of the Waves", you become a Yonko by being an Olympic Gold Medalist, you become "King of the Waves" by beating all of the Yonkos in a competition.

The goal of "World's Greatest Swordsman" has been changed to "World's Greatest Lifeguard." The way you move up in ranks for it is by competing in underwater feats of power (holding your breath, underwater wrestling, spotting and saving drowning people, performing rescue maneuvers.) It is all incredibly competitive and intense.

Doctors tend to pool supplies and set up a single medical tent, but more intense competitions mean they'll stay apart.

The Celestial Dragons have bought up most of the local public beaches. Surfing on them is considered illegal, but that doesn't stop any of the crews/teams.

The Marines are now local police who are trying to keep the surfers from the private beaches. Sometimes it escalates to fighting, but not too often. It's more like a race to surf before the police show up, it adds time and tension to competitions.

The Revolutionaries are a skateboarding gang who are committing actual crimes trying to bankrupt the city. They are treated with less attention than the surfers, somehow.

Strawhat Headcanons

The Thousand Sunny is a massive surfboard that all the team can fit on. They don't use it super often, but Franky made it for fun one day and they have a good time zipping around together.

Luffy is almost unchanged. He wants to be King of the Waves, he goes around recruiting buds to help that happen. He is more than willing to solve these problems by beating people up. It's Luffy.

Zoro is training to be the World's Greatest Lifeguard. He mostly focuses on paddling around and killing monsters that try to attack his friends, he's group protector in any AU. His backstory is similar as well, Kuina dying and leaving him her family life preserver. He and Sanji sit on the edge of the group surfboard, they're both very worried about their friends falling in.

Nami and Nojiko were illegally taken in by Bellemere. Nami has a supernatural sixth sense for when storms and strong waves are coming in, which was noticed by Arlong. Arlong threatened to reveal the illegal adoption to the police if she didn't come work for him and his team. Nami agreed, but once Luffy finds out, he contacts Whitebeard and get into a fierce legal battle to keep Nami and her family safe and away from Arlong. She's now living out the childhood she always wanted, spending time with friends and surfing instead of being under Arlong's control. Bellemere is running her tangerine orchard and shows up to their competitions a lot, mostly to cheer on her kid and hand out orange slices like a soccer mom.

Ussop runs a kid's swimming school! He's really popular because he's great with kids. People want to get their kids in love with swimming so they're less likely to impulsively eat devil fruits lolol. He's always wanted to be a surfer, and he jumps at the chance when Luffy comes their way. Kaya buys them fancy new surfboards and she's one of their most dedicated sponsors.

Sanji used to work in a five star restaurant, but ended up shifting to make his own top-class food truck so he can be with the crew and go to different competitions. Zeff sponsors the Strawhats so that Nami stops stealing the rival team's wallets to pay for gas money. (She still does, but less often now.)

Chopper is still a reindeer boy, and he wasn't able to go to normal school because of it. He was homeschooled by his parents, who are both doctors. He's enjoying his first taste of a real childhood with the Strawhats, and Hiriluk and Kureha come to what competitions they can.

Robin is a former CIA agent turned lawyer. She has gotten the Strawhats and teams they're friendly with out of SO many legal issues. She wears water wings on All of her Arms when she goes out to surf. She still does archeology on the side as a fun hobby.

Brook's backstory is mostly unchanged. He used to be on a great group of surfers, but when they were on a boat trip, their drinks were poisoned by a rival team. He washed up a skeleton by the Strawhat's van. He had made friends with Laboon, but since Laboon has faced some issues in the wild, he was moved by a wildlife conservation center. Brook is traveling the coast with the Strawhats to try to find him again, checking with every wildlife center they pass.

Jinbe is tired. He was a city council member, and left when it became horribly corrupt. He's reliving his old days of surfing with the Strawhats, and he's specifically helping Zoro be a better swimmer.

Non Strawhat Headcanons

Shanks and his crew run a nice little bar. They're renowned for their surfing skills, but they're holding back from competitions for awhile so the kids get their chance to shine. Shanks is known as "that guy who once surfed a tsunami so well he reversed it. Somehow."

Whitebeard is a CPS worker. He has worked at this tirelessly for decades, and ends up fighting a fierce legal battle for Nami, and then later Ace, both of which he wins!

Ace (which was actually how this entire thing started for me) is super competitive and travels around almost as much as the Strawhats do. He wears his hat surfing because of course he does. He's got to be very careful using his Devil Fruit, but he's pulled off some crazy stunts with it.

Buggy the Clown runs a water show with super talented performers; water aerialists, dolphins, even some surfing like the others! He is a terrible surfer but manages to fail upwards into winning an Olympic medal. Whoops!

Vivi is a mayor's daughter and is constantly campaigning for better protection for the local beaches. She's managed to get her hometown safe for the teams to compete at, but she doesn't have a lot of sway outside them, and she had to fight against a certain local business to get that far. She's studying abroad in Europe after she helped, and they miss her a lot :(

Crocodile (mentioned above with Vivi) owns a casino near the beach. Luffy hit him with a supersoaker of ocean water once for putting a hit out on Vivi. I have nothing else for him except "he makes crazy sandcastles"

Mihawk is the World's Greatest Lifeguard, and most of the time people practice perfect water safety around him because he's SCARY to be rescued by. Those eyes....

Most of the first mates (Zoro, Bepo, Killer) are training to be lifeguards. Their captains have devil fruits, they have to.

Corozon is the Heart Pirate's biggest supporter. He loves watching them compete. He's working with Bellemere in her orchard, they know each other from their old police days.

Blackbeard's favorite activity is snitching on other surfers so they get interrupted by the police. He also likes knocking people off their boards. He's never invited to these things, he just shows up.

Uta showed up once to cheer on Luffy, but Blackbeard dropped her location online. The beach got swarmed by fans and they had to cancel :( But she still comments on Nami's social media posts about the competitions and voices her support!

Gecko Moria owns a terrible "haunted water ride" experience and it's terrible and rundown. Kuma, who works for OSCHA, shows up to shut it down but the crew has already beaten up everyone there because someone was being a creep to Nami.

That's all for now! Might add more later as they come up!

Please please reblog <3 I want to hear people's ideas!

#one piece #one piece au #one piece surfer au #monkey d luffy #roronoa zoro #nami #ussop #black leg sanji #tony tony chopper #nico robin #soul king brook #cyborg franky #jinbe #whitebeard one piece

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riksie94 · 5 months

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Embers of the Night

It’s been so long since I’ve actually published any sort of FanFiction, so I’m not expecting this to be perfect by any means. I actually have plenty more ideas but this is a start. This was also be on AO3 once I figure out the nuances of it all…

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51871330

Summary: A loving, tender moment as Tav/Iris puts Rolan’s fears of parenthood to rest.

Notes: Rolan/Named Tav, Soft!Rolan, Pregnancy.

Another day of teaching, another night of grading papers.

In the dimly lit room, Rolan sat hunched over a cluttered desk, immersed in the quiet solitude of night. The pale glow of the flickering candlelight cast shadows as he diligently scored the assignments, yet his distant gaze suggested a mind preoccupied with thoughts beyond the task at hand. The only sounds in the room were the scratching quill on parchment, occasionally punctuated by the shuffle of papers. As the archmage glanced out the window, unspoken thoughts lingered, creating an atmosphere tinged with diligence and distraction. It was difficult for him to remain still as he twitched in his seat, one leg anxiously bouncing in place. Eyelids drooped as a subtle yawn escaped him, highlighting the lines on his face from the weariness of sleepless nights.

Focused on the battle of fighting sleep and finishing his work, the wizard remained oblivious to the subtle rustle of covers and soft footsteps on the wooden floor. The gentle tap on his shoulder startled him and as he turned, his suddenly alert, amber-colored eyes met a pair of drowsy yet concerned azure ones. The familiarity in her gaze eased him, allowing him to relax once more.

Many knew her as the Heroine of Baldur’s Gate: a woman who defeated the Absolute, took down the Chosen Trio, and ended the threat of the Netherbrain. In public, her warm smile and graceful demeanor portrayed a compassionate soul, always ready to lend a hand and radiating benevolence. Yet, her boundless kindness found its boundary when they reunited at Sorcerer’s Sundries and the truth behind the bruises on his face unfolded. A shiver ran down his spine as he remembered: her smile widened, eyes shut, nostrils flared with a deep breath, and fists clenched tightly at her sides. Soon after, with the aid of her party and himself, they swiftly took down Lorroaken, and Rolan became the new master of Ramazith’s Tower.

However, there was more to her than meets the eye. Underneath the friendly exterior was a woman willing to learn and show her worth. Someone who expected too much out of herself, much like himself. No matter how he was toward her, she always exercised patience and kindness in their interactions.

Iris.

In his eyes, she was the love of his life – a radiant ray of sunshine, his favorite heroine. She not only saved him but also his siblings on multiple occasions. Without her, he wouldn't hold the esteemed title of the current Archmage of Ramazith’s Tower, a fact that filled him with eternal gratitude. Their relationship blossomed shortly after the Elder Brain was destroyed.

Cautiously, the tiefling eased the elf onto his lap, tail encircling her thigh. "You should be asleep," Rolan softly scolded, securing his arm around her waist to the best of his ability. Simultaneously, his other hand tenderly sifted through her loose, wavy black hair – a soothing motion intended to coax her into slumber, for she shouldn't stay awake on his account. With an exhausted sigh, he inquired, "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," the druid murmured, nestling against his chest and finding solace beneath his chin. Tired eyes blinked, tempted by the allure of returning to sleep, the calming hand on her scalp enticing her. Yet, beneath the surface calm, worry lingered in her heart. "I sleep more than enough these days, Rolan. You, on the other hand, have been at this for days," Iris replied as she frowned, absentmindedly toying with the material of his sleep shirt. It was her anxious habit, a silent signal of her concern, and the fact that it was about him swelled his heart – the altruism he loved but that sometimes caused him grief when she would endanger herself in the hopes of helping others. "What's on your mind?"

The hand in her hair transitioned to gently grasp her fingers, offering a firm yet reassuring squeeze. Simultaneously, the arm around her waist descended to her abdomen, now rounded with their child. His child. Their child. She freed one of her hands, placing it atop his, her thumb tracing gentle circles—an invitation for him to share and a plea for openness.

Amid Iris' challenging pregnancy marked by severe morning sickness, leaving her perpetually dehydrated and fatigued, Rolan was mindful not to burden her further. He shifted his focus from his concerns to ensuring her well-being. "It's nothing, my dear. You needn't concern yourself over me," he assured, accompanied by a soft kiss to the crown of her head intended to ease her worries. A flutter where their hands connected served as a reminder of the life they had brought into existence.

Discovering she was expecting eight months ago was nothing short of a shock. While the idea of having children had casually surfaced in discussions throughout their relationship, they hadn't actively pursued it—though there were occasional instances he’d bent her over his desk or taken her against a bookcase in a bout of jealously, carelessly forgoing a protection spell. He knew she wanted a family someday, as did he.

When he reflected on it, he acknowledged that his initial reaction to her revelation wasn't one of his finest moments.

“Honey, I’m pregnant.”

“That’s nice, dear.”

Rolan immersed himself in the study of one of the magical artifacts from Lorroaken's labors, one among the numerous in the collection. Despite taking charge of Sorcerer's Sundries a few years ago, he had only explored half of Lorroaken’s extensive collection, carefully concealed from public view.

Iris’ blank stare lingered for a few moments before the weight of the news finally settled in. As realization dawned, he turned to her, eyes widening in surprise. The world seemed to pause as he gazed at her, a mixture of bewilderment and joy playing on his face. After a moment, the wizard couldn't contain his excitement and asked, "Are you certain?"

With eagerness, the high elf nodded, a bright grin on her face. Beneath the cheerful exterior, tears streamed down, and her body trembled with emotion. "A healer confirmed it this morning," she shared, her voice quavering. Soon after, her arms enveloped him, and she buried her face in his chest.

His arms suspended in midair, he was momentarily surprised by the sudden affection, though her displays of love were typically routine. "Is everything alright, my dear?" he inquired, arms eventually encircled her back, one hand rhythmically rubbing in a soothing pattern.

A subtle sniffle escaped her as she gazed up at him, her smile watery and her eyes filled with tears. "I'm fine," she replied, chuckling. "It's just... a lot for me to take in now. I feel like this hasn’t sunken in yet.”

"I understand," he affirmed with a nod, "but in any circumstance, I'll stand beside you every step of the way." Cupping her chin, he gently tilted her head for a soft, minty kiss—a taste of the herbs she had consumed that morning—before delivering small pecks all over her face, causing them both to break down in fits of giggles. His tail eagerly swished behind him. “I did say through sickness and in health, did I not?” He teased, genuinely smiling at her giggle.

"Surprised I stuck around after all we've been through?"

Feigning exaggeration, he sighed. "Dealing with your antics is a challenge. You've given me near-heart attacks." His arms tenderly caressed her hips.

She laughed wholeheartedly, relishing his theatrics. "You love me for it," she teased, wrapping her arms around his neck, legs around his waist. Playfully, she added, "What would you do without me?" Rolan responded with a love nip to her neck, causing her to squeal.

Chuckling, he supported her on the kitchen counter, hands caging her in. "I meant it—I'll be with you through all of this," his gaze dropping to her flat stomach, one hand cautiously lifting to gingerly rest on it.

With a light smile, she nudged his chin to meet her eyes and put her other hand on his. "I know. There's no one else I'd want to start this journey with."

"Rolan?" As he immersed himself in the echoes of the past, her touch on the right side of his face a gentle anchor. He leaned into the caress, reminiscent of the time she healed him after battling the shadow creatures. The memory of her skin against his still made his face flush with a vivid hue.

He recognized the discerning gaze she cast upon him, piercing through his facade. A deep sigh escaped his lips. "Fine, fine... I'm concerned about our child."

“Is this about that comment the healer made? Because she said everything else is normal-“

“No, no, it’s not that.” He shook his head, loosening more strands of hair from his disheveled ponytail. It was a small concern in his mind, one that was overshadowed by another. “There’s still so much to do, so much to plan for.”

She shifted in his lap, leveraging the advantage of her smaller than average baby bump. Straddling him, her hands grasped his shoulders for stability. His hands moved to her hips, tail subtly wagging. “One day at a time," she interrupted, emphasizing each word with a series of kisses across his face, concluding with a lingering one on his lips, prompting his tail to wrap around her waist as best it could.

Despite being together for two years, the gesture still made his face flush. “What if I’m a bad father?” He asked, eyes shamefully looking to the side, “What if I can’t protect them? Gods, I couldn’t even save Cal and Lia from Moonrise, let alone defeat some shadow creatures—“

Her hands gently cradled his face. "What if you're not? Rolan, I believe you'll be a great father to this little one." She placed his hand on her belly, smiling. "Our past led us here, and we face this journey together. Mistakes may happen, but we'll love them, provide them a home. We're a team; you’re not alone. We'll succeed where our parents failed, ensure them a life of happiness and health." Tears streamed down her cheeks as she envisioned a brighter future.

He carefully wiped the tears from her face with his thumb, looking at her with a softened gaze. Much like himself, Iris was also abandoned by her parents at a young age. Her difficult past was a sensitive topic for her still, years later. In the quiet embrace of the night, Rolan absorbed the warmth of her presence, tightening his hold around her. "You're right," he admitted, a mixture of vulnerability and determination in his eyes. "One day at a time."

With a gentle smile, Iris continued, "We'll face whatever comes our way together. You won't be alone, and I have no doubt you'll be an amazing father." Her fingers intertwined with his on her belly.

Feeling the weight of her trust, Rolan's doubts began to ebb away. He tenderly kissed her forehead. "Thank you, Iris. I needed that."

She grinned. "Glad I could be of assistance.” With some assistance from Rolan and the desk, she stood up. “Now, how about returning to bed? I miss my strong, charming wizard."

A smirk graced his face. "I suppose I've done enough work for the night."

She guided him to his feet with a gentle pull. "And could you read to me? Pretty please?"

He furrowed his brow as she requested another reading. "Another bad dream?" Iris haunted by recurring nightmares since defeating the Elder Brain, found them more persistent during her pregnancy.

Shamefully, she averted her gaze and nervously rubbed the back of her neck. "Yeah," she admitted, meekly.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Her silent shake of the head was the answer. He sighed, knowing she usually preferred to keep things to herself. Concerning as it was, now wasn’t the time to bring it up. "Yes, of course I can."

She pulled back the covers and settled underneath. "Thank you, truly."

Slipping under the covers, he joined her, and she nestled into his chest again. Retrieving the book from the side table, he opened it to the bookmarked page.

As they lingered in each other’s soothing presence, Rolan felt a newfound sense of calm settled over him. The night continued, now with a shared resolve to face the future hand in hand.

Peace reigned until the following morning, when they discovered Iris had been in active labor for half the night, nearly causing Rolan to lose his mind.

#bg3 rolan #rolan #rolan bg3 #rolan x reader #rolan x tav #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #tav x rolan

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btsbabe7 · 4 days

Text

Coffee Beans (love you a latte)

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x reader

Word Count: 2k

Synopsis: After a sudden breakup, you find yourself reuniting with your estranged best friend over lattes in a small coffee shop.

Sebastian sits next to you in the corner of a tiny coffee shop in London, his lanky frame barely filling out the spine of the chair. His fingertips tap against the burning porcelain cup nestled between his palms, the steam curling from the top of the cup in a ghastly swirl. He stares down at it in a sleepy daze, perplexed about why he’s here after you’d successful banished him for six months for the sake of your Gryffindor boyfriend, Garreth Weasley.

The silver-charmed bell nailed to the worn door of the tucked away coffee shop had ding-donged upon your arrival, coming to a halt seconds after the warmth of late Spring rolled in with you. Sebastian hadn’t as much as uttered a hello when you’d greeted him at the edge of the sticky counter upon your arrival in your own tone of weariness. He had barely glanced at you to take in your new shoulder length curls and freshly cut bangs, nor the healing of the scar left behind on the right side of your neck after your battle with Ranrok. The battle had been a year ago. The hair cut, only a couple days old. Surely he’d noticed your fading scar in the passings in the corridors or when he’d catch Garreth consoling you after a long day during dinner in The Great Hall. But he hated it, you know he hates it all.

“Seb—“ you whisper, starting slow, softly.

“Does he know you’re here?” He interrupts, eyes low and focused on the frothy milk overlaying his coffee.

You sputter softly, attempting to swallow a scoff, but knowing the question is valid. You’re the one that stopped hanging out with Sebastian. It felt appropriate once you realized Garreth’s request wasn’t entirely unreasonable.

The smell of freshly poured coffee beans and the humming of the expresso machine pulls your attention for a moment. The distant clinking of a spoon hitting the wall of a porcelain cup, the tear of a sugar packet or two, the frothing sound of whipped cream topping a to-go order, a soft piano melody flowing throughout the space. You think of Garreth alone in his dorm right now, using the quiet to think up whatever scenarios that ransack his brain whenever you two part.

“He doesn’t.”

A smug smirk appears on the corner of his lips, then falls back into a pensive pout. He shuffles in his seat, slowly opening up to you, chest coming into view first. His eyes roam over the empty tables beyond you, then you as if they’ve waited years to do so, and your shoulders shrink in relief.

Gazing back at him, you can’t believe you’d actually gone a full minute without engaging with your best friend. You must’ve been cursed to have gone a full six months with no contact, aside from passings in the hallway and The Great Hall. In the realization of it all, you’re thankful he hasn’t changed, not one bit, and you’re eager to pick up where you’d left off. At least in this moment, you believe you are.

“What’s my mortal enemy up to this time, if not courting you over breakfast? You two snog so much over morning pumpkin juice that the thought alone makes me want to hurl.”

Your cheeks burn hot at the thought of Sebastian seeing you kiss Garreth—watching, so much that it bothers him, haunts his thoughts and makes him sick to his stomach when he’s not even around.

“Garreth’s Garreth… You know, concocting strange inventions and attempting to find subjects to test them on. But that’s not why you agreed to come, not to speak about him...”

“I still don’t understand it all,” he starts. “He knows I’ve been in your life long before you saved that damned school. We were the best of friends, closer than Ominis and I. That was a threat to him and he deliberately complained that I was trying to steal you from him. Why?”

You avoid his eyes, once against knowing he’s right. Yet, Sebastian always manages to dismiss the events leading up to the main issue.

“Seb—“

He takes a long sip of his latte and readjusts, leaning back against the spine of the rattan chair before meeting your eyes again.

“Sebastian, he saw you kiss me…”

His cheeks turn as red as the cherry tomatoes in his uncle’s garden back in Feldcroft. As the realization settles in, there’s a long silence between the two of you. Had Sebastian not kissed you knowing you were still dating Garreth at the time, you wouldn’t have had to wedge so much distance. His excuse of drinking too much Butterbeer wasn’t a good enough explanation and Garreth had given you the ultimatum. You’d never seen him so upset. And as much as you wanted to defend Sebastian, your best friend, he was being reckless, jealous and territorial over something that didn’t belong to him. Even you couldn’t hide from that truth.

“I don’t regret it,” he says curtly, words cutting through your thoughts like a freshly sharpened dagger. “I would’ve kissed you a hundred times more had you not carved me out. Garreth doesn’t know you. He wasn’t there. He was working on dumb potions and those damned trick jellybeans while you and I were out there in the real world. Fighting goblins, trying to find a cure for Anne, piecing together Isidora’s triptych... We were risking our lives while he dallied around playing games. He’s never put his life on the line for you, Y/n.”

You scoff loudly, cheeks burning as hot as the untouched cup in front of you. You hate that he’s right every single time, but that means nothing right now. You liked Garreth. You loved his immaturity, his view of seeing some things in life differently. He showed you that everything didn’t always need to be taken seriously and Sebastian didn’t respect it.

“After Ranrok, Garreth was there.”

“Damn right he was,” Sebastian curses. “He was there like the rest, groveling at your feet after you’d saved the entire school. Everyone showered you in false love and compliments. I’ve loved you from the start.”

Your heart wrenches.

Not once has Sebastian admitted to loving you, ever. There were hints, signs. He was around so much that he’d practically become your shadow. He’s become more familiar than the lines on your palms or the spells you’d practiced endlessly into perfection. Your partnership in Crossed Wands and helping him find a cure for his sister had turned into a quickly blossoming friendship. You’d even found yourself thinking of him late at night when you should’ve been focused on planning for the doom that crawled closer— Rookwood, Ranrok, untamable ancient magic, the list could go on and on, but all you could think about was Sebastian Sallow.

A part of you was relieved when he’d asked you to dance at Natty’s party; you needed a moment away from Garreth, a moment to breathe. Though, you never expected Sebastian to take your breath away. You still remember the heavy smell of spiked Butterbeer on his lips, the sweet, thick taste of butterscotch and the scent of burnt timber lingering between you two. He’d been practicing Confringo again in The Undercroft beforehand. And the kiss felt like a dream, pulling everything you’d ever felt about him into a neat package with a shiny green bow. You just hadn’t expected Garreth to see it. And when he did, he knew Sebastian had to go, even if it killed you.

“We broke up,” you finally find the courage to speak.

That’s the reason you’d sent your white-feathered owl, Nora, to Sebastian two nights ago. Two days more without him felt like an eternity and you weren’t sure he’d show after all this time. You’d only hoped.

“I’m not surprised. You wouldn’t be here had it not happened, you’re too loyal. Maybe my tiny presence in your life of seeing you in passings has become too unbearable. He’d have me exiled if it were up to him.”

“I mean… I broke up with him. Six months was too long, Sebastian, and you didn’t even try to weasel your way back in. You just—you just let me go. You made it look so easy.”

“Easy!? Have I not suffered enough? Put myself on the line for you so many times? And need I remind you, you chose Weasley over me? That was your doing, Y/n,” he rants. “Looks can be deceiving, but I knew you’d come back. That’s what happens to the things we lose that are meant to be. And in those six months, I suffered, endlessly. Ominis could hardly stand my sulking much more before Nora showed with your letter. To think, all the times he told me I should admit how I felt, even during those six months, I didn’t listen. I didn’t want to ruin your perfect relationship with Garreth, or rather, I couldn’t. You would’ve hated me. I’m stubborn like you’ve said before, but I know, truly, that I’ve loved you and I still do now. No dumbwitted Gryffindor can change that.”

You can’t take it anymore, the racing of your heart, the heaviness of abandoning him. You couldn’t be with Garreth when your heart and soul craved Sebastian. You broke Garreth’s heart to be here, but that was something you could live with. Abandoning Sebastian wasn’t. It pulled and tugged at you in the worst and best of times. It haunted you when you were alone, when you were kissing Garreth, when he’d stay the night to cuddle in your dorm. Your mind had always gone back to the reckless, brown eyed, freckle faced Slytherin right in front of you.

“I love you too, you know?” You mutter nonchalantly, hoping the words don’t go straight to his skull. “I think it was destined to happen the day we met… when we dueled in Defense Against the Dark Arts.”

He smiles charmingly, attempting to hold back a smirk and a teasing laugh at the distant memory. Because why wouldn’t you have fallen for him? His sarcasm, charms and good looks were always there.

“I really knew when you opened up to me about your sister,” you continue. “When you realized you could do the important things without me, yet you still wanted me there. Even when it went against your best friend or your better judgment. You allowed me to see you, all of you. All the good and bad, Sebastian, and I love every single part of you.”

Sebastian’s eyes meet yours again, heavy, tired, and holding back tears. He’s missed you more than you’ll ever know, probably more than you missed him since you had Garreth to fill the void. Your voice, he missed the most. Your laughter, your deadpan humor and crappy puns. He missed the way you smelled, some muggle perfume you’d spritz yourself with in the mornings that made you smell of fresh flowers. A charm followed that you’d found in a book to make it last all day. He missed the way your skin and hair glistened in the moonlight when you’d both sneak out to fly broomsticks to Hogsmeade for a Butterbeer or two while the others slept. He missed practicing in The Undercroft with you, and Ominis lecturing him on the way back to the dorms about how he could feel the love in the air. He missed the warmth of you lying your head in his lap to vent to him under the old beech tree near Black Lake. He’d fallen in love with the sight of golden speckles reflecting in your irises when the branches began to sway just right with the breeze, exposing your features to the sun’s rays. He missed your smile, your lips, the way you’d tie your robe at your waist instead of wearing it. He missed and loved all of you. And he can’t fight the urge anymore. The heaviness of his own heart won’t let him, not with you this close, and not knowing that you’re no longer accounted for.

“We should get out of here, others might report back that you’ve gotten over your heartbreak rather quickly. Wouldn’t want that getting back to that poor Gryffindor of yours.”

“He’s not mine anymore,” you grumble and pinch Sebastian’s arm with a giggle. “But you’re right, we should go.”

“You still have that Room of Requirement? I think a single bed will suffice.”

You roll your eyes, holding back a giggle at his obviousness.

“We’ll go to my dorm first,” you reply before pecking a quick kiss on the corner of his lips that leaves his cheeks blushing. “Then, we’ll see if we truly require the room.”

He takes your hand in his right and leads you out of the tiny coffee shop. The silver bell ding dongs against the door once more, ushering you both into the warmth of Spring. And with a smile on his face, he’s ready to apparate anywhere in the world, as long as you promise to remain by his side.

Please be sure to check out my other latest fics:

⚡︎ November Prompt Challenge (days 1-30)

⚡︎ For You Always - reader x Snape

~ Navi: masterlist (all fandoms)

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction, but please don’t copy! Written purely for fun :) Please only repost to other socials w/my permission and credit! Reblogging w/credit is fine. Thank you! ♡

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captain-mj · 1 year

Note

I know I already sent a Körangi ask, but the selkie!Soap and changeling!Ghost au won’t leave my brain.

The amount of angst possible for these two in it is just aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah u feel me? Like for example, imagine on a mission Soap has been talking non-stop, flirting making jokes and Ghost tells him to shut up. HE WOULD HAVE TO SHUT UP!! Ghost would probably think Soap‘s being petty until he asks for a sitrep or something and Soap has to stay silent. Ghost grows more and more panicked until he says something like "goddamn it, talk to me, Johnny!" (if it’s the good ending yknow) and Soap can finally talk again.

The bad ending would obviously be Soap getting into trouble and being unable to ask for help :)

Genius take, hell yeah (this takes place at some random part in the timeline lol)

Soap had been... particularly good at taking orders lately. Ghost had picked up on it and he thought it was pretty odd, but nothing he was really worried about it. It made missions easier, knowing Johnny would actually follow his orders for once.

This mission required Ghost to be focused and that was becoming increasingly hard.

"I'm just asking if your career ever comes up."

"You asked if it comes up in the bedroom. Bit different of an ask."

"Yeah. I mean with the mask and the knives and the ability to tie someone up and..."

"Soap, stop talking." Ghost growled, pleasantly surprised when Soap did in fact stop talking. Complete silence flooded the coms and that meant Ghost could focus on aiming.

He heard gunshots. Dozens of them. He waited for it to die down to ask. "Soap, sitrep?"

More silence.

"Soap, sitrep?" Ghost sighed. He swore if he was being an ass over him telling him to shut up. "Johnny. Sitrep. Are you solid?"

There was still nothing.

Ghost started to sweep the area with his scope, trying to find him. He ignored the growing anxiety that something was very wrong. There was an odd sensation across his own mouth, like someone was holding their hand over it.

"Johnny, what's going on? Are you compromised?"

Soap's heavy breathing came over the coms but he still wasn't speaking. Why wasn't he speaking? Ghost looked around more.

"I'll cover you. I just need to know where you are." Ghost could hear the distress in his own voice. "Soa-"

A gunshot shattered the air. It came through the comms this time. Ghost suddenly felt very sick.

"Johnny? Please, sitrep." He heard it. The panic in his voice. If this was anyone else, he'd like to think he could keep it under control, but this was Soap.

No response.

"I'm going to kick your ass when you get up here. You better fucking get up here." Ghost spotted him. He was holding his side, blood dripping. Maybe his radio was damaged.

One of the men started to round the corner, gun moving up. Ghost put a bullet through their brain before they got the chance.

He went under the assumption the radio was broken, not bothering to speak. From his position, he cleared a fucking trial. Soap was smart enough to follow.

MacTavish crawled his way through everyone and ended up right at Ghost's side again.

Ghost resisted the urge to throttle the man or hug him since they were still in an active battle situation.

"Radio busted?" It didn't look broken, but it wasn't always obvious.

Soap stared at him, mouth pressed into a thin line.

"Johnny?"

Soap had his hand over his wound and just stared.

Ghost moved closer and lifted his shirt to look at the wound. He put his hand on his other side and looked at him closely. The wound looked bad, but maybe that was why he was being quiet.

"Are you okay? Nod for me if you're okay."

Soap nodded slowly. He stared at Ghost.

"Johnny, please talk to me."

Soap let out a deep breath. "I'm so sorry, sir."

Ghost hit his shoulder hard. "Save it. Let's get out of here."

"Si..." Soap went to explain.

"Shut up and get to evac."

"...yes, sir."

#Johnny Soap Mactavish #Simon Ghost Riley #Soap Cod #Ghost COD #Soapghost #Ghostsoap #Soap x Ghost #Ghost x Soap #Macriley #Call of Duty #Call Of Duty Modern Warfare 2

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shuttershocky · 1 year

Note

shutters, thoughts on lingering echoes' story?

the moment that personally hit me the hardest was czerny seeing the wall and accepting that, no, he couldn't rise above it, and wouldn't ever, but that didn't matter to him. like, man. had to put it down for a sec, cus there's always going to be someone better in everything and the weight of child prodigies and being content with what you have. and the backstory behind the naming of afterglow as well.

I really liked it actually. Love having a complete and standalone Arknights story, with well-defined characters, a plot that's actually easy to follow for once, and of course fascinating worldbuilding. it's great to finally see adult Hibiscus after focusing on Lava for so long (it really is just Fang left for a future alt huh), and I didn't even mean to get Ebenholz, but after finishing the story I just had to grab him.

There were a lot of moments i really enjoyed in the latter half, but this is the one that really got me.

This was what it was all about. Lingering Echoes' trailer told a grandiose tale about the rise of the Witch King, his reign of terror that lasted a century and a half, the war with Gaul that became the continent-spanning War of Four Emperors, then finally the Witch king's defeat at the hands of the Twin Empresses.

But Lingering Echoes itself isn't about any of the grand battles and and history-defining moments that shaped the fate of Terra itself. It's a small, personal story about people still attempting to move on from the wounds that the Witch King left behind, how there are those who would do anything to bring such a tyrant back, and how ultimately not even the Witch King's unrivaled power in Arts could match the strength of friendship and love between people who found each other through /the/ arts.

Czerny, Kreide, and Ebenholz quite literally battle the power of the Witch King through their shared passion for music. I especially liked the part where Czerny realizes that the Witch King's Arts, the bastard's sole chance at a resurrection by taking over someone's body, exists as the notes of a song. Even when Czerny interacts with the Voices and is shown a vision symbolizing how puny he is against the might of the Witch King, he pushes those feelings of inferiority out of his mind and mentally sets his opponent as himself rather than the Witch King, because he refuses to fail from such a simple thing as lacking the necessary talent or power to win when he could save the two boys if he just pushes himself to his limits.

Then when the concert is done, and Kreide wins the self-sacrificial Mexican standoff the three of them get into for who would be the sacrificial host for the Witch King's powers, Kreide spells out how they'll defeat the remnants of the strongest caster in history.

The Witch King's power appears as a voice in Kreide's mind, assaulting his senses and forcing him to bend, telling him that his entire life was pain and misfortune and unending misery in a process that seems eerily similar to how the Deathless Black Snake broke Talulah.

But no matter how hard the Witch King's power howls and how right it is that Kreid's life has been suffering, he'll deny that his life was defined by that torment. Not when he felt kindness from strangers. Not when he met a teacher who taught him to play the Cello and love music. Not when he got to meet Ebenholz again.

That's why Ebenholz can't lose to the Witch King. Their rebellion is against the cruelty of fate itself. What can the Witch King's remnants do to people who were doomed by history and yet still found ways to be happy?

#Arknights

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whiskeynwriting · 10 months

Note

The way you write ghost is so genuine and realistic, he actually seems like a real person that i can clearly imagine in real life, i love ghost x bones!!

Would you ever write heartbreaking whump/angst for them? Literally bring me to tears, i’m ready for it

Love @sanfransolomitatm (that’s me) 🤍

Challenge accepted.

Also, thank you so much for the compliments, oh my goodness. The fact that he feels like a genuine person is so flattering to me, and I'm so glad he can be portrayed that way 🥹 I am also beyond thrilled to know that you love Ghost x Bones 🥰🥰🥰

Love Is a Sin (Part Two)

Simon "Ghost" Riley x OFC "Bones"

◆

Word Count: 10.2k

Warnings: 18+ (minors DNI)

Lord… there’s a lot. Mentions of pregnancy/pregnancy tests, loss/death, injury/gore, battle, use of weaponry, angst, mentions of past abuse, mentions/discussions of funeral details, PTSD and therapy, brain injury, major grief.

◆

A/N: Here’s part two! As promised, it’s much darker. My goal here was to pull emotions out of you guys, let me know how I did (;

Read part one here 🥰

◆

Simon “Ghost” Riley Masterlist

Join My Taglist!

◆

“Alright,” Price booms, stomping into the room. “Let’s circle up. We’ve got plans to discuss.”

Already, he hates this. The entire atmosphere has shifted from light and lazy to dark and perilous. Simon can feel his heart rate increasing, his breaths deep and dragging. The mere thought of you in the field makes him want to jump up and wrap you in his arms, drag you away and hide you somewhere safe. What he hates even more than the possibility of that happening is the fact that he allowed it, he’s allowed this to happen. It wasn’t exactly his call to make, but he would’ve made it, and he didn't.

He’s made his bed, and this time, he’s got to lay in it.

So, without much choice, he watches his men regroup in front of him, with his partner sitting up to join in. Price tosses out the maps, Gaz whips out the compass, and Johnny’s already pulling out snacks. Tugging down his mask, Simon releases a harsh sigh, nothing that really draws anyone’s attention, though. He’s pretty much always cranky, and with you here, that trait has grown tenfold.

When Simon reaches for your hand on the couch, your eyes widen. What the hell is he doing? But before you can react, and before anyone else has a chance to see, Johnny tosses a protein bar at the lieutenant.

“Johnny, what the fuck?”

“Don’t be dumb.” Johnny scolds outwardly, scowling at his closest friend.

Price can feel something lingering in the air, an awkward silence, a secret. But he pushes it away. Glancing between his teammates, he clasps his hands together.

“Alright, let’s get to it, then.”

Here we go.

“No man’s land.” Price’s raspy voice begins, finger pressing into the map. “Are we ready for that?”

Easily, the boys respond. Gaz’s simple yes, Johnny’s hell yes, and Ghost’s ‘course we are. And with a contented smirk, Price then turns in your direction.

“Are you?”

You can’t deny the feeling of anxiety surrounding this entire mission. Every time the plans are detailed and discussed, a sort of nervous bile rises in your throat. But you’re here for a reason, and you can’t let the rest of them down. You won’t.

“Yes.”

“Good lass. Gaz, what’ve you got?”

Kyle had performed aerial surveillance before the mission began on foot, scouting the area for more details.What he discovered wasn’t easy to stomach, but was to be expected.

“Casualties by the dozens all throughout. The cadavers are mostly soldiers, troops that had gone in before us. Some had been taken hostage, maybe two or three, but the rest didn’t survive.”

“Bones,”

Instantly, your head shoots up, looking into the blue eyes of your captain. “You stay focused on us, alright? The five of us, that means yourself, too. There’s no bother in saving any of those dead men; am I clear?”

Swallowing, you nod. Though his words are harsh, he means well, and he’s right. Any body on that field is just that, a body, an unfortunate result of war. You have to focus on who’s alive, and keeping them alive.

“Yes, sir.”

More than ever before, Simon wants to hold you. The muscles in his hand twitch slightly, wanting to curl his palm around your thigh in a comforting squeeze. He knows this won’t be easy for you. While you’ve seen battle before, you’ve never gone into the field as a medic. Years ago, you focused on killing. It’s a whole different ball game when you switch gears to saving.

“The reason they all died,” Kyle continues, “Is because they didn’t have you.”

Looking his way, you find a reassuring grin. Returning his encouraging words is your simple nod, a small sense of pride shifting in your features. Your team believes in you.

“When we get across to the building, and that is a when,” The captain clarifies, “Bones will find coverage. She will not be infiltrating with us. In hiding, she’ll wait for our radio. Once we’ve confirmed our kill count, we’ll leave the building… completely empty of souls.”

And when he adds that last little tidbit, the boys around you hum, a certain excitement flowing through their veins. But Simon’s adrenaline rush is also coupled with anxiety. Outside alone? He questions, it’ll be far too easy for them to reach her. But your captain is confident you’ll be able to hold your own, and Ghost needs to try his hand in having faith in that.

“You need to be careful with her.”

“And you need to watch yourself!” Ghost scoffs in return, inching away from his friend. “I can’t take a piss in private?”

Johnny shrugs, “Needed to piss, too.”

With a heavy groan, Simon rolls his eyes, redirecting himself to the task at hand, literally.

“What do you mean, anyways?”

“You’ve gone soft.”

“For her.” He mumbles, and Johnny’s brows raise.

“Holy shite.”

“Shut it, Johnny. There’s nothing wrong with it.” It’s not just Soap he’s trying to convince.

“But there’s something wrong with you.” The sergeant snaps back. “You’re never like this on missions.”

Now, he doesn’t respond. If he’s honest with himself, he doesn’t know what to say; Johnny’s right. He’s too far in his own head to focus on anything else, the details of this mission fleeting tidbits in his brain.

“You need to get your head on straight before you get yourself hurt.”

Again, he’s right. Acting like this is dangerous. You’re an incredible distraction for him, you have been since day one. But this isn’t something he can fight. Last night was… something else. It was different, dare he even say special. It was the most intimate moment you’ve shared. There’s no denying it, Simon feels tied to you.

“Simon,” He then says, truly drawing Ghost’s attention. “I’m happy for you, I really am. I’ve never seen you take such a liking to a person… aside from me.” With that, he nudges his shoulder, grinning.

“Get on with it, Johnny.” But beneath the mask, he’s smiling, too.

“I think you’d be an idiot to lose this, her.” He states, accent just as strong as his candid nature. “And anywhere else, it’d be a great thing. But not here, not now.”

At this, Simon turns his head toward his friend, eyeing him beneath the forest’s dimness. It’s grown dark out, the trees hiding the cabin well enough to be comfortable for another night. And he knows once he goes back inside, he’ll cozy up next to you.

“She’s a teammate out here.” Johnny says, ending his ramble. “Nothing more.” And with that, Johnny’s zipping himself up to head back inside.

That last statement rings throughout Simon’s head, barreling through any sentimental thought. He’s close with his teammates, would do almost anything for them. But for you, he’s wondering what he wouldn’t do. Johnny’s words were true, but it doesn’t really help his situation. He can’t shove down his feelings for you. Sure, he can restrain himself from being outwardly affectionate. But keeping you safe? That was a priority for him.

Back inside, everyone’s picked a spot in the living room. A few blankets had been dragged out from the bedroom, one for each of you to lay on. And with your Mylar thermal blankets, you were more than warm enough for the night. Simon can see you huddled up beneath the shiny material in the far corner of the living area, right beside the couch. Your back is up against the wall and Simon can already see that you’ve laid a blanket out for him right next to you.

Sometimes, your relationship feels like a school-age crush. Saving a seat for each other at the lunch table, pulling out chairs for the other, giving and trading snacks, all nonverbal gestures that are just… sweet, considerate. Evidence of an unspoken connection.

“Thanks, love.” Simon mumbles, grunting as he lays down on the tattered fabric.

“No problem.” You’re laying on your side, already smiling at him.

“Stop lookin’ at me like that.” Settling on his left side, he faces you with his back toward the group.

“Why? Are you blushing?” Teasingly, you grin, watching the corners of his eyes crinkle. He’s smiling. And you’d give anything to see it.

“Shut up.” The roll of his eyes is such a tell-tale sign for him; he could never be annoyed with you, not truly.

Turning slightly, Simon settles on his back. Within the cabin’s darkness, you scooch a little closer, nuzzling into his side. His bulking body hides you, too, his insides burning bright with affection when your lips press against his covered bicep, wet from the snowfall during his earlier outdoor excursion. But you don’t mind. You’re not as close as you were last night, or the night previous in your little tent, but this will do. You’ll take what you can, because you always sleep so soundly next to him.

Simon can tell you’re sleeping well, your snores are evidence of that. And in the darkness of night, he almost feels comfortable again. There isn’t a single worry in his mind regarding the lads, he’d even grown the confidence to wiggle his arm beneath your head, pulling you into him. However, there were many worries brewing in his head about you. More than ever before, he feels a need to preserve this, to keep your relationship intact. He loathes the fact that this happened here, your expression of love for him. If anything, he wishes it’d happened back at base, somewhere truly safe and private.

Guiding him away from such anxious contemplation is your soft, sleepy moan, and the movement of your hand. Lifting your palm, it slides up and over his side, resting on his chest. But you don’t stop there. Sleepy digits move around the neckline of his shirt, searching for something. And then he realizes - his dog tags. Once found, you cling to them, body curling into his side even more than before. Jesus, do you pull every ounce of sweetness from him. The simple motion makes him sigh, eyes closing as he revels in this. He hopes he never loses this.

It was an action you’d done a few times before, something that’s almost become routine. Every other night, it seems, you like to play with them. Awake or asleep, you find some sense of comfort with the small, metal plates. They represent him, his existence, the man that he is.

For some reason, you thought this would be… louder, scarier, more intense than it is. Although, it’s just the approach, just the simple shuffle of feet through the woods. Maybe you expected the enemy to be ready, to pounce on you once you were a foot outside the cabin. But it seems Price was successful with his planning. You’re going to surprise them.

With weapons up and at the ready, you move slowly, steadily, scanning the area as you approach. The air is still, a small chill moving through the woods. It holds you captive, steals your breath and haunts your bones. Something is coming.

Each of you are spaced a bit from the other, a few yards in between each of your teammate’s movements. With your rifles up and aimed, you wonder, what are you aiming for? Any man? A possible vehicle? Movement throughout the slightly rocky terrain? Jesus, it’s been years since you’d been at this. But you’re ready, you can feel it.

Raising a fist, Price signals your halt. Each of your steps still, your breaths held while your hearts pound. What does he see?

As soon as you all stop, Ghost is looking to his right, assessing you. Your gun’s safety is off, you’re holding it properly, and your stance is right on. The sight makes him proud.

That’s my girl.

Through the comms, Soap’s voice comes through. “What’s goin’ on?”

“Five men, weapons in hand and flanking right.”

“Approaching?” Ghost’s gruff voice inquires, eyes narrowing.

“Not yet; they’re flanking to opposite sides of the building, crouching. They’re ready for us, lads.”

So much for the element of surprise.

“We’re crouching. Continue approach, and watch yer heads.”

“Sir.” Johnny responds, his voice firm.

In unison, your group moves forward, scopes searching for this small group of men. Movement to the left of the building calls for your attention, and you wonder…

“Are we shooting?” Whispering into the comms, you keep your eye on a rustling bit of brush, the top of a man’s head clearly visible.

“Not yet. Stay out of their line of fire.” Price returns, stern with his command.

Irritation courses through you, as you now have a clear visual of the enemy’s head. Still, you return with gritted teeth, “Aye.”

“Boys, line up.” He then decides, “Left to right, we’re each taking a man. Bones, keep eyes on your current target, and wait for my go ahead.”

“Yes, sir.”

With Ghost on your left, Price is directly to your right, and then Gaz and Soap. Each man walks on until they find their target within the group, sounding off into the comms once this first step is done.

“We drop ‘em together, swift and silent.”

“Aye.”

“Sir.”

“Yes, sir.”

And then, your turn. “On your signal, Price.” He can tell you’re getting agitated, and it humors him.

Looking off to his left, Price can see you through the brush with his own eyes. Returning his gaze, you witness his amused smirk, an expression that aggravates you further. He’s such a father figure, holding you back before you make a wrong move, guiding you toward the correct path.

“Shoot.”

Just as he predicted, your targets drop in unison. A single bullet zips through each man’s head, penetrating their skulls and knocking them dead. On your own target, a spurt of blood shoots from his skin as he drops, the firm thud of his body heard even from your position.

“Advance.”

Shuffling your feet, you roll your shoulders, breaths steady as you walk toward the building. The surrounding cover of forest you’d been using is starting to wear thin; when you’re on unmarked land, there’ll be close to nothing keeping you from getting hit.

“Halt.” The word isn’t rushed or frantic, but demanding as all hell..

No man’s land is only a few yards away from where you stand, the bodies of dead men scattering the dusty earth. From the angle you’re at, you’re unable to see their wounds directly. But that’s just fine, the sight would only distract you.

“Landmines.”

“Where?” Immediately, Ghost is speaking, having to actively stop his feet from moving closer to you.

“Surrounding the perimeter.” Price clarifies, heavy breaths coming through the radio’s static. “Retrieve your GPR’s.”

While the Ground Penetrating Radars in your packs aren’t exactly ideal, they’re still useful. Though smaller than the usual model, they can detect the electrical current of the explosive. However, it can also confuse any type of metal with a mine, too. Being that many, if not all of these bodies have dog tags around their necks, this could be difficult.

As you continue on, you hear the occasional notification, the small sound from one of your teammate’s readings. And at first, it’s terrifying. Every time you hear a machine go off, you expect an explosion. But these aren’t rookies you’re dealing with; they have decades of expert experience. You thought that’d make this a piece of cake.

Propelled through the air, your body is flung into a pit. The shrill ring in your ears prevents you from accurately hearing the shouts of your team, eyes blinking widely as you regain your bearings. What… happened? Who set one off?

Before you can hear the words of your comrades, the quick zip of lead rushes through the air. The ringing in your head only heightens now, your first instinct being to duck. Shoving yourself further into the pit, your bruised body rolls down the multiple mounds of dirt, finally landing at the bottom.

Cocking your gun, you almost can’t seem to get air in fast enough. You’re already bleeding from the side of your head, nothing extreme but it will definitely have to be looked at. For now, though, you need to come back down. Looking to your left, you’re relieved to see that you aren’t alone. That is, until you identify them.

William Anderson

John Davis

Henry Miller

You don’t know any of them.

Eyes scanning the surrounding figures, they widen, breaths now coming all too quick. It’s like you’re seeing zombies; some eyes are open, black and bloodied and staring into your soul. Others are closed, having embraced the sweet release of death. Limbs have been blown off, flesh rotting as it mixes with the dirt. Legs and arms are twisted, distorted in otherworldly ways. Torn pieces of their uniforms, dog tags that have yet to be collected. Hair muddled and out of code, jaws open and broken.

But the medic in you comes to. Regardless of the injury on your head, and the fresh bruises on your limbs, you move. Whipping out a pair of latex gloves, you scramble toward the dead men. Reaching for their necks, your fingers curl around the circular metals to grab and tear them from their chains. Blood smears across your covered fingers, flesh moving as you dig through clothes to find some of the identification. Hurriedly, you stash them away, using the inner compartment of your jacket. They deserve to be remembered.

“Bones!”

“Copy.” Your voice is rushed, panting on the other end as you collect what remains of the lives now lying dead.

“Get to Gaz.”

“Location?”

“East of the building, along the treeline.”

Shit. Right now, you’re on the opposite end. Regardless, your response is, “Copy.”

Now that you’ve given yourself a moment, you can fully hear the surrounding commotion. You can also hear the way Ghost has been frantically calling your name through your personal comms.

“Bones? Bones?! Fucking Christ, please.”

“Ghost, I’m here.”

And that scares you more than anything. You’ve never heard him so distressed.

“Where are you?”

As soon as you were out of sight, Simon was an absolute fucking mess. It took everything in him not to leap after you into that trench, doing his best to remind himself that you've done this before. You’re good at your job and you can take care of yourself but he needs to take care of you.

The field has never felt so chaotic before. And he usually loves this, the thrill is just too addicting. But right now, he can’t get his head on straight, not until he hears your voice.

“In a pit.” Replying quietly, you gain the courage to glance over the edge. From here, you can see the far east side of the building. That’s where you need to be.

“Still?!” Simon replies, ducking behind a boulder before reaching over and taking a few shots. “You need to move!”

“Heading for the building’s east side.”

Simon was still in the forest when the landmine went off, far enough away to not get hit with the explosion or any of its remnants. But he saw how hard you took the hit, and immediately wished it was him.

“Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine, ba - Ghost. I’m fine.” Your correction makes him chuckle, even within this bedlam.

“Ghost!” Soap screams his way, “Ya cannae just stand there!”

Dumbly, Ghost blinks at him.

“Move!”

Taking his own advice, and that of his closest friend, Ghost switches his position. Johnny watches as he pushes forward, following his eyeline only to find you on the end of it. And concern fills the pit of his stomach. Clearly, Ghost isn’t advancing toward the building; he’s watching your six perfectly.

Another group of enemies leak from the building, evidenced by the collective thud of their feet. But peeking out over the edge again might as well be your demise, as you’re immediately targeted by two men.

Eyes widening, you duck back down, head running rampant with ideas. You can’t stay here, you don’t have any chance of survival in this pit. They have the advantage, higher ground. And you need to at least be level with them.

Reaching for your gun, you’re suddenly hit with the realization that your rifle is gone. Head whipping in every direction, you’re unable to find it in your frantic search. It must’ve flung from your body when you were hit. Onto option number two, your pistol. But retrieving it from the holster does nothing for you; a large piece of shrapnel has blown right through it.

“Motherfucker.”

Frustration doesn’t come close to what you’re feeling, but you need to push that aside and find new cover. Scrambling up the side of the ditch, you aim for the forest, which is unfortunately even further away from Gaz. But as soon as you’re up, you’re turning, the two men now only yards away. Ducking away from two shots, you feel yourself stumble backwards a bit. Sweat drips down into the wound on your head, down your neck and chest. Reaching back, your hand finds a tree to rest on briefly, readying yourself for this fight. But then, seemingly out of thin air, one of them drops.

“I’ve got your six.” You knew he did.

Your fixed blade has now become your best friend, quickly gravitating to your hand. They, on the other hand, choose to handle this with fists. The man isn’t much larger than you, allowing you to keep your footing as he swings. Your feet plant firmly in the earth, one further behind to keep your balance. A quick slice across his face surprises him, giving you the opportunity for a stab to the upper chest. The blade sinks into his skin, tearing through muscle to reach his most vital organ. Among all the adrenaline in your veins, you bare your teeth, raising your fists to break his jaw with your hand. Kicking him in the groin knocks him to his knees, allowing you to shift your stance. Standing behind his crumpled form, you grab a fistful of his hair, yanking his head up and back. Tugging the knife from his chest, you slide it smoothly across his neck, spilling a warm redness down his front before inevitably tossing him to the dirt.

“Damn.”

Turning, you rush into the forest, doing your best to evade the current chaos. Ducking through the brush, you make your way back to the start point, searching for Gaz. He must be wounded, and in turn, hiding.

“Bones,” Crackling through your comm link is his voice, a big ragged. “Three yards ahead.”

Once you’ve followed his instructions, you find him lying behind a fallen tree. He’s used a good amount of brush to cover himself, which he pushes away once you’re close enough.

“Can you just patch it up?”

In the moment, you almost breathe out your inner words, oh shit. But you don’t want to frighten him. The sight is gruesome, though, genuinely gorey. His left leg is mangled, three pieces of shrapnel in his stomach and two in his chest. Truthfully, you’ve never seen such torn, wet flesh on a living man. It’s hanging off the bone, tendons visible as they cling to what muscle they can. The shrapnel in his midsection oozes blood but not too much, and probably won’t fully spill until the metal is removed. However, you still retrieve your quickest blood clotting agent for the wounds. Gaz hisses through his teeth at the burn of it, the sensation sizzling through his body. Lastly, applying a good coat of saline to his lower leg will aid in reducing infection, as well as wrapping it entirely.

“Can you move?”

“Not anymore.” His voice is low, strained.

“Where is Price? Did he get hit?”

Nodding, Gaz applies a bit of pressure to his biggest wound. “Nah, he moved on.”

“He didn’t have any injuries?”

“He was too far ahead of the blast.

“Jesus.” No wonder Kyle is so badly mangled, he’s the only one that got hit.

Glancing around, you begin to witness the small creep of fog covering the area. The nighttime air turns thick, and thunder rolls gently overhead. And you can’t see anyone else, the rest of your team is fighting.

“We need to move you.”

“I have enough cover here. You couldn’t even find me.”

“Gaz,”

“Please just go,” Head lying back on the moss, he sighs. “Finish the mission, bring me home when you’re done.”

With a defeated and aggravated sigh, you concede. “Are you still armed?”

“To the teeth.” He confirms, now realizing your lack of weaponry. “Where’s your rifle?”

“Blown off when your dumbass decided to step on a landmine.” And the snarky remark makes him smile. “And my pistol was hit by some shrapnel.”

“Take mine.”

“Don’t be dumb.”

“I have my pistol, you haven't got shit.”

“Kyle.”

“You need it. Go.”

“Bones, cover me at the forest’s east edge.”

“Copy.” Giving Gaz one last judgmental glare, you snatch his rifle, heading off toward your captain.

Crouching low, you begin to crawl when you hear heavy fire again. Price is taking shots from behind a fallen tree’s trunk, watching you inch over to his side.

“How’s Gaz?”

“Alive.” Shrugging, you try to calm your breaths. Looking into John’s blue eyes does well in accomplishing that. “What’s the plan?”

Lifting a shoulder, he speaks into the comms while holding your gaze. “Ghost and Soap take the right. Bones and I will flank the left.”

“We’ve lost our GPR’s.” Soap’s Scottish accent shines through the static.

“Bloody fuckin’ - how?”

“Dropped mine during Gaz’s hit.”

“And Ghost?”

“Lost it in a fight.”

Price scoffs, shaking his head with a whisper of, “Children.”

“Sir?”

“Just get it done. Use your knowledge, your experience, and tread lightly.”

When Price finishes his sentence, you feel an internal pull to your right. Turning your head, you’re met with a pair of strikingly dark eyes. Yards away, beneath the cover of shrubs, Simon’s stare penetrates your heart.

“Are you hurt?” He whispers into your ear, stare holding firm.

All you do is shake your head, and he nods. “Good.”

“Let’s move.” Price then commands, moving toward the building’s right.

Creeping backwards, you swallow. You don’t want to lose sight of him, but you have a job to do. As you turn, you witness Ghost stand, his form towering over the dark green foliage. By the way he moves, you can tell he’s about to follow Johnny. But he stops to take one more look at you, before he grunts.

Sharply, the left side of his body jerks backward, feet staggering a bit. Eyes widening, you lean forward, watching the bullet go right through Ghost’s upper chest. The gasp that leaves your lungs is too loud for your liking, but before you can do much more than that, Ghost is pulling out another gun. With a loud grunt, he aims and fires, dropping a man not too far from you. And with rage now lighting up his insides, he steps forward, reholstering his pistol so he can grab his rifle again. Marching on, you watch as he shoots down five more men, clearing a path straight for the building. With genuine amazement, you watch him, peering over the edge of the fallen log to see every man now narrow their sights to him. But he’s a freight train of a man, listening to the men’s shouts and their weapons, ducking behind anything he can before reappearing with vengeance. Ultimately, though, it’s a dumb move. It’s left him out in the open.

Going against Price’s orders, you set your rifle atop the fallen wood, watching his back. Aiming for the roof, you eliminate the targets up top while Ghost focuses on those surrounding him. And then Soap is appearing, stepping out from the treeline with his pistol out and ready. The way he stomps forward, the way his biceps bulge when he pulls the trigger, the look in his eye while he protects his teammate… it’s inspiring.

“Did I tell you to stay here?!” Yanking you backward by the straps of your vest, Price hauls you off with him.

Like a bumbling baby, you stumble backward, finding your footing just as Price lets you go. Together, you advance toward the building’s right side. You can already see an area for coverage, a large cluster of rocks off the side of a steep hill. It’ll give you enough space to hide while waiting for the boys to get inside.

For some reason, Simon expected you to stay back when he started mowing down a path through these men. He knows Price gave you an order, but in the back of his head, he thought you’d see that he had this handled. There wasn’t anything more you needed to do, he could do this for you. And that’s exactly why you stayed back for a moment, for as long as you could before Price pulled you back into battle, distracting Simon once again.

Head snapping to his right, he witnesses your eager lurch from the forest. You and the captain are ready for this attention, though, weapons drawn as you appear on the field. And it all seems to be going to plan now. Gaz is safe and handled for the moment, Ghost has an injury and so do you, but ultimately, you’re moving; you’re advancing, you’re winning.

Small trickles begin to drip from the sky, the product of the thunder you’d heard not so long ago. And for some reason, the moment freezes. You look up, witnessing the rain as it now freely falls; a moment of peace before your life’s most damaging event.

Another explosion.

Ever the father figure, Price’s fingers once again curl around your vest. He’s tossing you around like a ragdoll today, and right now, it’s because you lunged forward into combat. Flopping to the ground with a huff, your breaths escape your lungs, the wind completely knocked from your chest. And still, you crawl forward, hyperventilating while your eyes search.

At this point, even John is a little frazzled, neither one of you speaking until you hear the shouts of your sergeant.

“Bones!” He’s screaming, voice full of emotion because, well… he never thought this would happen. “Get to Ghost! Get to Ghost!”

And now, your stomach drops into your fucking ass. They didn’t hit a landmine, Simon did.

This time, Price can’t do anything to stop you. You’re scrambling forward, eyes darting around the field until Johnny whispers breathily into the comms, “In that ditch.”

A few yards ahead, Johnny steps in front of you, guarding your body from the men approaching. Price does the same, knowing it’s just the two of them now.

Dirt mixes to mud and smears across your hands, thick clumps sticking to the edges of your jacket. The wetness soaks through your knees to the entirety of your pants, the gentle drip now turning into a torrential downpour. Above your head, lightning strikes, thunder shaking the ground so fiercely that you end up slipping over the edge of the ditch. Falling headfirst into the crater, you land beside Simon’s motionless body.

“Si -” With heaving breaths, you crawl over to him. Swallowing, you lay a hand on his chest. “Simon.”

This is different than before, different than when you dealt with Gaz. Your heart is beating out of your chest, and you could almost throw up from nerves. So far, you’ve done well at putting your emotions aside during situations like this, but not now. Not when it’s the man you love.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this, it just doesn’t make sense. Not with your team’s experience and expertise, their strength and comradery; how did you find yourselves here? Each member was chosen for a specific reason, the best Price could get. Is that true? Have you really done your best?

Lifting his head slightly, Simon looks in your direction. And what you see is haunting. One eye swollen, the other filling with red. His left arm is distorted, both legs twisted in ways that aren’t human. There’s barely anything left of his right thigh, but that’s not where the biggest injury is. Looking up, you see that it’s on his head.

“Simon.” Shuffling forward, your eyes widen, hands immediately reaching for his head.

Crimson warmth soaks the side of his mask, a small indent visible. He has definite brain damage, and your heart sinks at that fact. What will he be like after this?

“Let me help.” You’re whispering to yourself, mainly, because you assumed he’d let you. But he protests.

“No,” His voice is still low and gruff, trying to continue being the brave man he knows he can be.

“I have gauze, and blood clotting agents.” Turning you shuffle through your pack, retrieving a fresh pair of latex gloves.

Immediately, you’re dousing him in a cool saline solution, watching his body writhe softly from it. But before wrapping any of his wounds, you focus on his head first. Leaning forward, your hands swipe across the hard skull covering his face, sloppily wiping away the blood and dirt. But your actions become frantic, fingers sliding over your lover’s face in an attempt to see him again, to look into his eyes despite this misfortune. Simon listens to your gasps and pants, emotional huffs spilling from your lips. In your panicked state, the gloves break. And in any other setting, you'd care about this cross-contamination. But you don’t even hesitate. The mud sticks to your fingers, Simon’s blood caking beneath your nails as you continue to clean him. Seeing him laid out like this, body free of any movement, any sort of intention, it’s pulling at your soul. It’s not him, he’s leaving you.

“I need to see.”

He just ignores you, right hand reaching down toward his belt. It’s the only limb that hasn’t been mutilated, and he uses it to detach his mags. Moving as best he can, he hands them to you, round after round of bullets without a single word leaving his lips. And what really breaks you, what finally does you in, is the sound of him gurgling quietly on his own liquid insides. It’s now that every emotion breaks free, every single feeling you’d been bottling up and pushing aside, each one obliterates the firm dam of your determination and pride.

“Here.” He grunts, “Ammo.”

“Stop.” It’s all you can say because if you speak any more, you’re sure you’ll just embarrass yourself.

“Bones.” He states firmly, the eye not swollen shut staring up at you with… something. He’s thinking.

“Stop, Simon.”

“Please.” He pleads with you quietly, watching the first tear roll down your face.

“Simon… let me see, let me help.” Reaching forward again, you watch the rise and fall of his chest, you watch as it slows. He was right, the lungs give everything away.

Squirming, his head turns to the side. “Simon, please. I need to - I need to take off your mask.”

The pain he’s experiencing is at a level he’s not felt in quite some time. His insides burn, feeling stiff around the shrapnel penetrating his muscle. And the injury to his head is making him feel fuzzy. Every time he looks up at you, you are surrounded by a black fog. His vision is leaving him, but he still sees you.

A burst of memory overcomes him when he turns back in your direction, forcing breath after painful breath into his lungs. Replacing you is the vision of his mother, beautiful brown curls and dark brown eyes, the very eyes she’d given to him. The child in him wants to reach out, only to see her pull away. In her stead is now his father, fist slamming into him. Her neglect, her absence, while his father abused him like this, it’s all he can really remember. Trauma is funny like that, deciding which memories to banish and which ones to keep. It’s similar to the way he remembers school, the bullying, the loneliness that always seemed to chase his very being. Life was never something to be enjoyed, just motions to move through.

But then he met you, and you made life exciting. Exciting in a way that wasn’t dangerous, exciting in a way that made him feel at home, at peace. Your love, your memories, are what’s most important to him now. The first time you met, the first intimate moment you shared. Smoking together, sleeping together, caring for and protecting each other. Simon can remember a specific moment now, one of his favorites.

“It’s kinda funny,” He’d quirked a brow at you beneath the covering, listening to you continue. “I know you better than your own government documents.”

He’d laughed at this, because you were right.

“Don’t get cocky about it, now.” Simon chastised lightly, eyes crinkling ever so slightly with a hidden smile.

“I wish there was more, though.”

“How do you mean?”

“You do so much, so many important things. There should be more record of you, more details about your life, babe. You’re an impressive man, people should know about that.”

And while your words made his pride swell a little larger, he only sighed. “That’s part of the job, sweets. Anonymity.”

Smiling, you leaned forward, slinking your arms around his neck. “Maybe, but not to me.” Kissing the tip of his nose, you whispered, “You’ll always be important to me.”

Simon never planned on being remembered. There was no one he was willing to give that burden to. But, selfishly, he wants to be remembered by you.

“Baby,” When your voice cracks, Simon blinks, those dark eyes watching the flow of your silent tears. “Please let me.”

And he thinks, how is she going to remember me like this? A man without a face? And so, he decides to give this to you. There’s nothing left to lose. He knows you’re taking it off to help him, but he’s allowing it for different reasons; call it a parting gift.

When he doesn’t respond this time, your fingers find the edge of his mask. With a great amount of hesitancy, they curl beneath the dampened fabric, lifting it slowly. One by one, each feature is revealed. His chin and jawline, his lips, all traits you’ve seen and openly admired many times before. But then there’s his nose, something you’ve never seen in its entirety. There’s a deep scar running right across the bridge of it, cutting down into his cheek. And as you continue on, you can barely handle the violent thump of your heart’s beat.

Finally, the fabric falls from his head, revealing to you his identity, Simon’s true self.

Surprisingly, you smile. His hair is blonde, straight and not too long. Absentmindedly, you lift a hand, fingers stroking carefully through the messy strands. A laugh leaves you, some sort of twisted happiness found in this moment. And then your eyes lower, finding his steadfast gaze. Languidly, he blinks, blonde lashes fanning over his cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” He admits, coughing. “I’m sorry it had to be like this, seeing me.”

“You’re so perfect.” Leaning further in, your hands cup his face. He doesn’t even mind the tears that drip down onto his skin. “Simon.”

“Just know that I do…” Trailing off, Simon shakes his head, releasing an emotional breath. “Love you.”

“I love you,” Releasing any sense of restraint, you express, “I love you more than anything.”

You’re choosing not to look at his head because you know it's bad, you know it. And there’s nothing you can do for him with what you have. He needs more than saline and wraps for this.

“So,” Grunting, he again lifts his right hand. “Think you’ll be needing this.”

With a harsh yank, he rips one of the circular metals from the chain around his neck. And your heart sinks, pulse thumping in your ears. As best he can, he reaches across his body, holding it out for you.

“Give it to Price.”

“That’s not how this is going to end.”

“And then,” Continuing about his task, Simon sets the silver coin on your lap. “You can keep the other.”

“Simon.”

“It’s not much but, if you want to remember me…”

“Simon Riley.” You want him to stop talking like this, you’d do anything to stop this.

Barely, he nods, a single shift of his head as he tells you gruffly, “Yours.”

His eyes stay open until the life seemingly leaves, stare going blank mere seconds after that promise. Without thinking, your fingers curl around the identification sitting in your lap, your other hand still holding his handsome face. But it then leaves, nails digging into the mask lying beside him as your head drops, hanging loosely over your chest. A guttural sob is then released, your insides tearing you open and leaving you emotionally defenseless. Sucking in a thick gulp of air, you know what you need to do. Preserving Simon’s dignity and anonymity, you slide the mask over him again, hiding his face from the enemy. And from you, once again.

Simon,

I still wear your dog tags tag, I never take it off. It stays beneath my shirt when I sleep, when I go to work. It’s cold, like your mask. I still don’t know where that is, Price won’t tell me. But I stole your cologne, they didn’t get that. I think that would make you laugh. You used to make me laugh.

I don’t know what to do now, or where to go. I just think of you.

Strangely, it helps. You know he’ll never write back, but that’s not really the point. This is about you, and it does help… sometimes. Although, Simon never believed in an afterlife, you’re not writing to anyone. This was just something a therapist on base suggested, an exercise to help with your grief. Words you’ve begged life itself to say to him, to be able to speak to him again.

At times, you’re angry. With yourself and with him. You were a distraction, Johnny knew it, Price probably knew it. You did this to him. And at the same time, your extended mourning is his doing, too. He didn’t give you anything, not a burial site to visit, no ashes to keep. Nothing that allows you to visit him, or at least visit his memory. Simon always wanted to be cremated, have his ashes scattered who knows where. Nowhere important, somewhere to forget. He didn’t get the chance to change these plans after meeting you, though, and he’d regret that.

The funeral was small, smaller than it should have been considering he died in battle and with honors. There was no way of avoiding a celebration, though, no matter how much he’d protested to it in life. But if there was one thing Simon definitely wanted, it was to be as far away from Manchester as possible; he never wanted to go back there. And with each of you carrying his casket on your shoulders, you made sure of that. He was honored on the training field back at base, body tucked away in a coffin before being cremated. The ceremonial move of the reversed arms was performed, your heads bowed in respect. It was only the four of you with him, the closest thing to family he’d ever really known. The Union Flag covered the finished pine, and you thought, how many more layers of fabric would keep you from seeing him?

Taking your newest letter, you get to your designated Jeep and drive. Every time, you go back to your secret little spot, the place where you’d connected so many times. You even sit in the backseat, the one behind the driver’s side. That’s where you always sat with him.

The stare you give this hand-written note might as well burn holes into it, the edge of your cigarette threatening to do so if your eyes don’t. Packs of nicotine laced joints have found their way to you quite often since Simon’s death, more and more every day. It tastes like him, his lips.

Sometimes, late at night, the boys still hear you cry. You try to do most of it in the shower, drowning out your tears with the louder noise. Throughout the day, you’ll keep it inside, and they’ve all noticed. You’re blank, rendered nearly emotionless as you move through the motions of each day.

But what’s more important during the night, is him. If you drink enough, you can see him - you swear it. His eyes staring down at you, blinking, body laying beside you on the bed. He holds you. He’ll kiss the back of your neck, tell you I do, I love you. His palm presses to your own, fingers intertwining before he pulls it to him, covered lips moving to the back of your hand. Everything is a memory, but you refuse this. Simon loves you, he comes back just to tell you. You’ll always be thankful you told Simon that you love him.

Johnny takes a sudden special interest in you. For weeks, he hesitates to approach your door when he hears you cry. But he finally caves when he passes by the washrooms one night, a night where the boys have gone for a drink and the base is all but empty.

Initially, he thought you were hurt. With how hard you were sobbing, breaths tight and airy, he was sure you were injured. Bursting through the doors, he found you on the ground of one of the shower stalls.

“Lass, wha - ”

But there was nothing, no blood, no broken glass or anything that could have brought you harm. And then, he sees it, the pile of your personal belongings. Your shower bag and towel are sitting on the closest bench, with a few items scattered on the floor. And Johnny doesn’t know much about pregnancy, but he knows a test when he sees one.

“Bones…”

“He’s fucking gone,” Your voice is hoarse from your wailing, form crumpled and laying on the wet tile while water sprays over you. “Why couldn’t he have left me something? Anything?!”

It’s negative.

In a last attempt to save something, to preserve any part of him, you’d taken the test. Several, actually. But it’s futile; there’s truly nothing left of him.

How could you feel so fucking empty? So lost? What was the meaning of life now? What was the meaning before you met him? There was nothing before him.

Johnny picked you up off the floor that night, leaning in to first turn off the shower before bending at the knees to wrap you in your towel. You let him carry you; with the break in your heart you didn’t really have much strength left in you. So, you leaned on him, walking with his steps as he guided you back to your room. And he dried you, dressed you, and then he held you.

Nothing was discussed, you didn’t speak about it, him. He just sat there on your bed with you, arms wrapped tight around your body, heaving chests pressed against each other as Soap’s eyes spilled over with tears, too. He let you bury your face into his neck, fingers pulling at the edges of his mohawk. It overtakes you, the grief. The all consuming power of it floods your body, greedy in its conquest as it watches you crumble in defeat.

Johnny made this promise weeks ago, not exactly sure when but he knows it’ll hold true. He’s made a silent vow to Simon; he’ll take care of you.

For a while, you refuse to let Johnny sleep in your room. He had nowhere to rest but your bed and that extra space was for Simon. But then he offered to sleep on the floor one night, admitting quietly that it wasn’t just for you. It was for him, too. So, you let him keep you company, opening up and giving in to your collective misery.

Johnny watched the way you curled up with your pillows, watched your face scrunch as you twisted and turned, trying to find some form of sleep. It only came when your hand found your chest, clutching Simon’s last bit of identification.

Your sergeant found comfort in reading, in literature and even poetry. Some written by war veterans and forever-changed soldiers. One poem in particular spoke to him, and he wanted to give it to you. And for some reason, it offered you incredible solace; it so deeply reminds you of Simon.

If I should die, think only this of me:

That there’s some corner of a foreign field

That is for ever England. There shall be

In that rich earth a richer dust concealed;

A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware,

Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam;

A body of England’s, breathing English air,

Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home.

And think, this heart, all evil shed away,

A pulse in the eternal mind, no less

Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given;

Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day;

And laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness,

In hearts at peace, under an English heaven.

Rupert Brooke

Waking up is difficult, but getting out of bed is actually pretty easy. It’s only because you've been running on auto-pilot, relying on your routines to keep you moving. Johnny said it’s good for you, consistency, and he’s right. He’s really helped keep you together these past few months. At times, Simon helps, but there’s only so much he can do.

The nightmares come and go, and so do the terrors. You’ll wake up in a cold sweat, hyperventilating with tears running down your face and neck. But more often than not, it’s pure psychological torture. The nightmares occur far more often, and you know what? The meaning behind them is true. Some awful creature sitting on your chest, pressing down onto your body so you’re unable to breathe properly, staring at your face as its intentions wriggles inside your head, creating hellscapes you never otherwise could have imagined. That’s exactly what it feels like, it’s exactly what you go through.

Psychologists define it as post-traumatic stress, and you’ve come to accept that. At first, you’d tell them every detail, every new event. The occurrence of you taking a pregnancy test, that’s a new predicament, a new attempt at preserving him. Maybe one day, it’ll be positive. Nevertheless, you don’t tell them as much anymore. It’s all the same, anyway.

There have been some changes recently, mainly toward the medical rooms. Courtesy of Captain Price, you’ve been given a private office. The room you’d been in originally, the one that overlooked the training yard, is now solely used for training-related events. Sprains and torn muscles, extra ice packs and wraps, water bottles and energy packs. Quick things for the boys to grab.

Where do the injured men and women go?

Now, you have a full infirmary. One hall with several beds and then four private rooms for those with longer stays, too. That’s where you’re headed today, room number three, specifically.

Tying your hair back and washing your face gives you the appearance of alertness, something you desperately need. Quite often, you find yourself lacking sleep. It also helps to not have sticky, tear-stained cheeks. You’re not sure when that will subside, but you’re not expecting it to happen anytime soon. Overwhelming emotions find you even when in his company.

After breakfast and an entire bottle of water, you make your way to the hospital wing, readying yourself for the day’s work. It shouldn’t be too difficult, though; things are looking up. But before leaving the mess hall, you grab an extra orange. Simon always loved those.

It’s quiet here, something you really love. It gives everyone the opportunity to focus on rest. Which is exactly why you open the door so quietly, peaking in to make sure you didn’t wake him. But he’s already up.

“Bones,”

“Hi, baby.”

The fruit in your hand is quickly made known, Simon’s reflexes ever-present. His right hand catches it with ease, setting it down on his lap so he can lift his mask.

“I can help, you know.”

“Uh-uh,” Already, he’s lifting it to his mouth and biting into the skin with his teeth. Using this method, he peels it.

“Savage.”

“Inventive.” He corrects, “That’s what you mean.”

It’s early still, and you’re the only one making rounds to him. You’ve given the remaining tasks in the hospital wing to your employees - you’re here for him. And so, you swing your chair over to his bedside, sitting and leaning forward to rest your arms and head beside him.

The hospital bedding has been shifted upward, allowing him to sit up as he eats. He’s shirtless, in nothing but boxers and his mask, with two dog tags on his chest.

“How are you?”

“Hungry as hell.”

“They didn’t feed you?!” Sitting up, you immediately become appalled and enraged.

“Sit down, soldier.” Simon laughs, shaking his head. “They fed me.”

“And you’re still hungry?” With a smirk, you raise a brow at him as he just shrugs. A sigh then leaves your shaking head. “Growing boy.”

“Yeah, thanks to all this.” He’s still grumpy about it, how could he not be? “Have to regrow an entire damn body.”

He’s being dramatic, but… not really.

Quietly, you admire him, allowing your love to eat in silence. You’re both used to it, the peaceful calm surrounding your interactions. It was something you always agreed on; why have meaningless conversation when you can just enjoy each other’s presence?

His arm is wrapped, and both legs. The best surgeons the military could find enabled him to keep all four limbs, a true godsend. He hasn’t been able to move them much, though, as he’s only just started physical therapy. Easy movements for now, just wiggling fingers and toes. There’s also the task of his cognitive therapy, mainly exercises for focus and short-term memory. It’s been difficult, to say the least, but you’ve been with him through it, been to every appointment and therapy session.

“You’re quiet.” He notes, still snacking.

Timidly, you nod, not searching for his gaze. And at this he sighs, notes of sympathy in his breath. He knows what’s bothering you.

“More dreams?” Simon asks quietly, staring down at the woman he loves.

Simply, you nod, tears welling in your eyes all over again.

Simon’s recovery has been difficult, and for everyone involved. It took quite a few weeks of convincing both Price and your doctors that you were fit to care for him. Your mental state was just… shattered. And you’re still picking up the pieces.

“Baby,” The way he says it makes your heart jolt with emotion, with an incredible sense of longing. It’s spoken so softly, so sweetly, that deep voice rumbling kindly. And just like always, it’s successful in requesting your attention. “What happened?”

Wiping his hand on the bedsheets (he knows they’ll be changed anyway), he reaches for you. Just like before, in the painful memory of your dreams, his fingers intertwine with yours, palm pressing to your own while dragging it up to his lips. And then he presses them to the back of your hand, eyes focusing on you.

“Talk to me.”

“You died,” Finally giving in, you speak. You’ve done this many times, and it’s never easy. But Simon insists that talking about these dreams will help. “Again.”

“Hm.” He nods, humming thoughtfully, giving you room to speak.

“Your funeral, ya know, the basics.” Rolling your eyes, you groan. These nightmares are everything you despise, everything you fear. “Johnny was there, too. I smoked a lot, just to remind myself of you. Wore your dog tag, held it at night. And that’s when you’d visit me; I had visions of you, Si. Laying in my bed, holding me, telling me you love me.”

“I do.”

“I know you do.” Lifting your head, your genuine smile is displayed to him. “I, um… I took a pregnancy test in this one.”

“That’s new.”

“I know. It was negative though, and it was so heartbreaking. I just… wanted to preserve any part of you.”

The way your voice wavers forces his muscles to tighten, discomfort wreaking havoc on his body. Seeing you like this fucking breaks him. That mission should’ve never even happened, but at least it was successful in the end.

“I’m here, though, love. I’m still here.”

He knows not sleeping next to each other has been one of the biggest issues for you. Feeling his weight, it was a comforting thing that easily lulled you to sleep. And his absence often brought on these terrifying dreams.

“I know, baby.” Nodding, you sniffle, doing your best to not release your silent weeps. He’s right, he’s here. Everything is alright, you’re both healing and you’re together. That’s all that matters now.

Contemplating his next decision, Simon grunts, sitting up straighter on his bed. Releasing your hand, he then reaches for your chin. Your lips bloom into a smile as he tilts your head up toward him, his lips, jawline, and chin visible to you. And Christ, how you wish you could see more. You can vaguely remember his face, the features he showed you before what he was sure was certain death. But it’s traumatic to recall it, and he’s refused to show himself to you ever since. The injury to his brain has made him… insecure, in a way. He hasn’t even kissed you since all of it.

“Have a surprise for ya.” He then reveals, smacking his lips while swallowing the last bit of fruit available to him.

“Really?” Doubt laces your tone. What could he have possibly done for you in this condition?

“C’mup here.” Simon grins, pulling you in. Standing, you shift your position, now sitting on the edge of his bed.

“What is it?” Giggling, you eye him suspiciously. “Why are you smiling at me like that?”

Clearing his throat, Simon looks down, taking his hand away as he grabs the edges of his mask. You assume he’s going to pull it back down, now that he’s finished eating his morning snack. But you’re wrong, eyes widening as he does the exact opposite of that.

Jaw dropping entirely, you stare in awe as he removes the soft skull, slowly sliding the black fabric from his head. It brushes through his hair, eyelids lowered as he refuses to meet your gaze for the briefest second. He knows he looks different than before, hair still trying to grow back in the spot of his injury. There’s a new cut that runs down his face, too, the upper left side of his temple. But he should know you don’t care about any of that, he’s hoping you don’t, anyway.

And when he looks back up into your eyes, he can see a profound sense of love. Love and adoration, determination, true friendship and connection.

“Miss me?” The cheeky bastard, lips pulled into a grin with his blonde hair disheveled and looking cute as all hell. But more importantly, his hair is clean, so much cleaner than the first time you’d seen him, no longer stained red and pink.

“You fucker,” Shaking your head, you lean in, holding his face and pressing your forehead to his.

Simon audibly winces when his arms move, small grunts of frustration spilling from him. His right arm easily wraps around your body, firmly pulling you in. But his left barely budges, and it’s so embarrassing to him. But his struggles pause when you shift, lips pressing to his and melting away every single unpleasant sensation. It’s a distraction, you’re a fucking distraction. But it’s a good thing this time.

“You know I did.”

The moment is broken when a knock sounds at the door, and you can’t hop off his bed fast enough. Moments later, Price walks in, a stack of documents in his hand.

“Captain.” You greet, standing straight for him and trying not to look suspicious.

Unmoving on the bed, Ghost just nods. “Price.”

“Good,” John steps forward, “You’re both here. Give these a look for me.”

Watching him drop the papers onto your desk, you frown. “What are those?”

“HR documents,” He begins, staring at the stack before turning his attention to both of you. “For workplace relationships.”

Your face couldn’t feel hotter.

He then points a finger at the pair of you, stating firmly, “Sign ‘em.” Before turning to leave.

Well, there’s no hiding it now.

#Simon Riley #Simon “Ghost” Riley #Simon Riley x you #Simon Riley x reader #Simon Riley x female reader #Call of Duty #Call of Duty mw2 #Call of Duty fanfiction

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