#your present situation is not your permanent situation | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

martyrlamb · 6 months

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✶ when the clock strikes / leon kennedy

pairing: leon kennedy x gn!reader

summary: you’re starting to think a certain agent might be faking his injuries to see you.

tags: sfw, pure fluff, a bit of angst as a treat, love at first sight basically, silly workplace love story, nurse!reader, 1 year post re4r!leon, no use of y/n, extremely mildly passively suggestive, leon takes his shirt off twice (woohoo!), kissing, swearing, leon is awkward as hell, you are too though so it’s okay, description of bruises, cuts and a muscle knot (not detailed), medical talk, slight mention of gore and blood, reader has a backstory, reader has a mother.

note: i blinked and suddenly there were 8k words in my doc idek how that happened. im actually so nervous to post because this is my first one shot ever!! my cherry has been popped… but also apologies if things are kind of all over the place bc im still trying to get the swing of it all. trying to write in the present tense was like being beat over the head repeatedly so im sure theres many grammatical mistakes in that department

word count: 8.5k (got possessed sorry)

Everyone thought you were crazy when you accepted the offer.

It is crazy—but you aren’t stupid. You knew what you were getting into a long time ago as a nurse; people get hurt, and then you save them. Clockwork.

Years ago, you started studying to be a nurse in some middle of nowhere midwestern school. You remembered the rolling hills and the ungodly heavy blankets of snow that fell during the winter months, the fallen leaves that the snow covered. It was all so peaceful for a while… until the outbreak.

You never saw it coming, no one did, really. At least, you hope no one predicted the atrocities that were about to be witnessed by thousands of innocents without warning.

Gnashing teeth and hands with dried blood that streaked down arms like veins plagued the memory of that point in your life. It was surreal to believe that you got up that morning and made your breakfast like any other day, you slid your shoes on and grabbed your keys, and then your foot hit the front porch and the trajectory of your life changed permanently.

The virus started as a woman with red-ringed eyes and pallid skin that reflected off of the blinding overhead lights—she looked visibly ill. That’s all that mattered at the time. You were actually the one who situated her and her husband in their room, he smiled at you and thanked you for your time and you scribbled down notes before hanging the clipboard and leaving the room for the doctor. The screeching horror music plays when you get to this part of the memory.

A type of calm before the storm. You hold your breath every time.

A few hours later people started screaming, and someone—something ran out of that room and wrenched its grip on the first person it saw. Blue scrubs dyed a nasty crimson, like crushed raspberries on cloth. The next part is a blur of running, watching your coworkers die, and using your medical expertise to help anyone who needed it. People were hurt. You saved them.

Like you said, clockwork. You try not to think about it too hard.

By the time help came, you had cramped a large handful of survivors—albeit, injured survivors—into a small house that was a mile or two from the hospital. Your quick thinking protected many people that day, and your skills were recognized.

A week prior, you were a simple nursing student who was lucky enough to be placed in a hospital, and by the next Sunday, you were being offered a position as a medic with the Anti-Umbrella Pursuit and Investigation Team. You finished your schooling, you got your specialized training, and now you’re on your way to your first assignment out of the country.

So, granted, maybe you are a little crazy for accepting such a prestigious and dangerous position after your humble beginnings. Your mother never ceases to remind you of this, with what little information you were allowed to tell her.

Iceland? she said, pulling her lips into a line. Are you crazy?

You begin to think that you are now that you stand in front of the base, arms tucked around yourself and teeth chattering as a sergeant points you around like one of his troops. Between the hustle and bustle of agents hurrying around and the amount of civilians sitting beneath the large, brown medical tent, you understand why they needed all the help they could get.

Things in Iceland were bad apparently; Umbrella thought the remote location would protect what little was left of them, and their research, from being exposed. Unfortunately for them, (and fortunately for everyone else) the AUPIT caught wind of what was happening and vowed to put a stop to it. You, freshly out of training, were sent to help with the sudden influx of displaced non-combatants and wounded agents.

Within the hour of the helicopter landing, you settle in and pull your cold weather scrubs on.

There aren’t many other nurses—only two—and neither of them seem to be very fond of you. The head nurse is older and straight-laced, following procedure, not mingling with you unless she has to. You don’t think you’re ever going to be put on a shift with the other nurse, but they spare you a few ireful glances. It’s like they could smell the fresh blood, and the scent made them turn their noses.

Nonetheless, you weren’t there to socialize, so you rolled up your sleeves and did your job, trying to ignore the passive aggressive looks being thrown at you from left and right. This kind of mutual ignorance worked for about three days, until you were placed on the night shift… every single night.

Before you came along, it was determined that the night shift could be manned by one person, as injured civilians were sent to the safehouses by nightfall and nearly all of the agents were either out on work or taking a much needed rest. There was no reason for both nurses to be awake when one could conserve their energy and rest while the other worked. So, most nights you spent alone, sitting by the fire in the back of the tent as you waited for the sun to come up.

One of those nights crept up on you again. You bounce your foot against the ground until your ankle aches, sitting in a lawn chair next to the fire with a wool blanket draped over your shoulders. Nothing chirps in the distance like the environment you’re used to, the only noises that float through the air are the wind rustling bare-armed bushes and your own breathing. There was a rip in the tent whistling, too, but you’d be damned if you let the incessant noise drive you insane. You were scared of the eerie silence for the first few days, but that quickly became replaced by the complete boredom that followed it.

You blow a raspberry as you spin a pen in your ungloved hand, fingers numb and stretched stiff with cold. I’ve ought to ask someone for a book, you thought to yourself, or a new job. You immediately push the second contemplation out of your head like it was something dirty and sat up a little straighter; your annoyance made sense, but this is what you wanted to do with your life. You want to help people in need.

Not that there were many people around.

In the distance, like divine intervention, you hear the crackle of wheels against snow, and a black mini-van rolls to a stop in front of the tent. A scuffle inside ensues for a moment, then the doors open and a man comes hobbling into the shelter with his arm over another man’s shoulder.

You nearly fall out of your seat with how fast you stand up and stride over to the men, assisting the injured one onto a cot.

“What happened?” you ask, pushing a cart of equipment to his bedside.

The uninjured one remarks from beside you, “Some snow gave way and he went down this hill with some pretty nasty bushes at the bottom.” His voice is quick and clicky. He looks young.

Clearly, they’re two agents, judging by the leather holsters strapped around their waists and shoulders. You purse your lips and place a lantern on the cart, gently inspecting the injured agent. There’s thorns lodged along the entirety of his left side, looking a bit like a child’s crude attempt at art with toothpicks and styrofoam.

He grunts when you gently lift his arm to check underneath, and you mutter an apology before you turn to the other agent. “I can take this from here.”

The agent nods and spins on his heel, disappearing into the darkness once he stepped out into the open air.

You turn your attention towards the man in front of you and pull on a pair of gloves, the latex makes a sharp snapping noise when you let go. His intense gaze follows your movements with great intrigue—or suspicion… you couldn’t really tell. You pick up a pair of tweezers and set them on the cart. You also finally got a good look at the wounded agent.

Blue eyes that strike down what little defenses you have and brows that spend their time permanently creased, almost erasing the space between them while he inspects you. His ability to make you feel thoroughly grilled with a simple fixated stare would have made you squirm years prior, but now you merely stare back with your eyebrows lifted. The blonde—possibly light brown haired, the darkness didn’t give much way in the form of colour—man averts his eyes first, as if he is caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

You’d be lying if you said he wasn’t attractive, but that’s not your focus right now.

“How are you feeling?” you ask, flicking on a flashlight to check his pupils. Healthy, good. He squints at you through the beam.

“Like I fell into a thorn bush.”

Looks like someone feels funny. You deadpan at him, unamused with the sarcasm while you try to help. Your expression beckons a better answer and he backpedals.

The man’s head bobs subtly, like a scale in his mind is weighing his thoughts on either side, and then he says, “I’m just fine.”

“Are you dizzy? Nauseous?”

“Fine.”

“Okay,” you reply, blowing out a not-so-inconspicuous huff of annoyed air that swirls above you in the cold. The agent raises his brow at your reaction but doesn’t seem too keen on speaking on it. “I’ll try to be as gentle as I can, but it’s going to be a lot of poking and prodding.”

He lets out another grunt that could have possibly been an Mhm… but you aren’t sure. You hold the tweezers between your fingers and begin to pluck them out, placing them on the metal pan on your cart. Clink, clink, clink. They fall from the tweezers with tiny noises.

To your surprise, he doesn’t writhe or make much noise, only occasional grunts and sighs and Shit’s under his breath when you pull at particularly deep thorns lodged in his arm.

Even for an agent, his arms are an impressive size, which means a lot more surface area to extract from. Not that you really mind, as you would have helped him either way, but surely you would feel differently if you were in his shoes.

However, the silence is… awkward; sitting there with your face inches from his huge arms—he could definitely feel your breath fan across the surface with how his skin dances with warmth and goosebumps and you do not want the attractive agent to focus on that. So, you break it with a question.

“You weren’t wearing a jacket?” A valid query, all things considered.

He blinks at you like it was obvious. “It came off.”

“Oh,” is all you say until you extract the last thorn from his arm and begin to slide the leather shoulder holster off of him. “I just need to take this off.”

He frowns slightly, and you realize his brows had been furrowed this whole time because that was all his face seemed to know how to do. When his expression changes, you stop.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Taking it off so I can look under your sleeve.”

“Why?”

“You could’ve pulled something and I need to bandage you,” you pause. “Is that okay?”

Maybe you wrongly assumed that he had done this a million times. Don’t get you wrong, you know how resilient agents had to be and how good they were at their jobs, so it isn’t like you thought he got hurt often… But with a short glance into his eyes, you could tell he’s a hardened delegate with years of experience under his belt. Wasn’t he bound to need help occasionally?

The man gives you a slight nod and shrugs off the holster; it falls to the bed with a soft thud from the weight of the knife tucked into the leather.

His muscles tense under your fingers when you roll the black sleeve over his shoulder. The feathered, pale edge of a bullet scar peeks out from beneath the dark clothing and it makes you wonder how he managed to get it. A mission? Probably. It looks old. You’ve seen scars of all kinds at that point, and each of them held a story that ended in pierced flesh.

They remind you that they will never not be where they came from—your own scars will never not be where they came from. You shake the thought out like a stubborn rock in your shoe.

“Lucky you, it doesn’t look like you pulled anything in your shoulder,” you comment under your breath.

“If this is luck, I’d like to see what happens when I get unlucky.” For the first time, there’s humor in his tone—so faint you nearly miss it, but it makes you chuckle. When he isn’t huffing out responses, his voice almost sounds kind.

You rotate his shoulder slowly and inspect the length of his side, finding fewer thorns than the amount anchored in his arm. Still, your lips press into a line, pitying the fact that his bare skin will be exposed to the frigid, below-freezing air so you could remove them.

“Well, you should’ve knocked on wood,” you reply, “I’ll need you to take your shirt off so I can get the rest of the thorns out and check your ribs.”

Silently, the man hikes his shirt up and over his ribs for you, snaking his arm out of his sleeve and then laying on his side.

As he comes down, stretching, he groans. You see his muscles tense under his skin when he inhales, the dips and divots of his torso flex involuntarily when the squall of air nips at his newly exposed skin. The surface holds blossoms of red and deep purple that litter themselves across his ribs like splotches of messy watercolor dripped onto paper. Scarlet scratches bleed pebbles that drip onto the fabric of the cot.

You suck in through your teeth as you inspect the area. Even without the damage from the thorns, it doesn’t look good.

“Not good?” the agent questions as if he could read your mind. From over his shoulder, he turna his head to look at you.

“Not good. You bruised your ribs, I’d be surprised if one of them wasn’t broken.”

“I didn’t hear a crack.”

“It should be monitored for a day or two, at the very least.”

“I have to get back to work.”

“Look, I understand—“

“I’ll be fine.”

You sigh softly and remove one of your gloves to rub your face in exasperation. Unfortunately, this wasn’t your first rodeo with stubborn patients, so you slide on another glove and begin to pluck at the thorns in his torso. “You won’t be doing much work if you permanently damage them.”

He twists his head away from you again and grunts softly, muttering a short, “Okay.”

How articulate. You guess he doesn’t get paid to talk to people.

“Okay? As in…?”

“As in, fine,” he replies, then pauses for a moment as if to prove a point. “But I’m sure you have better things to do.”

You laugh at this, then stifle it into your elbow so he didn’t think you were laughing at him. He still rolls over a little to look at you, confusion laces his eyes that dart around as they go from your face to the rows of empty cots behind you. Busy? You begin to laugh again.

He can’t be serious, you think as you fan your face. You let your laughter dissipate like it was being dissolved into water. “Sorry… no, you’re right,” you snort, “I was drowning in work before you arrived, agent.”

“I’m sure,” he chirps back, the ghost of a smile haunts his lips.

“I think I can squeeze you in, though. Might have to clear some of my schedule, but… I’ll make it work.”

The pleased look that graces your face is involuntary. You find it endearing how worried he is about becoming too much extra work for you and the other nurses, despite the fact that there isn’t any reason to gather that he would and—believe it or not—it’s your job.

The agent lets out an amused breath through his nose. “Should I be flattered?”

“Oh, of course.”

You place the last of the thorns onto the metal pan and tend to his wounds with gauze and bandages and nimble fingers that have done this hundreds of times before. Sometime along the way his body relaxed—just a little—and you think he fell asleep until he sits up like a puppet that had his strings yanked and puts his shirt on properly.

The sudden movement makes you blink, and he stares at you for a long pause filled with dead air and an expectant look in his eyes. That damn rip in the tent whistles.

Finally, his eyes flicker down to your badge, then back to your face. “I’ve never seen you before.”

“I started here not too long ago,” you inform him honestly, a little embarrassed to admit your newbie title to a seasoned employee of the organization.

He doesn’t say anything else, so you take the reins.

“Well, I think we’re set,” you say, rolling the latex gloves off of your hands. “Let me know if you need anything, Agent…”

You never asked him his name?

“Leon Kennedy,” the agent, now with the name Leon Kennedy pinned to his face, finishes for you.

His name twirls around your head and makes you dizzy to think about. I should have known, you think to yourself once he bids you farewell to report to his superiors.

From what little time you spent at the base prior to meeting Leon, you had heard whispers during dinner drift from mouth to ear of the elusive agent. That he was a man of few words (immense understatement, you consider it more socially awkward, but true); that he had half of the base swooning every time he walked by (you don’t want to comment on this); and that he was immensely attractive (that is also true). You have to admit… you see why he had such an air of intrigue around him. To be so quiet after such successes he’s accomplished—people were on the edge of their seats trying to figure him out.

You also had to admit that you weren’t immune to it either.

During your meals and breaks you found yourself playing Where’s Waldo? with Leon, attempting to catch glimpses of him in his natural state to confirm or deny these claims. Which was impressively difficult for absolutely no reason other than that he did it for his own benefit… the motive for this was lost, and still is, on you.

The few times you did spot him, he had the same clenched jaw and furrowed eyebrows. He never stayed in the same place for very long and frequently you only spotted him—or rather, his broad shoulders and white-knuckled fists as they turned corners and disappeared to do whatever he did all day. Important agent things.

Regarding your coworkers… it hadn’t improved much, either. The head nurse, who you later learned was named Winona, loosened up on you a bit—which was practically nothing when both she and the other nurse had been so cold to begin with. However, your determination to help those around you seemed to impress her… most days.

(Peeks of Leon’s ashy blonde hair stolen from cracks in the tent. His fur-lined coat hangs off of his sizable frame, enveloping his arms in the thick fabric—it makes them look even bigger. Not that you care, per say, but—

“You aren’t getting paid to stalk agents,” Winona jeers, jolting you back to Earth from your subject of stolen attention. You swear she smiles at you wryly. “Should’ve tried for one of their jobs if you wanted to do that.”

She turns on her heel and goes over to a trio of injured civilians with her cart, the knot of hair tied taut at the base of her neck stares you in the face. You’re left hot faced and embarrassed for the entirety of the next check-up with your patient.)

The endless night shifts never seem to cease rolling in and you’re afraid it’s begun to catch up on you. By the end of breakfast, when you could finally drag your corpse-like body to your quarters and into your bed, your head drooped comically into your bowl of oatmeal and some of the newer agents had a blast laughing at you. Whatever, assholes.

(You were deeply embarrassed.)

So, you opted for allowing a short nap in here and there during your shift—ten minutes at most—whenever your eyelids began to feel itchy and weighted and you couldn’t help but close them. You really couldn’t. Being sat by the fire with a hot drink made you so warm and the sounds of blowing wind lulled you to sleep in the darkness under the moon.

Truly, a terrible work performance from you, but no one was around to see and surely you’d be awoken by even a hint of an emergency.

Tonight, you count sheep with your wool blanket tucked up to your chin and your head lolls against your shoulder like it’s about to fall off its hinges. One, two, three. They mock you as they hop into their pasture and curl up into white, fluffy spheres, falling asleep within the warmth of their home.

From a distance, your ears almost register the sound of footsteps that approach the tent, crushing the crunchy top layer of snow under their feet as they stop in the entrance. It isn’t enough to completely wake you until they clear their throat and say, “Hello?”

Your eyes snap open and you turn your head so fast you think it might go flying across the room. Really smooth of you, considering Leon is the one to get your attention. By the smug look on his face and slight chuckle that wracks his frame, you know he isn’t fooled with your act awake performance.

He stands there, towering and rigid, unlike the night you first met him, with his palm outstretched flat like he’s trying to show the world something.

“Oh, hey, what do you need?” you reply quickly, standing from your chair as you let your blanket fall off of you.

Leon glances at his hand and then at you. “I, uh, got a papercut.”

“A paper cut,” you repeat, just to make sure you heard him right.

“Yeah.”

You stare at him for a moment, mouth agape as his words register as something he was actually saying to you.

“Well, get comfortable, then. I’ll patch you up.”

In reality, you’re terribly confused about a special forces agent needing first aid for a paper cut, but how could you complain? He needs help and you’re there to offer it.

The blonde sits on a cot near the fire—not before picking up your blanket from the ground and placing it back on the chair, though—and you situate yourself on a stool facing him.

You take Leon’s hand in yours gently and inspect the wound. It’s fairly shallow, but placed in the center of the webbed skin between his index finger and thumb. Tough spot. When your digits graze his rough knuckles he inhales sharply and you glance at him due to the sudden motion.

He doesn’t expect a reaction from you because he pauses for a second then asks, “You think I’ll live?”

“I dunno,” you answer, sucking your teeth. “Could be a close call.”

“Yeesh.”

“I know. My condolences.”

“For myself?”

“Uh-huh.” You turn his hand over so his palm faced the sky. “This’ll sting.”

When you disinfect the injury, Leon’s face twitches into itself but he keeps quiet, opting to focus his gaze on your face while you patch him up. You try not to shift under the intensity.

“What made you want to do this?” he queries, his voice cuts through the silence and startles you a bit. Leon looks pleased with himself and you roll your eyes.

“You’ll laugh.”

“Why would I do that?”

“It’s corny.”

Admittedly, it was—the original story as to why you wanted to be a nurse. You’ve had people laugh at it before and you mostly don’t want to repeat history with someone you find rather charming, but something in Leon’s face softens and he shakes his head briefly.

“Try me,” he challenges.

“Oh, fine.” Like there was a fight put up when you relent, smoothing a bandaid over his cut. “You know those things you’d fill out as a kid? Where it’s like, what do you want to be when you grow up?”

Leon nods.

“Every single time, I would write superhero,” you laugh sourly because you got used to other people laughing when you said this, but he listens as if you’re the only sound he’s ever heard. “I’d draw myself with a little cape and all that. Then at a certain age the teachers start telling you, pick a real job, pick something that exists. And, I dunno, I thought: there are real superheroes. They save people every day because they want to.”

“I mean, I always knew I didn’t have all the right assets to be the one rescuing people from burning buildings and punching the bad guys. I wanted to help people when they couldn’t help themselves, you know? I can't carry the weight of the situation—it’s just not in my nature—but I can carry them. That’s why I started doing this, I guess.”

The look he gives you when you finish speaking is indescribable. He gazes deeply into your face like he’s trying to find a new feature he missed the first time. Something akin to pulling apart your mind with his eyes as if it’s clay made for the shaping and a load of a melancholy that’s too heavy for him; like he’s asking you, how do I carry it? Tell me how to carry something like that.

Your hand still lingers in his, over the bandaid you placed on him; you slide yours so the curves of your thumbs interlock and you grip the hilt of his palm. A hidden embrace.

Leon’s eyes dart toward your hands and he makes no effort to remove you from his grasp, his fingers relax against your wrist. He feels your heartbeat. You feel his. When he looks up again, all he sees are your eyes.

You don’t know why you went on that anecdote in the first place, not really. Only that you were finished patching him up and wanted—needed—him to linger for a bit longer.

“What about you?” you ask, voice hushed close to nothing.

“I wanted to help people, too.” He sounds uncharacteristic—sheepish? “That’s it… I can’t follow up with something as articulate as you.”

“It matters just as much even if you can’t express it,” you assure him, your head tilts.

Leon clears his throat and nods, slipping his hand from yours and looking anywhere that isn’t you. You created a shadow in front of his face, back facing the fire, but you can see the subtle dark tinge of his cheeks when he avoids your eyes. He chooses to look at his feet. There he goes, being endearing again, you think.

The harsh edges of his face are lit up with an orange glow, darkness shoots somewhere in between in a soft gradient, and he looks positively ethereal. If you reached out and cupped his face, you know it would be warm to the touch like laundry right out of the dryer. It makes him look all the more delicate and this feels more natural than the pointed looks and pinched expressions he usually wears.

You look back down at his hands. You’re trying to memorize the way they felt against yours (coarse and hot to the touch) and you get the picture of how hopeless you are—even an idiot could see you have a crush on him.

That doesn’t stop you from protecting your pride and you keep it to yourself. You stand up to put the disinfectant supplies and box of bandaids away without a word.

Leon stares at his hand like it’s missing a piece.

You have your head buried too deep into the cabinet to think much about that. Screaming at yourself was an understatement for what you’re doing in your head… a better description would be begging the floor to swallow you entirely with one gulp.

Surely, Leon has someone at home. He’s an attractive, intelligent man with an arguably stable job that pays him oodles more than he would ever need; not to mention how well-built he is, but again, for what seems like the millionth time you push this thought to the back of your mind. You could not focus on that.

“Are you okay?” his voice carries from the cot.

You take a moment’s breather and shut the cabinet door. “I’m good. How are your ribs?”

“They’re good.” Leon pauses, then adds. “Thanks.”

The shake of your head comes faster than your words; muscle memory. “It’s what I’m here for.”

“You do a good job.”

“I’m just a medic.”

“A good one.”

As you utter your gratitude for his comment, you hope he couldn’t feel the heat radiating off of your face from so far away. You weren’t one to get shy from such simple words, but you find your eyes glued to your boots because of his gentle bonniness. Damn you, you curse at him in your head—it held no weight.

The blonde stands from the cot and walks over to you. He bends slightly to catch your eyes in his. “I have to go now, but... yeah. Thank you.”

“Of course, Agent Kennedy.”

“Don’t start using formalities now,” he half-laughs, half-breathes. His face contorts when he stretches back, and his hand came up to massage his right shoulder—you even go to comment on this movement, being a medic and all, but he beats you to it with a smirk. “Stick with Leon.”

And then, in a few strides, he’s gone as fast as he came.

Your entire body deflates when you let out a guttural sigh. How come every time you watched his back, you were left reeling?

Unfortunately for you, that blasted man had ingrained himself into your head, sitting pretty in your thoughts as snug as a bug in a rug while you tried to do your job, or attempted to focus on anything other than your feelings for him. On the contrary, he returned to clearing out Umbrella facilities for the time being, which meant he was out of the base for days, or even weeks, considering he was one of, if not, the best agent they had. This saved you from the embarrassment of being caught trying to catch glances of him from inside the tent or during meals.

This, however, did not stop you from daydreaming when work got slow.

You wondered how someone like Leon behaved domestically, if he was completely different outside of the AUPIT, or if he was still just the sweet, reserved man who needed your aid often. Did he have any pets? What music did he listen to? You guess you’d have to ask him later, but you imagined that the pieces would fall into place and suit him. They’d be so perfectly Leon that when he told you, you would think to yourself, huh, why didn’t I think of that?

The amount of daydreaming you did was not lost on Winona, and occasionally she snapped her fingers in front of your face and grumbled under her breath, “I’ll kill that boy.” With no real threat to her tone.

Please, you can’t help it. He has arms with the muscle definition of a god and he told you-you were a good medic; you were a goner before you even realized it.

On the other hand, your family never let up with their pleas for you to return home, despite the fact that it simply wasn’t possible unless you had a very good reason for it. Which you didn’t, and you didn’t want to—people just didn’t get it through their heads that, yes, your job was difficult, and yes, patients got on your nerves sometimes, but no, you wouldn’t trade it for the world. This meant more to you than anything else you could fathom. You knew the fear these people felt first-hand, and you knew they needed a saving grace; just like you had.

(“Just come home,” your mother coos into the phone, her voice static-y and chopped from the poor signal. You could imagine her face right now, all worried and exhausted like you’re a child balancing on a wet playground. “There’s a hospital not too far from here… I’m sure they’d take you.

You promptly spend the next hour explaining to her that it isn’t that simple, even if you wanted to, and you remind her every few minutes that you aren’t going to leave, either. You’re happy, all things considered; which is why you make the executive decision to leave out all of the bad parts of your work so far.)

As for the efforts against Umbrella, you hear whispers of successes during dinners and fewer agents appeared at the medical tent’s door in need of assistance than when you arrived. So, you think things are going rather well for your organization. Less tired eyes and solemn faces; the fight wasn’t over, but everyone could rest a little easier with every night that passed.

And yet, those damned night shifts. You swear Winona and that other medic were scheming against you for no reason other than pure spite, on the basis of simply because they didn’t feel like doing it. It has to be funny to them by now, seeing you half-asleep at breakfast and looking all mussed at dinner because you woke up ten minutes prior. You let them laugh all they wanted because frankly, you began to enjoy the night shifts. The world went to sleep, and you enjoyed some peace and quiet.

You kick your feet up onto a stool and drape a blanket over your legs, book in hand. The soft sounds of Icelandic pop music crackles out of the radio and floats throughout the tent. You mouth the noises of the songs, unsure of the lyrics, but you’ve heard it so often by now, you could recognize the tune from the first few beats. You scat a few of the instruments, tapping your foot along. You don't notice the figure that stopped in the doorframe.

“Enjoying yourself?” Leon. You shut your book and turn to look at him, embarrassed. “I always feel like I’m coming at a bad time.”

“Never,” you reply with a haste that humbles you further. Worried about his sudden appearance in the medical tent after being gone on agent duties for nearly two weeks, you ask, “Are you okay?”

The corners of his mouth upturn and you barely see a flash of uneven teeth between the slit it creates, cute. This distracts you from how smug his face is. “I think I have a fever.”

“A fever this time?”

“Yep.”

“Make yourself comfortable, Leon.”

A paper cut, then a fever. You begin to think of his inability to soothe his minor maladies as an excuse to visit the tent. Your stomach flutters at the thought, but you have to make sure… just in case he’d fallen ill out there in the cold.

You find the thermometer and placed it in his mouth gingerly. It hangs crooked from the corner and he watches you with a certain keenness that makes you smile. After a few minutes, you check his temperature: 98.7. An amused hum escapes your lips without meaning to.

“Dying?”

“I don’t think you have a fever,” you answer, using the back of your hand to press against his forehead and cheeks. The first cheek is cold, then the left cheek warms under your skin—Leon’s expression falls bashful. “But if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were looking for reasons to come see me.”

It’s his turn to hum in thought. “Maybe.”

“You could just come talk to me.”

“You’re on the clock,” the blonde reminds you, grunting. In a swift movement, his hand presses into the curve of his neck and he rotates his right shoulder, face straining.

You see an opening. “That I am. What was that?”

“What?”

“Your shoulder.”

“I was stretching.”

“Does it hurt?”

Leon grumbles a response under his breath, unimpressed that you might have found something you could actually treat him for. You raise your brows. “I’ll take that as a yes. Let me see.”

“It’s fine.”

“Agent Kennedy.”

He pretends not to hear you.

“Leon.”

“Fine,” he gripes like a child being forced to get a shot and maneuvers to lay his stomach flat on the cot, his back faces toward the ceiling. He takes off his brown, fur-lined jacket and discards it onto the next cot over. You get a whiff of musk and cinnamon from the breeze it makes.

The shirt that clings to him left nothing to the imagination—a tight, black compression shirt stretches snugly over his muscles. You spread your fingers like fans to warm them up, then begin to run them over his shoulder and along the meat of his back.

You tsk, full of knots. This man needs a masseuse. You make a mental note to refer him to a good one you knew.

With the issue at hand, though, you find an impressive knot in his shoulder, which is likely the cause of his discomfort.

You huff, your work cut out for you. “There’s a big knot in your shoulder, Leon. How are you living like this?”

“I wake up and roll out of bed.”

“I need to get this out.”

Leon turns his head, his cheek presses to the cot. He gives you a look that says nothing short of, are you serious? You smile as sweetly as you can at him, an attempt to coax him. To your surprise, he averts his gaze fast and relents. The blonde agent sits up and shrugs his shirt off. It’s tossed next to his jacket.

Under the fire light and the dim glow of lanterns that hang in a line down the center of the tent, strings attached to the ceiling, you see the way chills prickle over the surface of his skin. Goosebumps, like rolled carpets being kicked open, unfurl down his arms rapidly and he lays down on his stomach once again.

Your face burns in the dark—you’d be surprised if you aren’t glowing like one of those lanterns from the amount of heat it exudes.

You use a dollop of skin cream to keep the area relaxed and pliable as you work out the knot with your fingers. You push it in the right direction until you got it in a better spot, then you knead it firmly. It crackles within his body.

“Fuck…” he groans in relief, nestling his head into the fabric of the cot as he sighs. “They teach you massages in nursing school?”

“That might be just a learned from life thing,” you state in total honesty. You wipe the excess lotion from your hands on a rag.

Curiously, he peers at you from the corner of his eye. “You have someone back home you do that to?”

A laugh falls from your lips, though your face feels even hotter than before (if that is even possible). “No—not at all.”

Leon lets out a pleasant hum and sit up from the cot. Good, he says without saying it.

He snatches his shirt and tugs it over his head; you pretend to make yourself busy so you have somewhere other to look than at him. You hear him sigh with great reprieve as he rolls his shoulder back and forth, it must’ve felt like a freshly oiled hinge.

He comes up behind you, his shoulder skims the back of your neck when he peers down at what you were doing on the counter. Which is a whole lot of nothing; moving cotton swabs from one container to the other, counting how many rolls of gauze you had left for the hundredth time. Mindless hand ministrations to distract you from the heart that pounds in your chest.

“Is this what you do all night?” he questions, mildly amused.

“Sometimes.”

“Must be glad I showed up.”

“Something like that,” you tease, glancing up at him with a coy smile.

You watch his withstraint break a little inside of him. He inhales sharply, losing the words you said somewhere between your eyes and your lips—he couldn’t focus with your faces so close to each other and neither could you. Leon reaches for the hand that rested on the other side of you and drags you in between him and the counter, twirling you to face him. Then he pauses and appears lost, like he doesn’t know which way is left and right.

Maybe he doesn’t know what to do, you think. You don’t really know either, so you go on about what you do know.

“You should probably use kinesiology tape on your shoulder,” you comment, suddenly becoming hyper-aware of all of your limbs. His eyes don’t leave your lips. You’d be a liar if you say yours left his.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

The man’s body heat radiates off of him and it’s magnetic, pulling you closer, away from the bitter cold. Your breath hitches. His hand hovers over the curve of your neck, then it decides to rest on the side of your jaw, thumb pressed against your flushed cheek. You remember the texture of his warm palm, coarse and calloused from years of wear.

You try to memorize every fine line and crease that scuffs your face as he beckons you to close the gap with the slight tilt of his head. I’d make a terrible agent, my resilience is slim to none, you theorize when your body moves before your mind does. His mouth hovers over yours, his breath traces your cupid’s bow. You close the distance enough that your lips graze each other until someone clears their throat from a few feet away.

Winona stands like a judgmental statue, thin brows raise expectantly. You, and Leon, jump away from each other. It rocks the counter with a loud clatter that echoes.

“Agent Kennedy,” she acknowledges him first as a sign of respect. He nods back awkwardly. “You two look like you’re enjoying yourselves.”

Neither of you talk for a moment and you find yourself desperate to create any word that could explain what that was. Leon’s eyes dart around the room.

Finally, something solid comes to your tongue. “I’m sorry.”

And then she laughs in both of your faces. Her hand waves like it’s fanning your words away from getting inhaled. You and Leon glance at each other, brows knit in honest confusion.

“Kids,” she exhales. “Stop distracting my medic, Kennedy.”

Then he speaks, but it sounds more like a nervous cough. “Yes, ma’am.”

Winona shoos him with a gesture of her wrinkled hand and he musters a sheepish, apologetic smile for you as he hurries away from the tent. You don’t make much of an effort to move as you prepare your ego for the chew out it’s about to receive.

“And you. Try to keep the fraternization out of the tent.” With that, she continues past you to search through some files, snickering to herself and shaking her head.

You aren’t about to push your luck. You get to keep your job and ego intact, and that’s enough for you. So, you whisper a quiet, “Yes, ma’am.” And go on with your day.

The encounter with Leon left you feverish and all tingly in every limb whenever it crossed your mind over the following days. You saw him out and about around the base, and during meals he offered you frail waves that faded in a breath.

Truth was, you’re too afraid of rejection to ask him about that night—go figure. Maybe you’re a cliche. Maybe you’re both cliches. Who cares? Well, you do, and you thought the ruffled, pink-tinted expressions on Leon’s face whenever you crossed paths meant that he did, too, but neither of you made a move to approach the other. You questioned if you would rather be told that his only plans for you was a short work fling with no strings attached, or if he felt the connection that you did. A terrible predicament, really, and soon your desire for a straight answer outweighed the fear of hearing something you didn’t like.

When you went to find him in the meal tent, sitting alone in one of the back corners, he wasn’t there. Okay. You waited, then decided to check the nooks and crannies of the base where you knew he hung around, and nothing. Leon vanished into thin air the moment you gathered enough courage to speak to him. Somehow you thought he read your mind and planned for this to happen, just to be able to tease you without being present. But that was simply ridiculous. He had to go to work, just like you had to do yours.

A week went by, then two; no sign of Leon’s reappearance cropped up and you began to worry you wouldn’t get the chance to speak to him at all. The only reminder that soothed you was the fact that you knew the organization was on the home stretch for completely wiping Umbrella’s power in Iceland. This reassured you for many reasons. Mainly, that you’d be able to sleep in your bed again at a proper time that didn’t leave you exhausted; but you also found comfort in the idea of finally getting a word with the blonde agent that clung to your brain like a disease once everything was over.

Of course, you had fleeting thoughts that he died and you’d forever be left wondering about what could have been. But, that was just ridiculous—he’s Leon Kennedy, the agent that saved the president’s daughter from certain death. So, you chalked it up to your anxiety being built up as doubt about the succession of the mission began to be put to an end. That yes, you would all return home soon, and no nothing terrible and tragic would happen just as you were about to win.

Eventually, you all received the verdict of the mission. Success. The sun shone through the clouds brighter that day, in ribbons of gold that elevated all of your senses to something dreamlike. Another catastrophe prevented. More people saved—clockwork. To say you were pleased with the conclusion of your first ever out of country operation would be an understatement; you were ecstatic.

Still, you find yourself fretting over that thing with Leon as you help pack up the equipment in the medical tent.

Winona, who has grown increasingly engrossed in your love life, gives you a knowing look when your lips tug downward and you send a pointed glance toward the entrance of the tent for the tenth time in the last hour. She tsks and shakes her head. It gains your attention.

“Just talk to him,” she insists, shoving a couple boxes of bandaids into the case. She’s unimpressed with your antics and just wants you to get a move on.

You sigh and preen your hair like he’ll walk in at any moment. “I haven’t seen him.”

“Hopeless,” she grumbles in response. “Hopeless. If you won’t do something about it, stop looking at the door like a kicked dog and help me.” Winona retreats further into the tent and you succumb enough to follow her.

You must glower the whole time because she won’t stop sending you dirty looks while she tapes the cardboard boxes with a tape gun. Her movements are threatening. You try to fix your expression when the line of spokes reflects off of the bright horizon outside the tent as it slices the tape.

After the innards of the tent are packed into a dozen or so boxes, you’re the person left to pick them up one by one and drop them off with the rest of the cargo that needs to be shipped. Your back is sore from the sorry excuses of beds you have and your arms ache from hours of cramming things. Kicking snow with each shuffled step, you heave out a lengthy sigh and pause to breathe. There’s a reason I’m not an agent.

“Need a hand?” Leon asks from behind you. You’re wondering how he’s always sneaking up on you.

Still, you nod and can’t help but be relieved. “Please.”

Like it’s filled with air, he takes the box from your hands and cocks a barely-there grin at your awed expression. Smug and content, he marches ahead with you in tow. You don’t really know what to say to him, if anything at all.

You walk alongside him for the first time in the daylight, and you take in his features now that they aren’t muddled in the darkened firelight or blurred by distance. He’s chiseled, sunken cheeks and high cheekbones with that intense look on in his eyes—but there’s something else—boyish, is what you think. Soft jaw. Moles and freckles litter themselves across his face.

Leon is beautiful and you would like to kiss him right now.

He stops at the drop off point, places the box next to the others and turns to you. Suddenly, he looks nervous and you feel some resolve escape your mind. He’s about to ask you something. He opens his mouth, rosy lips parting and you break—you pull him behind a tall stack of boxes and kiss him.

The collar of his jacket is clutched between your fingers in a moment and your lips are on his; the fur tickles your skin. His lips are chapped and cold but you create warmth within him, you could be a summer’s day in this frigid air. His hands come to your waist, then your hips and his fingertips make indents when he holds you tight like this was always supposed to happen. When you part, you’re both breathless.

He searches for his words again, the question he was going to ask. “Would you—dinner? On me.”

You hum in faux thought and peck him on the lips again, then again, and a third time for good measure. He smiles into the last one.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t start that by saying you stubbed your toe and needed my help.”

Leon chuckles. “I thought about it.”

He pulls you in again, tongue grazing your bottom lip. You lean in further, desperate for connection until you both go slipping like baby deer. The thin layer of snow on the ground left everything icy. He tumbles into some supplies and you land on top of him. You’re both laughing into each other’s mouths. You’re both happy.

You chime together, like clockwork.

#leon kennedy #resident evil 4 #resident evil #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy fluff #leon s kennedy #leon scott kennedy #re4r leon #re4 remake #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy oneshot #fluff #oneshot #resident evil fluff #nurse!reader #nurse!reader x leon kennedy #post re4r

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dekariosclan · 6 months

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***END GAME SPOILERS*** (tried to keep the screenshots to a minimum)

There is a game ending where Tav can choose to become a mindflayer in order to defeat the netherbrain, and if Tav has romanced an origin character, each one has a romance epilogue reacting to Tav’s new form.

Some characters wish to remain loyal in their love, but acknowledge the difficulties this new situation will bring, and agree to move forward cautiously. Some struggle with the attraction/love aspect given Tav’s new form and want to move forward together as friends, but are unsure if it can ever be anything more. And some find it to be a threshold they cannot cross.

…but then we get to Gale.

Here’s the exact moment I fell out of my f*cking chair:

Gale: Your ‘present condition’ is that you’re the one I love. And your current form is merely a reflection of the depths of your sacrifice. It only makes me love you more.

——

Just…look at adoration on this man’s face. HE IS NOT LYING. He is enamored beyond belief with Tav, and not even slightly bothered that his love has been permanently turned into a telepathic brain-eating squid monster.

Gale loves Tav so purely that he gives absolutely zero f*cks about what Tav looks like.

95% of his dialogue for this marriage proposal is exactly the same as his romance ending where Tav has not changed into a mindflayer. Every other companion’s conversation is notably different than their usual romance ending, as they take on a somber tone while trying to plan a way forward with Tav as a mindflayer, but Gale?

Gale’s biggest concern is finding a wedding caterer that can provide his darling Tav with a three-tiered raspberry layer cake with whipped cream and brain filling.

Remember when he told Tav: “I said exactly what I meant—I love you. You should never, never doubt that”? He meant it.

Gale raised the bar from: “Would you still love me if I was a worm?” To: “Would you still love me and have an elaborate public wedding if I was turned into a horrific brain-eating tentacle monster?” He would.

I adore this man.

#gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #gale x tav

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humusboii2thereturnoftheking · 3 months

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Palestine is Ruining the Left

I've taken this from Reddit because I've found it an interesting read, I did not write this myself, a user named u/ u/TooLittleNuance did. Feel free to reply and engage in converation.

I'm an Israeli-American leftist who has been active in American and Israeli politics for a number of years now. I have always advocated for human rights, equity, and self-determination for Palestinians who are oppressed(to different extents) under Israel, a nation that commits itself to Jewish domination of institutions. I always voted and campaigned for progressive Democrats and I assisted with the Israeli Meretz party from abroad. This is why I think the current Palestinian-sympathetic movement is ruining the left:

Abandonment of Pragmatism - Just like the 2020 George Floyd protests("Defund the Police"), the Western left has completely embraced a suicidal strategy of idealistic radicalism. Many of those on the left insist the solution to the conflict is a one-state solution consisting of Palestine "from the River to the Sea". Unfortunately, they've appropriated the Palestinian mythology in their ambitions to magically destroy Israel and the ideology of Zionism by BDS somehow or supporting Palestinian "armed struggle". It doesn't take a lot of thought to see how both of those methods are incredibly ineffective and immoral to advocate for and implement. So, instead of a pragmatic approach, like empowering the Israeli left through donations and advocacy, supporting a reasonable solution(two-state or one-state under Israel), or calling for the ultimate humanitarian end to the war of a unilateral Hamas surrender, the Western left insists on a dream scenario that will never happen. This is the most egregious behavior of the left and it's their most common mistake(i.e. Vietnam). This is due to the fact that Palestinians, especially in Gaza, are suffering under disproportionate Israeli force with no Western movement to realistically end it. In fact, these Western leftists, due to these tactics, are assisting in empowering and legitimizing the far-right of Israel. They are the perfect strawman to turn people off to the left in Israel, which, in turn, results in a lengthened Palestinian suffering.

Maximalism - There's a tendency on the left to outcompete each other in radicalism. It's not catchy or sexy to say "The war tactics that Israel uses are disproportionate and don't consider enough of the humanitarian cost", it has to be "genocide" or "ethnic cleansing" in order to provoke an emotional reaction from uneducated Westerners. It's not "the security policy of Hafradah has resulted in reduced human rights of Palestinians compared to Israelis", it has to be "Apartheid"(with the only legal precedent being South Africa). These maximalist statements immeasurably hurt the movement for true progress on Palestinian human rights. It results in a boy-who-cried-wolf situation: If Israel decides to transfer the entire Gazan population to the Sinai, what is that called? A "genocide"? Due to the present labeling of the war, nobody will believe it. What if Israel permanently transfers or kills 100,000 Palestinian civilians? 200,000? 1 million? What will that be called? How can it get worse than "genocide"? This Maximalist rhetoric is not only inaccurate, but it's incredibly damaging to describe the proportionate extent of Palestinian suffering, which is vital to any movement that faithfully advocates for an upliftment of Palestinian life and identity.

Normalization of Bigotry - Explicit or latent Jew-Hatred is being increasingly embraced by radical sections of the Western left. Tropes such as "Zionist"(a euphemism for "Jew" for many) control of governments or blood libel. Wishing "Death to Zionists" or equating them with Nazis is, in most cases, latent Jew-Hatred. Regardless of your thoughts on the definition of Zionism(there is no definition, it is a meaningless term), it's clear that many believe that "Zionists" are just uppity Jews. Of course, this is genuinely believed by a small portion of the left. However, a substantial part of Western leftists has repeatedly failed to condemn this Jew-Hatred and to stop mirroring the language of these latent or explicit Jew-Haters. This is 1000x worse in the case of Israelis. For Western leftists, it's normal to call Israelis "colonizers", "demons", "rapists", and "child-murderers" on their social media without repercussion or introspective irony. As somebody belonging to the Israeli nationality, I have been desensitized to the insane amount of bigotry from those that I formerly respected. However, many Israelis or Jews aren't as depersonalized as I am, and they definitely take the bigotry to heart. What do you think results from that? Usually, a vote for Likud(Netanyahu's Party) or a donation to AIPAC. Thus, propagating a cycle of bigotry and continuing the suffering of Palestinians.

Propaganda - This war has sparked the largest disinformation campaigns in human history. Multiple state entities (Israel, U.S., Russia, Iran, Qatar) and numerous private entities are pumping out loads of propaganda in order to manipulate uneducated Westerners into supporting their interests. Since October 7th, known Russian disinformation propagator, Jackson Hinkle, has skyrocketed in followers due to his ability to mislead Western leftists on the war. I have seen an unfathomable amount of reposts from Al Jazeera and MiddleEastEye, known Qatari state propaganda and major propagates of misinformation. I have always appreciated the value of institutional skepticism that embodied many of the historical and academic leftist leaders. However, right now, those values are completely thrown out in favor of Russia or Iran's geopolitical advocacy of "everything the West does is bad". The previous three points of behavior are certainly emboldened by the paid disinformation and bots that propagate anti-Western sentiment to destabilize Western democracy. Meanwhile, the basic interests of Palestinian civilians are left unregarded while these state operatives kill their only lifeline.

Reactionary Resurgence - One of the main factors that attracted me to the left was its rejection of reactionary ideology(the establishment of traditional institutions from the past). For Israelis and Palestinians, reactionary rhetoric is normalized and encouraged in many cases. However, this reactionary ideology that has plagued those who share my nationality has spread to Western leftists in their advocacy for Palestine. Western leftists constantly appropriate the far-right and reactionary talking points that many radicalized Palestinians spout. An example would be the insistence on the exclusive indigeneity of Palestine from the River to the Sea, which abandons the progressive values of anti-nationalism and intersectionality. Another example would be the appropriation of Palestinian Martyrdom, in which many of them embraced the idea that human life can be inherently reduced to a political or national cause by their manner of death. This is a clear rejection of the values of individualism, secularism, and anti-nationalism.

Historical Negligence - Those who are even a little bit informed on the Israel-Palestinian Conflict understand that the conflict is too complex to be treated as a soccer match of Israelis vs. Palestinians. Many Israeli and Palestinian leaders set roadblocks to an equitable peace, while many others progressed the conflict to a more positive state. Even more than the historical complexity of this conflict, evaluating the moral complexity requires a graduate degree in a relevant field with hundreds of hours of research. I typically advise not to trust anybody's commentary of the conflict with any less credibility than the previous sentence. However, the Western left has instead decided to follow the historical and moral analysis of demagogues. There's constantly factually wrong or misleading historical information on many of these Palestinian-sympathetic accounts. An example is the map of a "disappearing Palestine" that millions have reposted, a blatantly misleading map meant to depict "Zionist colonization", meanwhile, neglecting the historical borders of the conflict. There are many other forms of historical negligence that they commonly employ that are extremely damaging for understanding the conflict.

In conclusion, Western leftists are keeping up with the Western traditions of white saviorism and interfering with this particular trendy foreign conflict. I could have written a few more grievances that I have of the Western left(including the embracement of far-right Islamist groups) but I wanted to keep the post relatively short. In several months, Western leftists will forget about the Gazans suffering under the disproportional force of the IDF. Nobody will self-criticize the ideas or tactics that they engaged in, meanwhile, the Israeli left-wing and reliable non-Hamas Palestinian advocacy organizations are left in the dust by an ineffective white-savior-esqe Western movement. Not only that but due to all of these factors making the left look like lunatics, Biden and the Democrats are being affected in the polling, which may result in Trump being elected, a terrible outcome for Palestinians.

#freegazafromhamas #hamasisisis #israel #palestine #leftism #politics #israel palestine conflict #israel hamas conflict #middle east #usa #america #jerusalem #west bank #gaza #genocide #apartheid #ethnic cleansing

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the-habitat-sysblog · 3 months

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HOW AUTISM CAN INTERACT WITH A COMPLEX DISSOCIATIVE DISORDER

higher rates of introjection - this is something commonly spoken about in the online CDD community, meaning it is a shared experience even if there is little proper medical research on the topic. however, it has been observed that some autistic pwCDDs have more introject alters (specifically fictional introjects - sometimes called 'fictives') than their allistic counterparts. this may be due to hyperfixation on fictional media, or splitting alters sourced from special interests.

splitting due to overwhelm - meltdowns, shutdowns and other reactions to overstimulation in autistic people can lead to splitting new parts, as these situations can be highly stressful.

autistic traits differing per alter - since autism is a neurodevelopmental disability that affects the entire brain, every alter will have some variation of ASD. however, different alters may struggle with/experience different autistic traits! where one alter may struggle more with, say, language and communication skills, another alter may be more proficient in that area. however, the second alter may then struggle instead with a compulsive need for strict, unbroken routines. this is how the spectrum can present differently in different alters.

unpredictable social situations and the stress of social interaction can cause more switching - as social situations can be more stressful for autistics than our allistic counterparts, it should be noted that these can be triggers for rapid switching! we may rapid switch in order to find a part that is best suited to handle the situation, which can end in switching multiple times as a lot of autistic people struggle to cope in uncomfortable social situations, such as at school/work, during conflicts, or at events. (written with input from @kityenok; thank you!)

semi-verbality, verbal shutdown and abilities to communicate varying per alter - in autistics with variable ability to communicate, the proficiency at communication can vary between alters! in semi-verbal/semi-speaking pwCDDs, some alters may have a few more words than others, while others struggle more than the rest of the system. in autistics with frequent verbal shutdowns, there may be alters who rarely if ever experience speech loss, while there are others who are permanently in a state of verbal shutdown. the ability to communicate non-verbally (using body language, signing, or even using assistive technology and speech-to-text) can fluctuate, with certain alters being less effective at using these methods than others. (note: from what i have heard from non-verbal/non-speaking pwCDDs, all alters tend to lack mouth words. if this is inaccurate to your experience, feel free to share!)

of course, there are more ways that autism can influence and interact with alters in CDDs! if you would like to add to this list, feel free to do so. ^^

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lyjen · 2 months

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Permanent basis

Summary: When a firefighter transfers from the 226 to firehouse 118, Evan immediately doesn’t like the guy. He shares his opinion with his friends, who don’t agree. But when Evan catches him doing something, he loses it.

9-1-1 masterlist

My requests are open! So feel free to send your idea’s 🫶🏽

“Okay 118 let’s gather ‘round and settle in. We have some outstanding tasks from our last shift, and I have an important announcement.” Bobby’s voice sounded over the floor of the firehouse. He was standing in front of the lined-up benches, ready to start the briefing.

Evan was standing behind the last bench, with (y/n) sitting on the red coloured bench in front of him. Hen was sitting next to (y/n), Eddie and Chimney were standing next to Evan himself. He let his right hand fall on (y/n)’s right shoulder, and he plants his lips quick on te back of her head. As he straightens his back again and opens his ears to hear what Bobby has to tell.

Everyone in the firehouse knew Evan and (y/n) were together, all of the members knew they would end up together before Evan and (y/n) did. They were the kind of people that would say: “we’re just friends” And “that is what friends do”. But at least they knew for sure their relationship had the right foundation.

“I’m gonna start with the important announcement.” Bobby started off. “As you know, we’ve had a few floaters for Lucy Donato’s spot at the 118. But we’ve found ourselves a replacement on the permanent basis. Everyone, meet Wes Hargrove.” He continued to speak as he held out a presenting hand towards the newest addition. Wes stood up and took place next to Bobby. “Wes transferred from firehouse 226. So.. let’s not scare him off.” Bobby said as he firmly put his hand on Wes his shoulder, as he proudly presents the newest addition to his crew. “Well I doubt if you can scare me out of one of the best firehouses in the city.” Wes spoke up as he smirked.

It took a few months before Lucy’s spot on the 118 was being filled. There was a firefighter shortage, which is understandable. Because volunteerly running into fires and other dangerous situations wasn’t for everyone.

Evan’s stomach made a turn when Wes stood next to his captain. He couldn’t exactly tell, but something was going on with this guy. He wasn’t sure what it was. But it gave him the feeling that he couldn’t be trusted. Why was he being transferred to 118? What happened at the 226 what made him switch houses?

“Hm. One of the best firehouses in the city and permanent basis? We don’t know anything about this guy.” Evan stated as he leaned over to his side to Eddie. Eddie shook his head with a grin spread on his face. It was typically Evan to react the way he did. “Yeah, well.. you also said you didn’t like Eddie but.. look at you now.” Hen said as she looked to her right, to try and face Evan.

“That was different.” He answered as he folded his arms and leaned forward. A confused look morphed onto Hen’s face. “How was that any different?” She asked Evan. It took him a few seconds to think of an answer to that question.

“Yeah. That’s what I thought.” Hen said when she didn’t receive an answer to her question and turned back around to face the briefing of Bobby. Evan clicked his spine back in place as Hen turned away from him. Evan didn’t need to look at (y/n) to know that she was at this exact moment, was grinning at what just happened.

“Yeah.. okay that was a mistake.” Evan tried to defend himself. “But we all know you and Chim were right about Jonah. So.. what are your thoughts?” He continued as he looked at Chimney and back at Hen. But nobody answered Evan’s question. They were listening to Bobby’s story about the outstanding tasks.

“Okay so that was it. Let’s get to work!” Bobby ended his briefing. All firefighters stood up and spread themselves out into the station.

When (y/n) stands up, she turns around to face Evan. She offers him a small smile, “let’s just not.. judge a book by its cover okay?” (Y/n) spoke softly when she let her hand fall on Evan’s chest and her thumb rubbed softly up and down his shirt. Evan narrowed his eyes. “I’m telling you.. there’s just something about him, that doesn’t add up..” he says as he looked at Wes with a judgmental expression flooded over his face.

(Y/n) knew Evan wasn’t great with changes. Especially with new crew members. He had the same thing when Eddie joined the 118, but also when (y/n) joined the team. It was like Evan was scared to be replaced. As if the people who recently joined, were after his spot at the 118.

When (y/n) joined the 118 about a year ago, Evan wasn’t quite nice to her neither. She understood, a stranger interfering a trusted environment. But all of the attitude seemed to fade when Evan got hurt on scene and she took care of him.

(Y/n)’s hand slides from his chest up to his cheek, as she moved his chin back so he was looking at her instead of Wes. She let her thumb softly rubbing over his cheek. “I just don’t want anyone to get hurt because we let him into our firehouse.” Evan spoke softly as he lets his hand rest on (y/n)’s waist. “Oh Evan..” she sighed, when she cupped his cheeks with both of her hands now and continued to rub her thumb against his cheek.

Evan let his forehead fall against hers, their noses almost touching each other. “I don’t know what it is about him, but I’m gonna find out.” he says as he leaned into the touch and close his eyes for a second. It felt nice, just a moment of no sirens, no adrenaline rushing through their veins, just a moment of silence.

“Really?” Evan said with desperation in his voice as he looked up, pretending to speak to the gods. The alarm sounded through the 118 firehouse, as they called out the ambulance number and casualty. “That’s my queue.” (Y/n) said as she breaks free out of Evan’s grip, and turns around to run towards the ambulance.

____

“Trauma bag” Buck says as he laid his eyes on the clipboard which he was balancing on his left arm, while he checked off another empty space with the pen in his right hand.

Eddie pushes himself off the truck as he walks towards the trauma bag, which was lying on the truck next to the ladder truck. “Yep” he confirms as he grabbed the bag in his right hand and put it in the right compartment. “I’m sorry. What was that?” Buck says as he puts two fingers next to his ear, pretending he didn’t hear Eddie clear enough. Eddie’s face morphed into an unamused expression. “Check.” He corrected himself. “Yeah” Evan nodded in agreement as he checked the box next to the trauma bag on the clipboard.

Evan turned into a whole other person when he was handed a clipboard. Everyone at the 118 thought so, it was not just Eddie. Evan wanted to prove that he could be a leader. Yes he could be reckless and impulsive at times, but that is just who he is.

“AED” he said louder, as he let the pen hoover above the checkmark box. As soon as he heard the word “check” fall off Eddie’s lips, he checked the box. “The..” Evan stopped mid sentence, as he heard the ambulance rig beeping as they drove backwards into the station. He peeked around the truck which was blocking his view of the ambulance. While Eddie leaned his forearms onto the compartment door as he waited for the next thing to put back into the truck. “Okay, saws!”

(Y/n) opened the passenger door where she was sitting as Hen turned the engine of the ambulance off. A sigh rolled off (y/n)’s lips as she shut the door behind her. She put a strand of hair behind her ear when she and Hen both walked towards the rack where they hung their fluorescent jackets.

“How was your call?” Evan asked when she was passing by the truck they were working on. (Y/n) stopped in her tracks, as she spots her boyfriend with clipboard and all in between the trucks walking towards her. (Y/n) made a think-full sound.

As Evan came closer, he lay his clipboard with pen on the other truck. He placed one hand on her cheek as he curled the other on her waist, and planted a kiss against her temple. She sighs. “Could’ve been better” she answered shortly as she creates some distance between Evan and her.

A confused look spread across Evan’s face, normally she wouldn’t pull back that fast. She would just lean into his touch. Something happened on the call.

She shook off her fluorescent jacket, so her uniform was visible now. “Jesus, what happened?” Evan asked when he noticed the enormous stain on her uniform, which looked like mud. Completely understanding now why she pulled back that fast and why she was probably annoyed.

“We got a call that there was some drunk guy faced down on the street. We turned him over to treat him and then.. this happened.” She spoke as she held out her hands to present sent him the huge stain she got on her uniform.

On Evan’s face was an distasteful expression projected. When (y/n) took a look down at the stain on her uniform, she almost threw up herself. “Ugh, I need to shower and change before I’m gonna throw up all over this floor.” she said and turns around to resume her way to hang her jacket.

Evan just laughs at her reaction, as he turns back around to Eddie to go and get the next object. But when Evan turns around, Eddie is gone. “Eddie?” he looks around the station floor, when someone yanks the clipboard out of his hands. “Hen! Seriously!?” Evan yelled after her. “Yep!”

A smile appeared on (Y/n)’s lips as she heard Evan yell at Hen. She had just hung her jacket on the reck underneath her own name, and was continuing her way towards the locker room. She walked into the locker room, closed the door behind her and walked to her locker. (Y/n) yanked open her locker and unbuttoned her shirt as she threw the dirty one into her locker. She was gonna throw that one into the washing-machine as soon as she had a shower.

“Geez what happened to you?” An unfamiliar voice rang through the locker room. She flinched and pushed the towel she had in her hand against her chest as she turned to her left, and sees Wes stopping in his track. He was walking past the line of lockers (y/n) was standing in front of. “Oh.. just a little accident on scene..” (y/n) said, wanting to cut the conversation short.

She wasn’t expecting anyone to be in the locker room. But maybe Wes came from the restrooms. (Y/n) continued grabbing her stuff together, as she sees in the corner of her eye Wes coming closer. “I think we haven’t met yet.” (Y/n) pushed the towel closer to her chest as Wes reaches out his hand. “I’m Wes.” she looked up at him, and back at his hand as she shook it. “(Y/n)” she introduced herself. Wes leaned with the side of his body against the lockers. “Nice to meet you, (y/n).” he said as he smiles at her.

(Y/n) wasn’t interested in a long conversation about his life and hers. All she wanted was a shower and wash the smell off of her body. She turned back to her locker, while one hand remained on the towel she was holding to her chest. “So you’re a paramedic?” Wes spoke up as he saw her grabbing shampoo and a new button up on a hanger out of her locker. She nodded, along with an agreeing sound. She smashes her locker with a bang, trying to give him a hint.

(Y/n) turns to Wes, “Wes.. was it? Right?” she asks. Wes nods, confrirming that it was his name. “Can we talk later? I’m really looking forward to a shower right now, after this call.” she continued. “Yeah sure” he says as he gives (y/n) a gentle smile. “Okay Thanks” she says with a small smile as she passes Wes, who keeps on leaning against the lockers.

Maybe Evan was right, and there was something up with Wes. Or maybe he was just trying to make friends.

_______

“Ah shit, i forgot my phone in the rig.” Wes spoke up when he reached the top of the stairs. Everyone was sitting at the table, waiting for Bobby to fill their plate with some Mac and cheese.

While Wes walked down the stairs again, Bobby started to fill up plates while Hen passed them on to the other firefighters who were sitting at the table. “Where’s (y/n)?” Bobby asked when her seat was empty and she was nowhere to be found on the loft. “Oh yeah, she’s in the shower, she’ll be here soon. She had a little accident on scene.” Evan spoke up as he took a fork full of mac and cheese. “An accident hm? What happened?” Bobby asked on as he took place on his chair. “Some drunk guy puked all over her when we tried to treat him.” Hen answered for Evan, who was chewing like his life depended on it.

“You really can’t eat properly Buck?” Hen said as she pointed with her fork towards Evan’s shirt. Evan presses his chin to his chest as he takes a look down at his shirt, “shit. No.. not again.” He mumbles, as he tries to clean his shirt with a napkin. “You’re not getting that stain out with a napkin.” Hen says as she takes another bite from her food. He sighs, as he pushes back his chair and walks towards the stairs.

He walks into the locker room and opens his locker. He could hear the water streaming out of the shower head down to the floor in a distance. Evan unbuttoned his shirt, and threw it into his locker. He grabbed his other shirt from the hanger, he puts his clean one on and buttoned up his shirt again. As he reaches the last two buttons, he hears a door closing. Which was weird, because he could still hear the water running. His eyes narrowed, as his face morphed into a confused look.

Evan closes his locker and continues his way towards the bathroom, he has to go to the toilet anyway.

He opens the door to the bathroom, and walks to the toilets. When he lays his hand on the door handle, he could see a shadow in the corner of his eye. He lets go of the door handle, as he turns around and walks in the direction of the showers. When he rounds the corner, he could see Wes in front one of the showers, with his phone in his hand. Evan was sure he could see the camera app was opened and Wes is coming closer to the cubicle where the water was running. With his girlfriend underneath the shower.

Evan’s speeds up his steps and gives Wes a hard push to the side of the room. Wes his back falls hard against the wall of the room. But as he bounces back, Evan roughly grabs his collar and pushes him harshly into the wall. While his phone falls to the ground. “And what do you think you’re doing?” Evan’s voice sounded through the small room. His voice sounded dark, as if his inner demon could burst out of him in a second.

“Buck? What the hell are you doing?” (Y/n)’s voice asked when she opened the door of her cubicle with nothing but a white towel wrapped around her body. “Hey take it easy man!” Wes says with a trembling voice. “Are you kidding me?” Evan spoke up at Wes as he pushed him harder into the concrete wall. “Evan!” (Y/n) spoke harder, to get her boyfriend’s attention.

“I found this pervert lurking outside of your shower.” Evan spoke now even harder. “With, his phone in his hand.” He continued. Wes nervously laughed, but stopped when Evan pushed him again. “You think it’s normal? To stand outside someone’s shower? Right after I told you I was going to take one?” (Y/n) said as she tightened the towel around her chest. “I-.. i can explain” Wes said. Evan’s face came dangerously close to Wes his face. “Get out.” Evan said and pushed Wes towards the exit of the bathroom.

“Come on man-“ Wes spoke when Evan continued to push him outside the locker room, onto the station floor where the rigs were stalled. “I didn’t do anything wrong” Wes said. Evan’s face turned to thunder.

Didn’t do anything wrong? He was literally taking pictures of (y/n) while she was taking a shower.

Evan balled his fist, and lashed out his arm until his fist met his face. Wes his hand shot towards his hand as he screamed out in pain. “Fuck!” Evan hissed as he shook his hand, he had hit Wes so hard that his knuckles were bleeding and hurting from the impact. “Buck! What the hell are you doing!” Bobby’s voice roared through the firehouse. Evan pushed Wes against the fire truck. “I found this guy making pictures of (y/n) while she was in the shower.” He spoke up as Evan could hear multiple people running down the stairs.

“What?” Bobby said with a confused sound in his voice. “That is not true!” Wes said trying to get Bobby on his side. “You fucking pervert!” Evan yelled as he pushed Wes back against the fire truck again. Chimney and Eddie were trying to push Evan off of the newbie. “Buck let go.” Bobby warned him as he looked him stern in the eye. When Evan quickly connected with Bobby’s eyes, he roughly let go of Wes.

Evan put his hands up as he backed up from the firefighter and roughly shakes off the hands from Chim and Eddie, who were trying to stop him from attacking Wes again. “It’s true.” (Y/n)’s voice sounded from behind Evan. Evan turned around as he sees his girlfriend walking onto the floor. Her hair was completely soaked, she had her uniform on but her shoes were nowhere to be found. She was walking onto the floor with her socks on and a phone in her hand. “He tried to record me when I was in the shower.” (Y/n) said as she bit on her lower lip and waved with the phone of Wes as if it was some sort of price.

Her eyes stayed locked on Wes, when she handed the phone over to Bobby for evidence. (Y/n) folded her arms over each other. “Don’t worry, you won’t see me naked on that video. Evan came in just in time.” She said as Bobby looked at her with a questionable look. Bobby plays the video and you can hear loud and clear what was happening.

“Your shift just ended. Eddie, make sure he doesn’t run off. I’m calling Athena.” Bobby says as he gives (y/n) the phone and walks away, starting a phone call with his wife. While the rest of the group returns to the loft, (y/n) turns towards her boyfriend. “I’m sorry.” She spoke. “Don’t be” Evan answered.

How could she be sorry? Because she was taking a shower? “No.. I’m sorry i didn’t believe you this morning.” She went on. “God I feel so stupid right now.” She says as her eyes looked at her feet because of the embarrassment. “Hey, hey.. you were right, I shouldn’t be judging people because they made me uncomfortable, or I do not trust them.” Evan said as he put his hand on her shoulder.

(Y/n)’s eyes traced over his hand as she noticed something red on his hand. “Did you hit him?” She asked him when her eyes wandered back to his. “Would you be mad if I said yes?” Evan smirked. (Y/n) laughed as she grabbed his hand which had some blooded knuckles. She inspected his hand. “(Y/n).. I’m fine. I swear.” Evan says as he hissed when (y/n) applied pressure to see if he hurt his hand. “Let me at least clean your wounds.” Evan sighed. He knew she wouldn’t take a no for an answer. So he agreed.

They walked towards the stairs which led to the loft and a first aid kit. “Didn’t you forget something before you left the locker room?” Evan laughed while he put his right arm around her shoulders. “Yeah I know. I didn’t have time to put my boots on when I already lost so much time putting on my uniform, while I was still half soaking wet.” She explained. He put his mouth close to her ear. “You know I wouldn’t mind seeing you in that towel again.”

#911 #911 fox #911 imagine #buck imagine #buck x reader #evan buckley imagine #evan buckley x reader #evanbuckley #imagine #911 abc #911 s7

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tightjeansjavi · 3 months

Text

snooze

A/N: this is all @corazondebeskar fault 🥺

~Word Count: 717~

Summary: Joel loves to nap

Pairing | Joel Miller x f!reader

Warnings: none, domestic fluff, soft!joel, peepaw!joel and a sprinkle of angst, readers nickname is honeypie and lady, reader has no physical descriptions (given the content of my blog, all fics are +18 minors dni!)

The last thing Joel Miller ever expected after the outbreak was finding himself in a domestic situation where he had the luxury of fucking napping.

He loved to nap.

Sometimes he’d fall asleep in the porch chair out on the back deck with the sun warming his face. He’d set his guitar down to the side, cross his arms over his chest and mumble about how he’s just gonna rest his eyes for a few minutes.

When you come outside to check on him, he’s snoozing, soft snores slipping past his plush lips. Face relaxed, and the once permanent furrow of his brows is no longer present.

Sometimes after dinner he’d situate himself on the couch with you and Ellie on either side of him while he lets Ellie pick out a movie to watch. He’ll argue that he won’t fall asleep..this time. But between the blanket draped over his legs, and Ellie curled up with her head in his lap, he’s dozing off with his head resting on your shoulder.

His favorite time to nap is arguably right after lunch. Specifically Sunday’s because it’s the one day out of the week where he’s not on patrol, and he gets to spend his whole day with you.

The sunroom is a new addition that he and Tommy built together. There’s a built-in bookshelf along the wall that is brimming with all different genres of books. There’s even some house plants. The main star of the room is the cozy chaise lounge. It’s a bit faded, and has seen better days, but he loves it.

His eyes are already droopy when you move to get up from the spot you were sitting on. He loved it when you would read to him, and today’s book was Wuthering Heights.

“Where you goin’,honeypie?” He rasps, peeking one eye open to look over at you.

You place your hand over his covered knee, squeezing it gently before you lean over and press a soft kiss to his cheek, and then his lips. “Laundry is probably done by now. I’ll be right back, okay?” You brush away a few strands of his soft curls. He’s been growing his hair out lately, and the grays in his beard are more prominent. You’ve never stopped loving this man, and he’s never stopped loving you.

“Hurry back, please. Miss you already.” He murmurs, lips curving into a lazy grin.

He’s a sap. A real softy now that he has no reason to fear. You and Ellie, and this town have turned a lion into a house cat.

“You’re a real softy, Joel Miller.” You whisper and brush away a few stray breadcrumbs from his patchy beard.

“Mhm. ‘S’cus’ of you, lady.” He teases gently.

You peck his lips once more, lulling him to close his eyes. Rest, Joel. You have all the time in the world to sleep. To love. To relax. To live. All the time, my love.

His lashes flutter as he sinks further into the couch, awaiting your return so he can snuggle with you once more.

Taking care of the laundry and tidying up the kitchen takes all of 10 minutes for you to complete. You find yourself thinking about the days when 10 minutes could either mean life or death. 10 minutes used to feel like 10 seconds. To run. To hide. To fight. 10 minutes now felt like 10 hours. 10 years.

You and Joel fought hard for this life of peace and not a day goes by where you don’t feel grateful for it all.

When you return to the sunroom, one of his legs is sticking out from under the quilted blanket, and he’s sprawled out entirely. His skin holds a warm glow from the trickling sunlight coming in through the windows.

He senses your presence even in his light slumber, and his arms subconsciously reach for you.

I’m here. You reassure him as his eyes open, droopy with sleep. He looks scruffy and soft at the same time. A big ole teddy bear; all yours.

Missed you. He murmurs softly as his arms wrap around your middle, pulling you back against his strong chest.

Missed you too, Joel. You melt into his warm embrace. Heartbeats steady, calm and at peace.

Two house cats basking in the sunlight, bellies full, and hearts warm.

Banners made by the lovely @saradika 🤍

I no longer have a taglist so please follow @tightjeansjaviupdates for fic updates and notifications!

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel x you #joel x reader #soft!joel miller #joel miller fluff #joel miller imagine #joel miller drabble #joel the last of us #joel miller fic #post outbreak joel

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placeinthemiddleofnowhere · 3 months

Text

Reign down on me - Part 7

Pairing: Ghost x Hybrid!reader (eventual poly!141)

No use of y/n or mention of gender/race

Summary: Reader is a wolf hybrid in a world that treats them like second class citizens, given a horrible start in life after being thrown into the military with no preparation. After years of struggle, they're finally taken away from their base by Ghost, now a permanent member of taskforce 141 reader struggles to come to terms with the fact that perhaps there's a life there for them - if only they reach out and accept it.

Warnings: hurt/comfort, Angst, abuse mentions, self doubt, violent scenes

Masterlist here

-🐺-

When you opened your eyes the world was drowned in darkness and you were in an unfamiliar room, sapping warmth from an oversized lump in the sheets. At first you froze like a statue, flicking your eyes around to see if you could make anything out. It was clear enough that you weren’t in your own bed, but even your advanced eyes couldn’t make a single thing out for the lack of any light.

The lump groaned and shifted, sprawling out like a tiger skin rug before retracting again. A heavy weight draped itself round your mid section, an arm you realised, that caused you to curse and pant for inside it’s unyielding hold. Ghost. Who else had arms the size of iron girders?

It should’ve been obvious to you, but your mind had been too foggy in the aftermath of your unexpected sleep. Had you taken a second to scent the air, you would’ve been greeted with his relaxing scent, but instead you’d fumbled around like a bear coming out of hibernation. At that realisation you scrunched your eyes closed and then opened them again, still feebly trying to see through the oppressive black of the room. It had to be Ghost’s room that you were in, the place was practically painted with his citrusy scent, with undertones of sage ever present and invading.

“Y’alright, Pup?” a groggy voice called out.

It sounded as if a pile of rocks had shifted from right next to you. Your ears twitched back at the sound and all at once you relaxed in his loosened grip, turning around to face him. Your noses were inches from touching. Not that you could see his, but you could feel the steady streams of his breaths trickling out from his sleepwear body.

“Um…yeah” you whispered, unsure of how to answer. “Why’d you take me to your bed?”

He yawned and uncurled his arm from your body, instead using his hand to trace little patterns up your arms.

“You seemed upset when I left you in yours. Only calmed down and stopped whinin’ when I let you curl up here,” he explained, sounding as if he was moments from drifting off again.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you said hastily.

You couldn’t believe it! Why would you have whined at being left to sleep alone? Why would you stop when you got to sleep in Ghost’s bed? The revelations had you frowning and feeling markedly warmer than you already were. Your mind whirred at the idea that Ghost had witnessed you mewling like a little puppy at having to sleep in your own bed.

“I know. I didn’t want you having bad dreams after what happened yesterday, so I thought it was for the best,” he said simply, as if what he’d done was completely normal.

“I can handle those,” you said weakly.

“You don’t have to.”

You gulped down a thick lump in your throat and let the silence settle over you both. Though the room wasn’t completely quiet of course. Ghost’s steady breathing and the sound of your own pounding heart rattled around in your ears. Though your chest calmed its frenzy when Ghost drew you close again, urging you to burrow your head under his chin and into the soft cotton of his worn shirt.

The two of you stayed silent for a time after though neither of you fell asleep. Instead the time was spent mulling through your sluggish thoughts, wondering distantly if you should be trying to leave.

“I think you should reconsider your nesting situation,” Ghost said suddenly, breaking the silence.

“What?”

“You have a lot of bad dreams most nights. You were peaceful last night though,” he explained softly.

“Do they wake you up?” you asked, brows knitting together in worry.

You’d woken plenty of times before in your old barracks from others' bad dreams and in turn woken the others with your own. It wasn’t lost on you how annoying it was to try to get to sleep after being jolted awake and kicked into an adrenaline rush, lying there in the grey light of almost dawn with a pounding heart and the knowledge that you’d have to get to work again soon.

“Nah, told you before - I’m not a good sleeper. If I knew there was something that helped though I’d make sure I got to sleep properly every night.”

You huffed out an embarrassed laugh and shook your head, feeling his stubbly chin scratch the top of your head. It was only then that it occurred to you that he was maskless again. You wondered if that meant he was getting more comfortable around you, just as you were him.

“It was probably just a fluke,” you murmured, trying to hide your interest. “I’m not gonna hoard your clothes like some feral squirrel, Ghost.”

He laughed at that, the bassy tones reverberating through his wide chest and against your warming skin.

“It’s not hoarding and it doesn’t have to be my clothes. I can give you my duvet or I could get you a new blanket and sleep with it for a bit if you like, if that would make it feel more natural.”

“It’s not natural, its weird,” you huffed.

“You’re a hybrid, S’not weird,” he affirmed, stroking circled down your back. “It’s normal for you to need comforting scents and materials. My old partner used to keep a nest, we had an arrangement and it was fine.”

At that your ears flicked in curiosity. He’d never mentioned this ‘old partner’ before. All at once your mind flooded with questions and as it worked hard to process them all, you could barely hold onto one tightly enough to ask it.

“You had a hybrid before me?” you eventually said, voice small and unsteady.

Ghost paused. It was if he’d only just realised what he’d just said.

“Another wolf,” he confirmed, throat swelling and tense. “We were paired up after I passed my handler qualification. It was a long time ago - feels like a lifetime really. Spent four years together, he used to cuddle up with me just like this in my stupid little barracks bunk when he had rough nights.”

The elephant in the room stared down at you from on high. There was no avoiding it’s almost tangible bulk. So you asked the question that wanted to leap off the tip of your tongue.

“What happened to him?”

Ghost was ready for that, answering quickly. Though it didn’t sound like it hurt him any less to say it when it was spoken through gritted teeth.

“Killed in action.”

“Oh…I’m- I’m sorry.”

Was that the right thing to say? When other hybrids you’d worked with had died, there usually weren’t many mourners if any, though that was because you were under the care of Branhaven. You’d only met a few hybrids before that were in the care of handlers and it had been obvious that you’d always been intrinsically different from them, that they had far more value to their teams than you ever did as an unclaimed hybrid.

“Roach was a good lad,” Ghost said eventually. “He taught me alot in our time together, made me sharper with all his…’quirks’. Used to steal anything of mine that he could get his grubby little mitts on and drag it off to his bed, so to be honest it was a bit of a shock when I realised you weren’t going to be the same.”

Ghost laughed a little despite the sadness that tinged his careful words.

“With a name like Roach, I can only imagine what other quirks he had,” you smiled.

“Oh that one loved to get himself into trouble. I still remember the first time we went out with Price - very long time ago. Roach thought it’d be funny to steal his hat, this is before he started wearing the boonie mind you, at that point it was this old beanie that absolutely reeked of cigars. Found that out because while Price was ranting about having cold ears, I was asleep on top of it, before I got woken up by his bitching anyway. I took it out from under me when I woke up, confused as fuck as to why it was there, and then Price saw it and was going on and on about how childish it was to take it, and then I started arguing back and saying I wouldn’t do something so bloody stupid. All the while Roach was giggling to himself in the corner, the little shit.”

“He wasn’t scared of what Price would do?” You asked incredulously, trying to put yourself in the shoes of a hybrid that didn’t know the intimidating Captain half as well as you did.

“Roach wasn’t scared of a damn thing, beyond whatever shit he used to dream about anyway. It’s the reason he got called Roach in the first place, his real name was Gary. He used to run headfirst into danger and come out fine almost every time, that’s what they told me when they handed him off to me- ‘that wolf’s like a bug you can’t squash’...Course his luck ran out eventually. We got captured by an enemy group in Mexico and the bastards didn’t see the worth in keeping a hybrid around. Said they only needed me.”

“That’s awful.”

Another silence ensued. It made sense that Ghost had had a hybrid before you, he’d had a long career and he was so knowledgeable when it came to training with you that it made sense that he’d had plenty of first hand experience. Though it made your heart ache to think that he mourned for someone that was ripped away from him so long ago. The way he told those stories, you could hear the emotion etched in every word.

“Didn’t think I’d take on another hybrid on after him,” Ghost sighed, making you tilt your head in question, “but Price told me about you and kept badgering on about me being the only one in the team that was qualified to take you, kept saying that you didn’t deserve to rot away back at your home base and that you deserved a place here. I figured I owed it to him to at least go and check you out and well, I knew you had to be mine the minute I saw ya.”

“You saw a soggy mutt that was getting punished in an outdoor kennel and instantly had that epiphany?” You snorted.

“A soggy mutt that didn’t deserve to be there,” he corrected. “There was no way for me to have saved Roach while I was tied up and concussed to all hell, I made peace with that a long time ago. I knew that I was able to save you though; doing anything other than untying you and walking out of that base with the angry ball of fur in my arms felt like sacrilege.”

“Angry ball of fur,” you repeated with a tut, rolling your eyes so far back they crept into your inflection.

“You tried to bite me at least twice and you called me Mr.Bonejangles in the car. Angry ball of fur was about right, you little sod! Sitting there all wrapped up in your towel with your grumpy face and hair poking out every which way,” Ghost laughed. “I’m just lucky you calmed down after a good rest. Thought I was gonna have to take to permanently being in handling gloves after that first night.”

“I didn’t try to bite you that much.”

“You did. You were like a hungry crocodile. You had my life flashing before my eyes that day, was praying I’d get to keep all my fingers and toes.”

“Now you’re just being dramatic!”

Ghost’s laugh echoed around the room, hitting off of unseen walls somewhere inside the shadows. As much as you hated to think about a time before you knew Ghost, and actively tried to fight him, you couldn’t help but smile to yourself as you began to see that day through his eyes. You could only imagine what it must’ve been like to have met you then, knowing about your sketchy disciplinary file and admittedly bad track record for biting and scratching, Ghost couldn’t have had any clue what he was in for. In that moment you couldn’t have felt luckier, pressed into Ghost’s chest and getting to relax against him in his nice warm bed, when you could’ve been left to rot in those kennels.

Moments later, just as you were both settling back into the furrow of the mattress and had adjusted sheets to your liking, a high pitched alarm tone blared out and sent you both groaning. Ghost’s phone lit up from his side, finally shedding a little light into the room. From there you could see his bed was pressed up into the wall, as usual you’d assumed you’d made sure to be closest to the exit - even in your drowsy state. You still couldn’t make out much of the structure of the place.

“Suppose we better get up then,” Ghost groaned. “C’mon then.”

“I can’t see a thing in here, you’re gonna have to turn a light on or something,” you yawned, stretching out and readying yourself to start the day.

It was then that he saw fit to snatch the corner of his black out curtains and yank them back, sending you flying under the covers just to save your eyes. The duvet provided you shelter from the cold blue light and from under their safety you actively felt your pupils slowly unshrink from the tiny pinpoints they’d been forced to become.

“Why would you do that?” You groaned.

“Reckoned you needed a bit of a wake up,” Ghost shrugged, lifting the cover up so he could meet your eyes.

As annoyed as you were you were distracted from your grumpiness momentarily by his face. His smug smile was in full view, lips slanting to one side and pulling his scars taught. In the full light of the morning he looked like a weathered statue, bright highlights and harsh shadow carving out his sharp jaw like chiselled stone. You tilted your head at him and in turn he tilted his back in the opposite direction.

“See somethin’ on my face?” He joked, teeth flashing into view.

You shook your head and pursed your lips. A little heat rose to your cheeks.

“Just planning out the perfect place to bite you,” you lied.

“That so?” He asked, a sandy blonde eyebrow raising. “Sounds like I’m just gonna have to get you first then.”

At that he pinched your side and sent you yipping and scrabbling off the bed. Though that wasn’t enough to escape him. He gave chase, leaping off of the mattress, the bed groaning at the change in weight and thumped on the floor. The air blew through the fur in your ears, you ran that fast. Unthinkingly running to your own room before considering anywhere else.

With that you dove under your bed, dragging your sheets down to cover the space and yanking Simon in just as he’d fallen off the top. Ghost yanked your door open straight after, his bare feet slapping into the wood and taking careful steps forward. He sighed loudly when he reached the edge of your bed and stopped, feet stopping at your chest.

“I’d like to think you’ve been trained to evade enemies better than this, Pup,” he drawled.

You rolled your eyes, full well knowing you wouldn’t go running and hiding like that against someone you had full authority to kill.

Rather than let him crouch down and drag you out, you threw Simon up at him as a distraction and skittered out around him. In a matter of seconds you managed to gather yourself into a crouch and sprang up at his back, wrapping your arms round his shoulders and legs round his middle. From there you gently grazed your teeth against his neck in a fake bite and growled, announcing your victory to the otherwise empty room.

“Soap’s right, you’re a menace,” he laughed, untangling you from around him and bending backwards so he could set you gently back down on the floor.

“You brought work into it,” you huffed, folding your arms indignantly.

“Yeah yeah, cheap shot throwing your teammate at the hostile. Poor little fella getting sacrificed like that,” he said, holding out the puppy stuffed toy with a fake grimace.

“Simon woulda shaken it off, I had every faith in him,” you shrugged, setting him down on the bed carefully so that he rested against the pillows.

“Simon?” Ghost repeated, choking out a strangled sound that sounded somewhere between a laugh and a guffaw. “You named it Simon?”

“Yeah, after the hybrid from my books,” you said, nodding toward the graphic novels that were stacked by your bedside. “Why's that so funny?”

You narrowed your eyes at him, watching as a few different emotions crossed Ghost’s eyes. He chewed on his lip a second, eyes going wide and zeroing in on your sleeping buddy until he shook himself out of it.

“Nothing,” he smiled, clearing the awkward edge in his throat. “Good name that. Strong choice. Little Simon.”

“I think it suits him.”

“Yeah…Anyway, we need to get ready and get in for work. I’ve got a bit of a stacked day today, so we need to get you sorted. Gaz and Soap offered to take you through your exercises this afternoon and Price is gonna let you sit in his office till I can come get you in the evenin’. Pack your books so you’ve got something to occupy yourself with tonight, Cap’s not very chatty right now. Oh and remember, if you want anything for your bed just let me know, ok?”

-🐺-

Stacked day indeed. Ghost made you run laps through the assault course he’d had set up for you and just before he left, he’d made you practise some bite work with him. The irony wasn’t lost on you after your conversation that morning. He’d donned his leather gloves and neck protector and brought out a fake gun, making you attack him over and over so that you could practise non lethal takedowns.

As good as you were at the exercise, that didn’t stop Ghost from firing a couple foam bullets at you from time to time when you got too out of control, reminding you teresley that you weren’t supposed to be ripping detainees to pieces. As your wilder side took over during your work, you’d bark out raspy growls at him for the cheap shots, knowing full well he shouldn't be able to fire after you’d just decimated his fake arm. However the sensible part of your mind would echo out that it was far better than getting smacked with the plastic batons that your old trainers would carry to discourage your savagery.

“Well well well, what kinda training do you call this?”

Your head turned just as you’d brought Ghost down to the floor and you ceased your growling, tilting your head when your gaze landed on Soap. Gaz joined him at the side of the field moments later, just coming off of a phone call to see you still on top of Ghost.

“Oh yeah, we’re just having a bit of fun, Johnny. You know how much I love being mauled” Ghost grunted, tapping your thigh in short order. “You can get up now, Pup. Reckon you got me.”

You looked back down at Ghost and let out an embarrassed huff of air before rolling off him and standing up, dusting your dirty fatigues off. Some of the soft dirt smeared down them, leaving what would surely become a rough crust in its wake.

“Can’t believe you get to play with nerf guns and call it work,” Soap laughed, “That or the fact that you took the time to paint that thing black just so that it’d match your gear.”

“Well you’re welcome to take over if you think its so fun,” Ghost grinned, eyes cresting below his mask.

He unbuckled his thick leather gloves and threw them onto the grass at Soap’s feet, then tore the velcro off of his neck protector with a loud scratchy rip. Soap then looked back at you and visibility stiffened up, considering Ghost’s offer like it might be his death sentence. Gaz shoved him and laughed, going instead to approach Ghost and reach out for his gun.

“Look at this,” he whistled, turning it over and opening up the ammo compartment. “What is this? A ten round? You even got the grey bullets with the red tips. Very nice hardware, Sir.”

“Well it is the Elite Ranger PD-5 Blaster, Garrick. Fine piece of kit, so it is,” Ghost quipped. “Maybe one day you’ll earn your own one.”

“Well now I know what I’m asking Santa for,” Gaz smirked. “So, we taking over here?”

You looked back at Soap again who was eagerly looking at Ghost to find out the answer to that question. Ghost looked back at him and winked, a gesture you only caught because you knew to look out for their antics now.

“Nah,” Ghost finally answered, roughly raking his hands over your ears. “We made good progress today, I reckon we set Pup on anyone we need back alive, we’ve got a great chance of bringing at least seventy percent of the enemy still intact now.”

“Hey!” you growled. “I can bring people in just fine.”

“Oh sure, you can bring em’ in - in separate pieces of course - but you’ll get the job done,” he drawled, soon producing strangled notes as if he was choking. “‘Sorry sir, I would’ve given you the information but that damn wolf got my tongue.’”

Ghost laughed the way he always did when he was being cheeky, the rasping cackle crooning from his throat like a bear scratching up a tree. You had half a mind to do some scratching yourself, but instead you snatched the nerf gun from Gaz and shot Ghost in the chest a couple times. All of you silently watched as the foam bullets arced into his torso only to bounce off pathetically into the well trodden grass.

You knew then that you should’ve aimed for his forehead like he’d done to you.

“Friendly fire, is it?” Ghost questioned.

“Got you back,” you replied, tilting your chin in the air in defiance.

He tutted at you and mussed up your hair once again, rubbing his hands over your head with enough force to almost knock you back.

“I’ll remember that next time we train together,” he said menacingly, jabbing your side just as he’d done that morning.

You yelped and rubbed the tender spot, trying not to give into the laughter of the ticklish spot.

“For now though, you two have the absolute pleasure of learning hybrid hand signals,” Ghost said, directing his attentions toward Gaz and Soap. “Sad that I have to miss such a fun exercise, but I’m sure you’ll have plenty of giggles without me. I booked out building three and left you a handler’s manual open on the page there. I had some corporals set up a basic simulation for you, so you should be good to go once you get in. Anything you’re confused on, Pup should be able to explain.”

At that you groaned, shoulders slumping with the anticipation of the boring afternoon ahead. Back at Branhaven when they were training up new batches of handlers, you all had to take turns helping them through their coursework and modules - one of which being the hand signal module. That often meant long boring days being slowly and dramatically led around short courses and wildly gestured at until the new recruits were able to get the motions correct.

“You couldn’t have just let me do more biting?” you sighed.

Ghost chuckled and picked up the rucksack of things he’d set off to the side.

“What? And terrify this one half to death in the process? I don’t think so,” Ghost said, pinching Soap’s cheek playfully. “You’ll survive one slow afternoon. I’ll even sweeten the deal, you keep the nerf gun and if they get something wrong you have my permission to shoot them.”

Soap rubbed at his cheek with a glare and slapped Ghost’s arm away soon after. His blue eyes were all storms and indignation and his jaw was clenched tight as a vice. Meanwhile you were doing everything you could not to yip with obvious delight, settling instead for a slow tail wag.

“You don’t get to authorise that,” Soap said, rolling his eyes.

“What rank am I again?”

“That doesn-”

“It does actually. Have a good day, Sergeant,” Ghost interrupted, softly pretending to punch Soap’s shoulder. “Do me proud!”

Gaz laughed from next to you and waved Ghost off as he made his escape, narrowly avoiding getting hit by one of the leather mitts he’d set down earlier. Soap didn’t give chase after the failed throw though, instead he just stood grumbling to himself and eventually gathered the gear together and slung it into the holdall that Ghost had neglected to take with him. Once the bag dangled from his shoulder, he turned to you and Gaz and flung his head in the direction of the training buildings.

“So what’s this about hand signals? We gonna have to make you sit and fetch?” Soap asked.

“You tell me to go fetch and we’re gonna have problems,” you said, pumping the nerf gun’s ammo chamber for emphasis.

“Christ in heaven,” Soap muttered, heaving himself off across the field. “The things I put up with.”

-🐺-

The room was heavy with thick silence as you traversed your way around it. You might as well have been glued to Gaz’s side, one of the few sounds that were allowed to permeate the quiet was Gaz’s breathing and the metallic ting of the ancient filament lights. Every second that you walked, you obsessively watched Gaz’s hands, fixing your eyes on them as if they might hold untold treasures.

This was it, the last run through. Gaz paused at the same doorway you’d had to wait outside at least a dozen times already, and quickly held up his fist for ‘halt’. It helped that it was just the same as the standard hand signals that he’d been taught already. From there he pointed two fingers to his side and signalled for halt again. You nodded and moved next to him, looking from his hands to his eyes in quick succession while you waited for further instruction.

From there he cupped his hands by his ear and pointed at you. You twitched your ears, adjusting yourself so that you could listen out for any tell tale sounds of Soap skulking around from inside. Though there was nothing beyond the annoying skittering of the old ticking clock inside the fake office, so to confirm the silence you shook your head. Gaz then held his finger to the side of his nose and pointed at you, but you held your palm up and waved your other hand around it. Unclear. Smell was little use when you’d all run the training course together so many times, everything stank of the two men at that point.

Gaz nodded and thought for a second. Time might as well have been a sound, the continuous buzz of the lights or the shaking hands of the clock behind the door, your senses felt like they were blending into a big mush. You were glad when Gaz finally patted his back and held out his palm and then a single finger, signalling to walk back to back with him and watch his six.

You nodded again and did as asked, making quick work of slinking through the door as quietly as possible and advancing down the corridor beyond. Gaz looked right and left, checking through the first office room on the right quickly and efficiently and kept things moving down the hallway, readying to advance to the next room at the end of the hallway. This was it, there was only one place Soap could be now, you thought.

However, just as Gaz was heading down the corridor, you could’ve sworn you heard a noise. A faint almost wooden gasp, but it was something nonetheless. You grabbed Gaz’s arm and forced him to a stop, holding your hand to your ear so that he knew you heard something. He narrowed his eyes, honey irises appearing chestnut from under his shadowy gaze. After another few seconds you heard the sound of something making contact with the floor, hell you could've sworn you felt the vibrations of it at that point.

You looked up at Gaz with wild eyes and motioned your head down the hallway from the office that Gaz had assumed was safe. It wasn’t like there was much to sweep that you hadn’t already looked through on all your other runs, so he hadn’t been sloppy to dismiss the empty space. There was just a single desk with an exposed underside, the wall clock and a fake sink set up. The sink had a cupboard but it also had a slew of fake piping that made it impossible to squeeze inside. Or rather it should’ve.

As soon as you crept back down the hallway, you both stumbled onto Soap emerging from the cupboard like a spider creeping from a crack. He was all arms and legs as he tried to slyly remove himself from the tiny space and before he was able to see you and Gaz, Gaz blasted him with the nerf gun and you ran toward him, ensuring you were out of firing range and jumped up in front of him. Pieces of loose plastic piping scattered from all around the bottom cupboard, and he just about exploded from his skin when you got your face up close to his.

“Steamin Jesus! How’d you know I was in here?”

“We didn’t, I heard the cupboard opening though,” you explained, wagging your tail all the while.

Soap sighed and leaned back into the cupboard clutching his hand over his heart for a moment before sitting back up.

“I suppose I should be happy you’re on our team with those big satellites, fuzzy lugs,” Soap sighed.

“Hey!” You whined, flattening your ears. “They’re not big satellites.”

“Well not when you put them back like that,” Soap said, a sly smile piercing through his eyes before it reached his lips.

“Better big fluffy ears than big fluffy hair,” you huffed.

“Oooh,” Gaz smirked, “Get ‘im.”

“You canny insult the hawk,” Soap sniffed, running a hand through his messy locks. “Nothing you say will convince me this isn’t stunnin’.”

You rolled your eyes and sat back from Soap, about to let him get up when Gaz stopped you both. He held out his hand and demanded you wait a minute, causing you and Soap to turn to one another and frown until all became clear.

“Gotta get a good photo of our quarry, Pup. All the best hunters get their trophy photo,” Gaz explained, while holding his phone up and adjusting the angle.

Gaz adjusted his pose, tilting his nerf gun so that it crossed his chin and partially obscured his faux serious expression, meanwhile Soap sat back amongst the loose piping and accepted his fate, holding his fingers to his forehead in a fake gun gesture as if he were shooting himself. You weren’t sure what to do. No one ever asked you to be in pictures that weren’t mandated for the government website, so you didn’t know how to pose.

At the last minute you tilted your head and pulled out a cheeky grin just before Gaz took the photos, the screen flickering black a couple times before he started tapping at his screen and laughing. He walked over to you both and lowered his screen, letting you see the resulting photo that oozed chaos with the silly toy gun and you and Soap sitting atop the mess of piping.

“Ooft, sexy,” Soap whistled. “Get that up on tinder. You’ll get all sorts of tail with that.”

“Oh yeah, caption writes itself - ‘anyone wanna hold my blaster?’” Gaz sniggered, tapping away again. “That’s going on insta.”

You huffed out a surprise breath at that.

“You’re actually putting that up on your socials?” you asked, frowning.

Gaz ceased his tapping and tilted his chin up at you.

“Was gonna, why? do you not want it up?” he asked, showing you the photo again.

The screen tilted round to reveal a confirmation page with the photo sporting a slightly more dramatic filter. He’d been about to post it with a slightly less ridiculous caption at least ‘Mission success: blockage identified - Soap too big for the sink.’

That didn’t stop you from snorting at it of course.

“I don’t mind - just figured you’ll get people being strange about you showing off that you hang about with the little hybrid weirdo,” you shrugged.

“Aw, furball. You don’t have to worry about people finding you weird. Your ears aren’t that big and strange you know,” Soap said, rubbing your arm in mock sympathy. “They might not even qualify as full sized satellites, maybe just small radio towers or- Hey!”

You smiled smugly to yourself after flicking Soap on the nose, but quickly dropped the grin when Soap yanked you back by the shoulders and blew a big gust of air into one of your ears.

“No! Disgusting!” You squealed, wrestling him off and slapping him away while he laughed.

You rubbed at your ear, screwing up your entire face while you tried to work the feeling of Soap’s breath out of your fur and inner canal. The uncomfortable pressure ceased after a few seconds and finally you were able to stop cringing away from Soap enough to see Gaz shaking his head at you both.

“Aaand its posted. C’mon, we better start clearing out of here. You can fix that mess with the Pipes, Soap.”

“Fuck sake,” Soap cursed, looking around at his mess. “Thought this was gonna be worth it as well.”

His grumbling didn’t stop as he got through his work either. As he put the sink back together you sat on top of the desk by Gaz while he sat on the chair and scrolled through his phone. You didn’t really have anything to do, so you twisted the manual round that you’d been teaching the guys from and started flicking through the old yellowing pages. The corners felt like they might melt away from even just fingering through them, it was so ancient, but that wasn’t the only sign that the book wasn’t from your lifetime. After skipping to a random page, your eyes widened into saucers and your mouth almost dropped to the cold concrete below.

“What the fuck,” you breathed out loud, reading over the page contents with a dry mouth.

Gaz’s interest peaked at that. Out of the corner of your peripherals you saw his eyes drift from his phone to look over the page you’d pulled.

“Yo! What the hell is that about,” Gaz cackled, pulling his chair up and scraping it over the concrete to get a closer look. “Proper Maintenance of your Hybrid’s Hygiene? That’s nasty.”

Soap looked over from his work and frowned.

“What’s so nasty about that?”

“Nah, I can’t tell you. You gotta come over here and see this, mate.”

You frowned down at the book, casting your eyes over the frankly awful illustrations therein with a sickening mix of horror and gratitude for not having to have experienced anything depicted in them for yourself. Below the section title, In the two little boxes with smaller boxes off shooting from them were mirror images of a man standing over a bathtub with a hybrid in it, however in one box there was a female hybrid and the other a male. In the smaller boxes were close up pictures of the illustrated hybrids' tails, ears and genitals with captions that explained the proper way to keep them clean and healthy.

“As you will well know, being experienced handlers in training,” Gaz read aloud, using a posh old timey voice, “Hybrids do not have the mental capacity that humans possess. As such, they are simply not capable of keeping themselves adequately clean, which means this is a care requirement you must oversee yourself at least once a week. Following the diagrams above you must draw a bath for your hybrid and have them clean their bodies under your guidance and ensure their tails, ears and extremities are maintained to regulation. You must make sure to prevent water flooding their ear canals, as this can cause infection, you must clean and detangle/deshed their tails using a long tooth or a short tooth brush depending on their fur texture, and you must ensure their genitals/nethers are kept cleaned of any discharge, excrement, c-crust build up or- fuckin hell I can’t. This is actual slander. How did they get away with writing this?”

“This is some absolute specist nonsense,” you scoffed, taking the manual from Gaz, who was slowly losing it to soundless laughter, and turning it so that it faced you.

“So in this section it’s basically hammering it into you that I’m apparently too dumb to wash my own shit covered ass, and then in thiiiis page…” you trailed, flicking back a few pages to a title that had almost caught your interest before, “yeah here. In this section it details ‘training techniques and guides for making your hybrid competent in use of blades and blunt weapons.’ So essentially I have to be watched to make sure I get my fuckin ‘crust’ or whatever cleaned off because I’m an incompetent beast, but I can also be reasonably expected to wield a fucking machete! What kind of bullshit is this?!”

Soap and Gaz were dead silent for a few seconds, lips sealed firmly shut and eyes wide as you waved the page around that had the giant sword diagram. That is, until the moment they both looked at each other. After that they burst out into floods of laughter, clutching their chests and howling like animals themselves until tears started falling down their cheeks.

“It’s not funny!” you growled, taking another look through the ‘guide’ for anymore terrible tidbits.

“It’s not, it’s really not,” Gaz affirmed, trying to hold in his giggles. “It’s really fucked up, but c’mon, mate. Crust!”

“They didn’t even have to go into that crust shite, but the fact they went on and actually specified the parts in the diagram that had to be cleaned and all that,” Soap wheezed, “I don’t know who the experience is worse for! Where did Ghost even pull this crap from? Did he time travel back to 1945?”

You groaned and turned to the front page, ears drooping back when you found the publishing date.

“Man, this is from the fucking seventies,” you frowned, realising what torments could’ve befallen you had you been born just a bit earlier. “Wait…you guys don’t think this is Ghost’s personal copy…”

You cut yourself off. All of you were silent.

“Well its possible they could’ve just issued Ghost with an old copy rather than print new ones,” Gaz shrugged, voice weak from laughing so much already. “You know what budgeting’s like.”

“Hold the bus, I’m gonna google something,” Soap announced, pulling his own phone out his trousers and quietly muttering to himself. “Hybrid hygiene, British army regulations…here we go…from the 1960’s hybrids were able to voluntarily join the army or be transferred in from institutes for displaced hybrids and… hygiene was taught in handler training courses and monitored by…then up until 20- steamin’ jesus.”

“What?” you and Gaz sounded off in unison.

“Essentially says here that the practice of teaching hybrid hygiene and monitoring it didn’t completely end in all British bases until well after Ghost joined up which means…-”

“Ghost is probably a certified crust inspector,” you said gravely.

At that you all burst out laughing. The room practically shook, none of you could contain yourselves, the sounds ricocheted off the walls and exploded in your ears. Though you couldn’t muster the wherewithal to care. For a few moments you all laughed in a joint heap until slowly you all came back to yourselves and closed the manual, doing all you could to stop yourself from launching it out the skylight above.

“That’s fuckin awful stuff,” Soap said, finally getting back to finishing up with the sink. “Glad I never signed up for any o’ that pish. I’ll gladly take apart a bomb before I have to supervise you in the tub, furball.”

“Me too,” Gaz sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Least you’ll never have to get bathed and de-crusted. Almost puts a silver lining on Branhaven if you never had to deal with that, huh?”

“God, I never thought I’d say it, but thank you Maddox for being a neglectful dick,” you muttered, giggling after Gaz snorted from next to you.

-🐺-

Later on that day, after Soap and Gaz had dropped you off with Price, the full schedule that you’d been handed weighed heavily on you. You drooped over Price’s sofa and were barely able to read more than a few pages of your new book until you gave up and slumped fully into the cushions.

You happily dozed off with the sound of Price’s accompanying pen scratches and mutterings, your lips curving into a soft smile against the saggy old cushions. Cigar smoke and musk cradled your prone form and with just the gentlest hint of spiced citrus, you were letting it carry you off to sleep.

However, before unconsciousness could fully take you, a loud unfamiliar knock sounded at Price’s door and shattered you from any notion of rest. Your heart beat rapidly, chest thumping heavily and you sat up fully and at attention.

You looked over at Price, watching as he put down his pen and shuffled his papers. He made a brief second of eye contact and shrugged as if to tell you that he didn’t know who it was until he looked back toward the darkened door. He’d yet to turn his main light on, instead he sat commanding the room from his lamplit desk.

“Yes. Who is it?” he barked, rubbing his weary eyes.

“Captain, it’s Major Kelly, I need to speak with you about an incident involving your team’s hybrid. Can I come in?” Called a lilting Irish voice.

Your ears perked up and again you looked at Price, but he didn’t look back at you this time. He set his jaw in a tight line and folded his hands up across the top of his desk, thumping them heavily into the wood.

“Door’s open, Major,” he called, voice booming in a way you hadn’t heard it before. “Let’s hear it.”

#simon ghost riley #Simon Riley #Ghost #mw2 #ghost x reader #Hybrid!reader #reign down on me

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buckets-and-trees · 2 months

Note

You're such a wicked menace, Eva!

Title: Insatiable Characters/Pairings: Bucky Barnes x female!Reader Word Count: 1845

Summary: Your new boyfriend comes along when you pick up the keys for your new apartment and conduct the move-in inspection.

Content Warnings: explicit smut (oral - female receiving, vaginal fingering, nipple play, vaginal penetration, hint at overstimulation, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, cream pie)

Logistical Notes: Fulfilling my February box for @buckybarnesevents Build-a-Bucky Bingo event (forehead kiss, fingering). Follows our Desperate couple but can be read as a stand alone piece.

Additional Notes: Honestly I didn't have any plans to return to our rivals-to-lovers couple from Desperate and Uncertain and Sure again so soon, but this gif hit a certain inspiration and may pull from some literal "reader insert" vibes as I'm moving into a new apartment right now... Also thoroughly inspired by this post coming across my dash today thanks to @ghotifishreads.

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

You couldn’t help the permanent smile on your face.

Yes, moving was going to be a hassle, and you didn’t have a clue how everything was going to fit into this tiny one-bedroom apartment, but being back in the place again, keys officially in your hands, the place really yours, standing in front of the bright living room windows that made your heart sing when you first saw the place, that feeling that this was your place warmed your whole chest again.

It was hard to break away from the light streaming in through the windows, but you turned your head to look at Bucky. “So? What do you think of the place?”

He was new to your life, too.

The kidnapping and rescue in Paris had been only a month ago. Over that month, you and Bucky had been figuring out what the revelation of your feelings for each other meant outside of a life and death situation. Parts of that were easy, other parts were trickier, but nothing that made you want to abandon ship.

“I think it’ll suit you well,” he answered. His smile was soft. You loved seeing this side of him, especially after so many years of angst and rivalry between you.

“You’re practically glowing with excitement,” he added.

Your smile grew to a grin, and you shrugged one shoulder. “It’s smaller than the place I’ve been, but I couldn’t resist all this sunlight.”

You turned around and looked at the empty living room that bled into the kitchen area. “I want to try and measure things and figure out where everything will go before the movers bring the furniture in tomorrow. I’m still worried about whether all my shelves will fit or not.”

You set your bag down on the kitchen counter and began to pull out a measuring tape, the blue painters tape you planned on using to map out the furniture shapes on the floor and rummaged for the hastily scribbled together list you’d made of your furniture dimensions.

Bucky had remained silent – he was often so silent you could forget he was present when you got immersed into something – and you spun back around to see him still in the same position across the room by the windows, studying you.

“What?”

“You know what we have to do before anything else,” he said seriously.

“What’s that?”

He licked his lips.

Oh.

Your stomach flipped.

“Bucky, we can’t–”

He chuckled. “You have the keys, it’s officially your place,” he said, stalking toward you. “We absolutely can.”

Before you could utter another word, he reached for your elbow and tugged you into his arms, planting a sound kiss right on your mouth, swallowing all protest. He coaxed your lips open, and his tongue licked into your mouth, drawing an eager moan from you.

Damn, he was too good at this, you thought as your hands came up to clutch at his back.

He pressed your bodies together, and you were not surprised to feel the evidence of his arousal pressing against you. One thing you had learned about Bucky over the last month was that he could be ready to have you on the turn of a dime, and he could be insatiable. That your body responded so quickly to him as well was both blessing and curse. Less than a minute and you were melting completely against him, eager for more, and you could feel the slickness already growing at your slit.

Your hands dropped down his back, but only to reach the hem of his sweater before dipping under so your fingers could eagerly climb up against his naked skin. He grinned into the kiss.

With his sweater quickly halfway up his torso, Bucky broke off the kiss momentarily to pull it up and off the rest of the way. Then he coaxed you down to the floor, spreading his sweater down on the hardwood floor and laying you gently on top of it. His body covered yours, and he began kissing you in earnest again, his vibranium arm planted next to your head while his other hand began deftly working at the buttons on the front of your blouse.

It was only another moment or two before he’d pushed your shirt open to bare your torso to him, and Bucky wasted no time in trailing his hot lips down your throat to blaze down your chest, paving a heated path between your breasts, over the band of your bra, and down your stomach. He gave your belly button a playful lick that had you gasping and a giggle bubbling up your throat.

“Bucky!”

He chuckled, and reached down to pull your shoes off as he pressed more kisses over your stomach. Then, with both shoes discarded, he knelt above you to unbutton and unzip your jeans, before pulling them down and off your legs. As your legs came back down on either side of him, his hands skimmed slowly along your inner thighs, and when they reached your core, he pressed one thumb at the base of your clothed slit and brushed it up over the damp cloth of your panties, the other thumb following just after and teasing you again there. You canted your hips up, wordlessly asking for more.

Bucky smirked, but he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your underwear and quickly pulled them off, tossing them to the side as well.

“Please,” you begged.

“Happily,” he whispered, then lowered himself down to wedge his shoulders between your thighs, pressing them wide to accommodate his broad frame. He licked a stripe up your dripping slit, moaning at the taste of you.

Your stomach swam with butterflies and your cheeks heated slightly. You had never been with anyone so unabashedly open with their desire for you as Bucky. He held nothing back when expressing his pleasure, his desire. It was a heady thing to be on the receiving end of, and you it still had you between feeling slightly flustered and drowning further in the depths of how intoxicating it was to know the effect you had on him.

He applied a second, slower lick over your folds, and then he began to kiss your lower lips the way he did your mouth, and your entire body coiled up for him, back arching, hands grabbing for his short hair, legs contracting.

“Bucky, god, yes,” the words tumbled out as you quickly began to lose more and more of your coherence.

But he was slow and torturous in his ministrations. You squirmed for more, but he held your pelvis down with one firm hand, while the other gently caressed your hip. Your fingers found his vibranium ones, and he entwined them with yours and started to fuck your cunt with his tongue.

When he heard a little whine escape from you, he began to suck your clit diligently. The orgasm that he’d been building you toward escaped from you briefly, but the switch picked right up on building that tension again, and he flicked his tongue a few times across your swollen nub as he sucked, and then you cried out as you finally tumbled over the edge of ecstasy.

He pressed a kiss to your cunt, then shifted up, quickly maneuvering his hands beneath your back to unclasp your bra and pull off your last piece of clothing. It was the only moment of reprieve he gave you, because then his mouth dipped to suck at one of your tits, and one of his hands worked into your folds, slowly stroking in and out of your tight channel. Two fingers curled into your pussy, and he quickly found one of his favorite places – that spongy spot on the front of your walls, knowing he found exactly the spot he needed as you gave a debauched moan. He slipped in a third finger, and as he sucked the hardened nub of your nipple and lapped at it, he worked to rip your second orgasm from your soul more quickly. It was clear nothing was going to deter him from his plans to ruin you in the empty apartment, and you could only be glad you were up on a floor high enough you didn’t risk any neighbors seeing in your open blinds to see the way he was taking you apart right there on the floor.

The second orgasm burst through your body unexpectedly, and it stole the breath from your lungs.

It had ripped through you so powerfully that you didn’t register the clinking sound of his belt buckle coming undone and hitting the floor as he unzipped and pushed down his jeans and boxer briefs.

But you noticed he wasn’t finished with you as he slipped one hand under your thigh and angled your hips to slot the head of his cock between your puffy folds.

You whimpered, fighting to open your eyes and plead your case as you looked into in the depths of his heated blues. Whether you were pleading for him to stop or for more, you really didn’t know or care at this point.

He hitched your leg up around his hip and slowly slid his fat cock fully into your cunt. “So damn good.”

You moaned openly, completely debauched on pleasure at this point, but clearly your pussy wouldn’t refuse him plying you with even more of it.

Deep, slow strokes.

You felt every aching inch of him as he thrust slowly in and out of your tight channel. He still made you stretch around him, and it was exquisite for both of you.

Full, so full.

In and out.

So deep inside of you now, and you could do nothing but make incoherent noises beneath him, gasping for air. “I know, sugar, I know," he murmured into the crook of your neck. "Gonna give us what we both need.”

And he fucking does, as he does every time, using your body as if he’s had you for years. He rewarded you both with an orgasm that truly leaves you boneless and breathless once he finally pushed you over the edge and then sped up his thrusts to chase his own release as your vagina squeezed around his throbbing cock. He groaned as he spilled hot ropes of cum inside of you, thrusting until he’d emptied himself in you completely. Finally, he collapsed on top of you, and pressed kisses into the crook of your neck, then along your jaw, allowing you to try and catch your breath before finally kissing your lips again.

You whined against his lips, and he rolled over, taking you with him, and letting you lay half on his chest, half against his side. He continued to kiss you lazily.

You didn’t know how long he continued to make out with you, but the sun’s rays had shifted significantly once he pressed a kiss to your forehead and you rested your head on his bare shoulder.

“It’s a good floor,” he said, almost mundanely.

You laughed softly.

“We’ll need to check the counters a little later,” he added.

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

#bucky barnes #sebastian stan #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female reader #aspen wrote something #aspen asks #desperate verse #build a bucky bingo 2023 #babb2023

453 notes · View notes

adascore · 4 months

Text

NORTH LONDON BOUND

pairings: beth mead x arsenal!reader / vivianne miedema x arsenal!reader / jen beattie x arsenal!reader / kim little x arsenal!reader

warnings: none (?).

author’s note: oh to be meadema’s adopted child. anyway- enjoy this one xoxo

masterlist

•••••

''She can move in with me and Viv, if she’d like.'' Beth suggested upon hearing the youngster’s mother concern about how they hadn’t been able to find an appropriate apartment for the teenager.

Her mother glanced to where her daughter was chatting with Lauren and Esme, her former Manchester City teammates. ''Wouldn’t that be a problem for you two? Young couples usually like to have their own space.''

''No, not at all.'' Vivianne chimed in, shaking her head. ''And Y/N’s a sweetheart anyway, so we would love to have her stay with us if she wants to.'' Beth confirmed, throwing in a compliment for the younger girl.

Y/N had grown up at the Arsenal Academy, being recognized by a scout when she was 9 years-old. The potential and skills had always been there for everyone to see, and at just 15 years-old, she was allowed to start training with the first team. Her first two seasons with the older team had been helpful, but limited in actual game time. She got along great with her teammates, but her young age had always been seen as a liability by the coaches.

During the summer in 2021, she had been send on loan to Manchester City, where there were more players closer in age and where she would hopefully improve even more. The Arsenal management had made a correct guess, and playing with The Blues had greatly impacted her style of play. The Arsenal prodigy even making regular starting line-up appearances.

Upon seeing the success she was having with not only the Manchester team, but also the Lionesses, Arsenal invited her back to become one of their strikers. The decision had been made before the start of the European Championship at home, giving the youngster and her family enough time to make all the preparations to move her back into North London. However, it had been a challenge finding the right home for the recently turned 18 year-old. In her previous seasons at Arsenal, she still had been part of the Academy so Y/N was part of their housing-system. At Manchester, the club had organized a living space for her with Lucy and Keira, occupying their guest room for 9 months.

Nonetheless, all of that had been temporarily. Now, they would have to find something permanent for the next 3 seasons, and potentially more if she decided to extend her contract (which she obviously would do).

''Well that is very sweet of you two,'' Y/N’s mother smiled, momentarily patting Beth’s hand, ''I’ll talk to her about it later- I just think she wants to celebrate right now.'' She chuckled, knowing her daughter does not have anything but their fresh win at Wembley on her mind. Y/N's potential move into Beth and Viv's home became a topic for later discussion.

Beth and Vivianne exchanged grins, understanding completely. "Great," Beth replied, nodding. "Understandable, we'll wait then.''

''Darling, I need to talk to you about something.'' Y/N’s mother knocked on her daughter's bedroom door, then entered without waiting for a response. Y/N looked up from her phone, catching her mother's entry with a raised eyebrow. "What?" she asked.

''It’s about your Arsenal living situation.'' Her mother replied, making her way to the bed with a sly smirk.

''Ah, yeah? You found something or?''

The older woman sat down on the bed, creating a space for herself. "Kind of. You actually received a very generous offer a few days ago." Her hand landed on her daughter's thigh, offering a comforting pat.

The young striker frowned, confusion present on her face. ''An offer? What do you mean?'' She asked, shifting on her bed.

''Your teammates, Beth and Vivianne, offered for you to come live with them.'' Her mother revealed.

She processed her words for a bit, surprised by what she said. ''Beth and Viv? Like, Mead and Miedema? That I go and live with them?'' Y/N repeated her mother's words, making sure she heard her right and this was not some misunderstanding.

''Yeah! I got talking with Beth’s family, your transfer came to discussion and I explained how we hadn’t found the right home for you yet, and Beth offered their place.'' Her mother summarized, amused by her daughter’s wide eyes and surprised tone.

Y/N leaned back against her headboard, taking a deep breath. The idea of living with teammates, especially those as established as Beth and Viv, was intriguing. ''Wow, that’s… super nice of them.'' She sighed, her mother nodding. ''Yes, I know.''

''Why, though?''

Her mother chuckled, recognizing the significance of the offer. "Seems like they genuinely want to make it easier for you to settle in, sweetie.''

The question had more been an internal thought than directed at her mother. She had always gotten along with them, especially with Beth once she also joined the England senior team. In Y/N’s mind, there had always been an invisible wall between her and the older Arsenal players. They were always welcoming to her during training, offering guidance when needed, but she was aware they didn't want the responsibility of looking after a 15-year-old.

Her loan spell at Manchester City and subsequent debut with the Lionesses marked a turning point, maturing her both on and off the field. This time, she would not be coming in as an inexperienced youngster that only got on the pitch to replace someone else, but she would be an actual integral part of the team.

''I’ll let you think about it, but I think it can be good for you to stay with them, even if it is only temporary.'' Her mother gave her opinion. As much as she had witnessed the growth in her daughter, she would much prefer it if there were people looking after her every day.

''Yeah, should I talk to them or what did they say?'' Y/N inquired, eager to understand the next steps.

''They’re simply waiting on your decision, but talking with them can’t hurt.''

Beth and Vivianne sat in their cozy living room, the evening sunlight casting a warm glow through the windows. As they went through the papers for their upcoming vacation to Greece, the topic of Y/N potentially moving in with them came up.

'’So, about Y/N maybe coming to live with us… do you really think it's a good idea? I know I might have overwhelmed you when her mum was there, but seriously what do you think about it?'’ Beth asked, leaning back into the couch.

Vivianne processed the question, her gaze fixed on the swirling patterns of her tea. '’I do think it’s a good idea, but it’s quite a responsibility, no? I mean, I love the kid, but having her live with us is a big step.”

'’I know, you’re right. I do think it’s a good idea, though. I mean- she can stay in the guest room, cause it doesn’t get used anyway, and I think it would also be good for her to have people that can keep her grounded, you know? The attention on her since the Euro’s has been insane.” Beth argued.

The young Arsenal prodigy had been one of the break-out stars of the 2022 European Championships, receiving immense media attention.

Vivianne nodded in agreement. "We would be like... her parents- her work parents."

Beth chuckled, taking a sip of her tea. "Yeah, we can use her as practice for later." She winked, lightening the mood.

“I hope she agrees, though. I would understand if she would want to be on her own- most kids her age would, but it would be nice to have her around more," Beth admitted, a hint of vulnerability in her voice.

The Dutchwoman warily eyes her girlfriend, feeling there is more behind her want to have Y/N move in with them than she’s letting on.

Feeling her partner’s eyes and internal judgement, Beth caves in. “She’s mature, but she’s also just a kid, you know? There will be so much pressure on her and she'll need guidance and then… maybe we can take care of her? Kind of like a mum would.” She admits, blush on both of her cheeks.

Her girlfriend's eyes softened, and she reached for Beth's hand. '’You’re cute, Beth,'’ Vivianne grinned, '’but you just want the best for her, that’s normal. How long have we known her for? Since she was like 12, 13? We have basically seen her grow up.'’

Beth smiled, her soft spot for the young English striker evident in her eyes. '’Yeah, and there will just be a lot of eyes on her. I just want to make sure she has all the support she needs.'’

Vivianne nodded, understanding her partner's perspective. '’We've seen how she has grown, and now she's stepping into a bigger spotlight so to say. Maybe she isn’t feeling that pressure yet, but I’m sure it will catch up to her in one way or another.'’

Beth squeezed Vivianne's hand, grateful for her understanding. '’Exactly, we’ll just show her a bunch of extra love.'’ The Lioness star chuckled, relieved her partner was as much into the idea as she was.

'’It’s crazy how much she has grown, as a player and as a person.'’ Vivianne muttered, the image of a 13 year-old Y/N flying in her mind.

'’Like physically grown. The girl’s even almost taller than you!'’ Beth exclaimed, almost offended by the young striker’s growth spurt. '’Remember her first training session with us? She was the cutest little thing, following everyone around like a little puppy and just so eager to prove herself- ugh, just love her.'’

'’Yeah, she was soaking up all our football wisdom.'’ Vivianne sarcastically chuckled.

'’What wisdom? The wisdom of yellow cards by Katie McCabe?'’ Beth laughed, receiving a teasing shove from her girlfriend.

The Dutchie playfully rolled her eyes. '’I mean- that is also a very important skill,'’ she smirked, '’but to come to the point, she has grown a lot and if she would agree to it, I would love to have her here.'’ Vivianne concluded, picking up her and Beth’s intertwined hands and giving it a peck.

Beth grinned, reciprocating the playful mood. '’Alright, alright, fair point. Yellow card wisdom is crucial and Master McCabe will love to see her student return,'’ she snickered, '’and I agree, having her here would be amazing. We can be her home away from home.'’

The couple shared a warm smile, excited about the prospect of welcoming the young girl into their home.

“Maybe we can let her decorate the guest room? I mean- neither of use it for anything and it’ll give her her own personal space.” Beth suggested.

Viv nodded in agreement. “Yeah, that would be nice for her.”

“Does she still go to school, by the way?” Vivianne inquired.

Beth thought for a moment. “I am not too sure. The England staff had organized a graduation party for her during one of the camps so I know she’s finished with like her A-levels and stuff, but I don’t know if she’s continuing,'’ the English striker shook her head, confusing herself even more on Y/N’s current school situation, '’why?'’

“Just wondering if she would need the study then? Or we could even put a desk in her room?” Her partner explained.

Beth nodded. “Yeah, that’s a good idea.”

“Maybe I should start learning how to cook as well.” Beth thought out loud, taking Viv by surprise.

“How’s that?” She asked with wide eyes.

“Just in case you’re not here, and she wants to eat something. Don’t want to give the kid food poisoning- Jonas will have my head then.” The Brit argued.

Her reasoning made Vivianne laugh, her hand clapping the table. “We can’t let the teacher’s pet mess up, huh?” She teased, receiving a light kick from Beth under the table.

“She hasn’t even agreed yet, and you’re already worrying over nothing.”

Beth grinned, playfully rolling her eyes. "Well, I like to be prepared. What if she agrees tomorrow, and we're caught off guard? It's better to plan ahead.”

“If you are really that worried, maybe you can talk to Lucy or Keira? She used to live with them so they’ll know what to tell you.” It hadn’t occurred to Beth to ask her English teammates for advice.

She nodded. “True… you know what? Maybe we’ll just wait on Y/N, she and her parents will most likely want to talk to us first anyway.” Beth concluded.

“Yeah, she’ll probably come here when pre-season starts so we have time to prepare in case she says yes.” Vivianne, ever so cool headed, calmed her girlfriend down.

''Good thing I’ve got you now. If it was just me, I’d probably would have renovated the entire house or something for her.'' Beth laughed, poking fun at her overthinking.

Vivianne smiled, leaning in to give Beth a quick kiss. "I'm here to keep you grounded, babe. No need to renovate the house just yet. Let's take it step by step.”

Beth chuckled, appreciating her calming presence. "Yeah, you're right. One step at a time. We'll hear Y/N when she's ready, and if she decides to move in, we'll make sure she feels at home.''

Beth’s phone started ringing, making the rest of the couch sigh as they were very into the movie. ''Sorry.'' She excused herself, walking over to the dinner table where she put it. She frowned as it was an unknown number, contemplating whether to answer or not. She opted to pick up. ''Hi, with Beth.''

''Meado? It’s Y/N.'' A shy voice greeted the striker on the other end of the line.

''Y/N, darling, hey, how are ya?'' Beth looked over at Vivianne, who sat next to Ben, Beth’s brother. The Dutchwoman’s head had shot up the moment the youngster’s name was mentioned.

Beth could hear a chuckle. ''I’m good, enjoying the small break. How about you?'' Y/N asked politely.

''That’s good to hear and same, we’re just relaxing.'' Beth bit her nails, hoping the young girl was calling for what she hoped she was calling.

''That’s nice. Uh, I was calling in regards to, uh, your offer or how should I call it?'' Y/N nervously laughed, cringing at her shaky voice.

''Yeah, you could call it that.''

''Uh, if it’s not a bother, me and my parents would like to discuss all the practicals of me maybe moving in with you guys. Is that okay or…?'' The young girl’s stressed voice touched Beth’s heart.

''That’s not a problem, darling. We would love to have a talk,'' she nodded at Viv, who gave her a thumbs up, ''when does it fit for you and your parents?''

''Is Saturday possible for you? I have to be at the club for a medical exam so I’m in town then with my mum and dad.'' Y/N suggested.

Beth smiled, relieved that Y/N had called for the reason she had hoped. "Saturday works for us. What time is convenient for you?''

'’Uh, I have to be at the center at like 10 so is 2 in the afternoon alright?'’ The teenager proposed.

"Perfect. I’ll send you the address, and then you’ll find us here.'’ Beth assured her.

"Alright. Thanks, Meado. We appreciate it.'' Y/N thanked her, sounding grateful.

"No problem at all. We're looking forward to it. See you on Saturday!" Beth ended the call, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness. She turned to Viv and her brother, her partner sporting a supportive smile.

''She’s coming here on Saturday?'' Vivianne asked.

''Yeah, with her parents. She has to be at the club so it works out great that way.'' Beth recalled Y/N’s words.

"That's fantastic. It’s a good sign.'’ The younger one of the couple wearing a hopeful expression on her face.

Ben chimed in, "I'm sure she'll agree to it. If you need any help getting things ready, just let me know.'' Beth had informed her family on the potential new housemate or how Jen had called her, their new football child.

Beth smiled at her brother, grateful for his support. "Thanks. I might take you up on that.''

She indeed took him up on that. The day before Y/N and her family’s arrival, Beth and Vivianne, with the help of family members, had cleaned their entire home. The Dutchwoman wasn’t too worried about anything, but seeing Beth’s distress had been a challenge.

''Why am I so nervous? We’ve known her for so long and I’ve met her parents plenty of times.'' Beth shook herself, wondering why she was so worked up.

''You just want it to go well. It’s okay, lieverd.'' Vivianne tried comforting her, massaging her shoulders.

Beth leaned into her touch. ''Thanks, Viv. You’re the best.''

It felt like forever before Y/N and her family arrived, but eventually, the doorbell rang. The couple exchanged a quick glance before making their way to the hallway. As they opened the door, they were met with a smiley Y/N, decked in an Arsenal training kit, accompanied by her mother and father.

"Hi, everyone! Welcome back in North London! Nice to see ya, how are ya?'' Beth initiated a hug with the younger girl, happy to see her in her full Arsenal spirit again.

Y/N smiled into the hug, briefly caressing Beth's back. ''I'm good, and you?''

''Good as always. Come on in, the weather isn't the best.'' Beth urged the family in, greeting her parents, while Vivianne said her welcome to Y/N.

''Hey, Viv.'' Y/N said, as the Dutchwoman wrapped her arms around her.

''Thank you for having us. Your home looks lovely!'' Y/N's mother complimented their house, glancing around the corridor.

''That's very kind of you, and we're more than happy to have you here.'' Beth responded, motioning for them to follow her further into the house.

The family of three politely followed the couple, observing the place as if it were a museum. Beth tried to ignore their faces, not wanting to be able to read off of their expressions what they were thinking.

Vivianne noticed, and subtly stroked her back- letting her know she was right there with her.

''Do you guys want anything to drink? We have tea, coffee, water, soda,...?'' Vivianne offered, pointing at the kitchen.

Y/N's father declined, politely shaking his head, but thanking Viv. His wife sweetly asked for a tea of Viv's choice, and Y/N opted for the glass of water. Vivianne glanced at Beth who, similarly to Y/N's dad, shook her head- too nervous to consume anything.

While Vivianne disappeared into the kitchen, Beth gave a swift tour of the house; showing where everything was without too much unnecessary information. However, she did spend a bit longer lingering around the guest room and the small bathroom attached.

After the impromptu house tour, they all gathered in the living room. Vivianne returned with the drinks, handing a cup of tea to Y/N’s mother and a glass of water to Y/N.

The atmosphere was one mixed with curiosity, anticipation, and nervousness.

Y/N’s mother was the one to break the light tension. ''So, firstly, we wanted to thank you for your offer. It’s very generous and we really appreciate it.''

''No problem at all.'' Beth brushed it off, not the greatest at accepting compliments.

''We, as parents, find it important for her to be able to focus on her career, while also having a stable life outside of the pitch. Those both sides of her life are essential to one another; a good personal life will help in football, and vice versa.'' Her mother stated.

''And if she were to stay with you two, she’ll still have some sorts of independence away from home, while still having the support she needs.'' Her father chimed in.

Beth and Vivianne nodded attentively. ''Yeah, we completely understand that. She can also carpool with us to training, and she can travel with Beth during the international breaks.'' The younger one of the couple said.

''That would indeed come in handy, eh? Miss No Driver’s License?'' Her mother teased, resulting in a small push from the youngest.

''We just hope it’s not too much of a burden for you. You’re a young couple, we’re sure you would want your space.'' Her mother continued, voicing her concern over Beth and Vivianne’s personal space.

''It’s really not a problem at all. The guest room doesn’t get used anyway so it will finally have a good purpose, and we would love to have her around more.'' Beth smiled at the girl, relieved as Y/N reciprocated.

''I think it would work well. I mean- I’ve been at the club practically my whole life, and you also live closer to most of our teammates so I’ll see them more as well.'' Y/N voiced her opinion.

Beth and Vivianne exchanged pleased and relieved glances, excited to hear her positive response.

As soon as there was an agreement on the offer, they discussed the formalities of Y/N moving in. When she would be moving in, discussions about any allergies or diets, her school work (contrary to what Beth believed, the girl indeed would continue studying), how they would handle things money-wise- Y/N’s parents insisting the couple should be given some kind of financial compensation for the time their daughter stays with them, and all other stuff. Y/N's parents, seeming more at ease with each passing minute, voiced their appreciation for Beth and Vivianne's willingness to provide a supportive environment for their daughter.

The practical conversation was followed up by a more casual and laid-back talk, asking about their upcoming vacation to Greece, how Beth and Viv’s families were doing, what they thought about the upcoming Arsenal season, etc.

As the meeting drew to a close, both parties felt a sense of relaxation and assurance regarding Y/N's potential move. Y/N and her father had already headed outside when Y/N’s mother subtly halted Vivianne and Beth in their tracks. ''I know we’ve said it a lot, but we are very grateful that you’re doing this.''

''It’s really no problem. Y/N’s a lovely girl.'' Beth nodded.

''She really liked it at City, but she was always talking about how she missed playing in the red and white colors.'' Her loan to Manchester City had been a mixed experience for the young player.

Vivianne pouted at her words, while Beth sighed, understanding the sentiment. ''She’s back home now. Our Gunner.''

''Yeah,'' Y/N’s mother chuckled, ''we trust that you’ll take great care of our girl. She really looks up to you two, so this means a lot to her, and to us as well,'' she said with a soft smile.

The couple nodded. ''Absolutely. We’ll treat her like she’s our own child,'' Beth added, and they all shared a laugh.

''No, but seriously, we’ll make her feel at home,'' Vivianne assured her.

''Thank you, girls, and enjoy your vacation- you’ve deserved it,'' Y/N’s mother bid them goodbye, stepping outside to join her own family.

''Thank you, Miss Y/L. Have a safe trip home, okay?''

The family exchanged appreciative smiles. ''We will, thank you.'' She replied warmly before they made their way to their car and were back on their way home. The couple watched until they were out of sight, a strong hold on one another.

As the door closed, Beth let out a relieved laugh. ''Well that went well, don’t you think?'' She turned to her partner, the Dutch’s eyes reflecting a mix of joy and excitement.

Vivianne grinned. ''Yeah, and her parents really seemed to trust us. Y/N also seemed genuinely happy about the idea.'' The youngster’s stance on this had been the most important to them, wanting to get the feeling she genuinely wanted this.

The Brit nodded. ''I hope so, I just want her to be comfortable.''

Viv squeezed her. ''We’ll make her feel at home, liefie. Just like we promised. It’s a bit like parenting, but instead of a crying infant, we get a cool teenager.''

Beth laughed. ''Yeah, and one that plays great football as well. We’re lucky gals.''

''Absolutely, we hit the jackpot.''

On the agreed-upon date, the day before the official start of pre-season, Beth and Vivianne eagerly awaited Y/N’s arrival. Most of her stuff had been already dropped off in their home, so to make it easier for her and them to transition into the new living situation. As both of Y/N’s parents weren’t allowed to take time off of work- much thanks to the European Championship- Y/N would take the train and would be picked up by Jen and Kim, the Scottish pair offering to drive her from the station to the Meadema household.

''Alright, orphan child, let’s bring you to your new mummies.'' Jen had teased her once they got in the car.

As the doorbell rang, signaling the much-anticipated moment, Beth rushed to open the door, while Vivianne took her time to follow her girlfriend into the hall.

The trio stood there, Kim and Jen holding her stuff while Y/N immediately greeted Beth with a hug. ''Meado!''

''Hey, darling! Welcome home now, eh?'' The older one said excitedly, giving the young girl a kiss on her hair.

Vivianne greeted her two other teammates before turning to the strikers. ''Y/N! How you doing?'' Instead of waiting for Beth to be done hugging her, Viv pulled her arms around both women.

''Good, and you?''

''Yeah, I’m fine.'' The bright smile on the girl’s face was infectious, her teammates mirroring her expression.

Once both her new housemates let go of her, they all walked into the house. ''How was the train ride?'' Vivianne asked, taking Y/N’s coat and hanging neatly on a wired hanger.

''Uh, it was a bit delayed, but it wasn’t too busy, so it was okay.'' She answered, having a curious look around their house again as if something drastic would have changed in the two weeks that had passed since she first visited them.

Jen and Kim let out big sighs as they put her stuff down. ''We managed to safely deliver your package, Meado. Don’t we get some kind of reward for that?'' Jen quipped, Y/N giving her a light slap on the arm for referring to her as if she were an Amazon delivery of some sort.

''I agree! She’s in one piece and with a smile on her face.'' Kim added.

The group shared a laugh. ''How about we treat you to some dinner sometime this week?''

Jen raised an eyebrow at the proposal. ''Anywhere we want?'' Beth nodded. ''No budget limits?''

''Within reason, Jennifer. We’re not made of money.'' The Brit grinned.

'’You just became European Champion, I’m sure you got a nice cheque, Meado.'’ Jen continued teasing. ''Anyway- shouldn’t the young grasshopper pay since we’re all doing this for her?'' The Scot turned to Y/N.

The young girl’s eyes widened. ''Stealing money from a minor? Wow, Beattie.'' She joked, getting a laugh out of them.

''Minor? You just turned 18!'' The defender exclaimed.

Y/N teasingly rolled her eyes. ''Age is just a number. That’s what you taught me!''

''Alright, you don’t have to pay! But next time you wanna go out with us, I’m saying no, since you’re still a minor.'' She stuck out her tongue, taunting the young girl with her own words.

''Who says I even want to go out with you guys, you’re all super old.'' Y/N retorted, being met with a bunch of protests.

The banter continued, creating a lighthearted and joyful atmosphere in the Meadema household.

#meadema x reader #woso x reader #beth mead x reader #vivianne miedema x reader #arsenal x reader #arsenal wfc x reader #awfc x reader #woso fanfics #woso imagine #engwnt

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