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sidekick-hero · 3 months

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Carry you

When Eddie opens his eyes, he has no idea where he is.

That should probably scare him, but the only thing he can think in that moment between blissful nothingness and cold, hard reality is "the bathroom at the party looked different." Because he is in a bathroom, that much he can say. There are white tiles everywhere and a roll of toilet paper in front of him and... is that a plastic handrail?

Lifting his head is a Herculean effort, but somehow he manages to do it, even though it makes his stomach turn.

In front of him is a freestanding shower and a bathtub with stairs to get into. The bathroom is huge and sterile, smelling of disinfectant.

As more and more of his senses come back online, Eddie notices several things at once:

#1 He's wearing what can barely be called a gown, cold air hitting his exposed skin everywhere. His back, his legs, hell, even his junk gets more of a breeze than he likes.

#2 He's nauseous, his stomach rolls uncomfortably, and his head is killing him, a sharp pain that's increasing in intensity by the second.

#3 He knows that something is definitely very, very wrong and he can feel the anxiety rising like bile in his throat.

It's that last realization that triggers his fight or flight response and in seconds he's off the toilet he's sitting on, the sudden movement sending him stumbling, his legs wobbling and his head spinning. Everything hurts and he feels so weak. He catches himself on the railing next to the toilet and figures that's what it's there for. Although he has no idea what kind of person would have such a strange bathroom. The last one he was in, at Tim's or Tom's or Terry's party, something with a T, for sure, the tiles had been black and there had been a lot of bamboo furniture and gold accents. It had smelled nice too, vanilla and cinnamon.

He staggers to a door that hopefully leads out of this fucking nightmare. Maybe Gareth or Freak are behind this, to teach Eddie a lesson for ditching them again to go partying when they had to pack up their shit after the show. But not Jeff, he's too nice to do something like that. The next morning, when Eddie arrives with a hangover the size of his ego, to quote Gareth, Jeff will only look at him with disappointment.

Or maybe they just don't care enough about him anymore to pull a prank on him. Eddie can't remember the last time they even talked to him, beyond discussing the bare minimum for their shows.

Leaving the bathroom, he carefully walks down a long hallway with the ugliest yellow linoleum Eddie has ever seen. It hurts his eyes and his stomach gives another unpleasant churning. On his right, he sees a glass door with "Intermediate Care Unit" written in big white letters.

What the fuck?

He turns right and continues down the hall, hoping to find someone who can tell him where he is and why his body feels like it's been hit with a sledgehammer. Repeatedly.

"Mr. Munson, you shouldn't be out of bed," a stern voice calls from behind him, and when he turns around he sees a middle-aged woman in white scrubs looking at him with a stern expression on her face.

Feeling more and more like he has landed in an episode of The Twilight Zone, Eddie looks at her with an incredulous look on his face. "Who are you? And where is everyone?"

She scoffs at his answer, clearly not pleased.

"I am the nurse responsible for getting you well enough to leave this ward as soon as possible, and you would make my job a lot easier if you would go back to your bed." Before he can process the meaning of her words, she continues. "As for everyone else, well, no one else overdosed, so I would assume they're all home by now."

Eddie can only stare at her open-mouthed, disbelief and horror probably written all over his face, because her own face is softening slightly.

"Now come on, let's get you back to bed, you really shouldn't be wandering around."

She gently takes his elbow and leads him to a door with the number 719 on it. As she opens it for him, Eddie sees three beds inside. To the left and right, he sees two old men, both looking directly at him. The one on the right says, "We tried to stop him, Nurse Elli, we really did," in a high, nasal voice that is already getting on Eddie's nerves. "The kid wouldn't listen to us, would he, Harry?"

"Exactly," Harry answered, at least in a deeper, more bearable tone.

Ignoring the geriatric Ernie and Bert, Nurse Elli leads him to the bed in the middle and helps him to lie down again. Only then does Eddie remember that all he's wearing is a thin hospital gown with an open back. Well, he thinks, Nurse Elli has seen worse in her profession than his pale, scrawny ass. Besides, it's not like much of his modesty has survived the last two years of sex, drugs and rock'n'roll that have been his life.

By the time he's back under the covers, his nurse has turned around and is walking back over to the door. A bone-deep exhaustion has begun to seep into his body, slowly dragging him back under, but seeing her walk out of the room gives him a burst of energy.

"Wait! Someone needs to tell me what happened. What am I doing here?"

Embarrassment burns hot under his skin as he hears the tears in his voice, but the sound of it breaking at his question makes Nurse Elli stop. She turns back to him and her eyes are much kinder than before.

"The doctor will be with you shortly. He'll explain everything to you, Mr. Munson. I'll let him know you're awake now."

And then she leaves, and Eddie sinks back into his bed in the hope that the next time he opens his eyes, it will all have been just a bad dream.

It was not all just a bad dream.

The next time Eddie comes to, he's alone in his room, except for a middle-aged man who seems to be the doctor Nurse Elli told him would be stopping by.

Doctor Owens explains that he overdosed on alcohol and coke at a party at some music producer's house and had been in a coma for two full days. They quickly stabilized him, pumped his stomach and gave him fluids through an IV. Eddie is lucky he's still young and his system recovered from the shock quite well. When he showed signs of waking up, they brought him down here from the ICU to free up his bed for someone who needed it more.

"If Mr. Harrington hadn't called 911 and told them to come get you, you'd be dead right now, Mr. Munson. I'm sorry to say this, but from what I've heard, no one at the party even cared, just insisted that you brought your own drugs and they had nothing to do with it. Mr. Harrington has also been your only visitor so far."

His words should make him angry or sad, something, but he can't process them. Not when his brain is still struggling to make sense of the first part of his statement, Eddie’s heart racing in his chest.

"Mr. Harrington? As in..."

"Steve Harrington, he says he's a close friend. He's the one who called the ambulance, gave the operator your cell phone number so they could track your phone and get you to the hospital. He's been visiting you every day since. He also called your uncle, because we are not allowed to give out any medical information to anyone outside of the family. Your uncle should be here soon, I called him yesterday to give him an update on your condition."

His mind is reeling, too many thoughts fighting for dominance and one word screaming louder than any of them in his head.

Steve, Steve, Steve.

How... it couldn't be. Not after their last fight. Not after the things he said to Steve. To his horror, he feels tears burning hot in his eyes at the memory. A memory he had pushed as far back in his mind as he could because every time he thought about that night he wanted to curl up into a fetal position and cry.

"You are a lucky man, Mr. Munson. This man seems to care a lot about you, as does your uncle. You should let them help you. And if you will allow me to be very clear with you: You need all the help you can get. You're young, so your body can take a lot. But it's not in good shape. You have an old man's liver, and your spleen and kidneys are showing signs of the abuse you put them through. The echo also showed some irregularities in your heartbeat. If you continue down the path you're on, your organs will fail and you will die, Mr. Munson. Painfully. So my advice to you is to get clean as soon as possible. We have some facilities we work with, a nurse will bring you some brochures."

Eddie could only nod numbly, tears now falling freely from his eyes, his throat tight and his head aching. Everything hurt. Especially his heart.

"Okay, we'll keep you here for two more days until we're sure you're stable enough to be on your own." Doctor Owens tells him, turning to leave and get on with his day, as if he hadn't just dropped a damn bomb on his head. He pauses at the door and turns back to him.

"And a word of advice from someone twice your age who's seen a lot in his time here: stick with people who really care about you, like Mr. Harrington, instead of spending your time with people who leave you lying in a bathroom in your own vomit."

With that, he steps out of the room, closing the door quietly behind him and leaving Eddie alone with his thoughts.

Eddie doesn't know how long it's been since Dr. Owens left. It could have been hours, days, weeks, for all he knows, too deep inside his own head to spare any thought for the passing of time. Lying in a hospital bed, the nausea and pain raging through his battered body, Eddie finally breaks down and lets the thoughts come.

He's lost in his memories, thinking about everything that led him here, alone and in pain in a hospital bed, after nearly killing himself with things he swore he'd never use. Weed was fine, though he didn't indulge much anyway, preferring to sell it and make some much-needed money than to smoke it himself. But coke? Nah, he knew how epically stupid it would be to even try that shit.

And yet he did.

A party to celebrate the release of their first single. One lapse in judgment while flying so fucking high that nothing could touch him. One bad decision was all it took for him to succumb to the effects of the white powder.

The high he felt after snorting his first line had been magical and he's been chasing that feeling ever since, blind to all he's sacrificed in the process.

It changed him, he knows. Every euphoric high that made him talk a mile a minute, overly affectionate, loud and brash and in love with the whole world would inevitably end in a crash. He became irritable and hostile toward the people he loved, thinking they were out to get him. Whenever his friends or Wayne or Steve so much as looked at him the wrong way about his new habit, he would lash out at them.

He became increasingly angry and accused them of trying to control him, of envying him his success and happiness.

That's when he started drinking, too. He drank himself stupid so that he wouldn't have to think about the way Steve was starting to look at him as if he didn't even know him anymore. To forget the sad look in Wayne's eyes or the way his friends had started to avoid him. When he was drunk out of his mind, he could forget the way the Coffin boys had started talking about him behind his back, could ignore the murderous looks Robin kept sending his way.

Thinking back, Eddie felt like everything had spun out of his control so fast.

It's like one day he comes home to Steve, ecstatic about signing their first record deal and celebrating the start of a new chapter with the love of his life by dancing around their living room barefoot, laughing and kissing each other, promising happiness and forever.

Only to throw that love right back in Steve's face the next day by calling him needy, clingy, and full of bullshit.

He claimed that Steve was holding him back and that Steve didn't love him, that he just didn't want to be alone. He also said that Steve still thought he was better than Eddie, better than the town freak, the fuck-up, the trailer trash.

You don't want me to succeed and finally step out of your perfect shadow, because then what would stop me from leaving you, right?

Eddie regretted his words as soon as they left his mouth. Secretly, he had always feared that his success would cause a rift in his relationship with Steve. Eddie had no desire to leave Steve, because Steve was still the best goddamn thing that ever happened to him, but he couldn't help but feel that he was losing him anyway. Even more so when he had seen Steve's face crumble, when he had seen the exact moment when his heart had broken into a million pieces.

He had wanted to take Steve in his arms and apologize for saying cruel things he didn't even believe. It had been his own insecurities that had caused him to lash out, and he had hurt Steve before he had a chance to be hurt himself.

Instead, in true Munson fashion, he had run away and hasn't seen or heard from Steve in six long months that have felt like years.

Steve looks almost exactly the same as he did the last time Eddie saw him.

That's not a good thing, though. Because Steve had been driving himself crazy with worry about Eddie for months before Eddie had taken Steve's heart and torn it apart right in front of him.

Back then he had the same dark circles under his eyes that he has now. The usually golden skin is still too pale and Steve's trademark hair looks even more disheveled from how often he's run his hands through it. His well-fitting jeans, which once hugged his ass just right, now sit baggy on his too-slim frame and Eddie hates it.

He hates that Eddie could still hurt Steve even after he left. That even from a distance he managed to ruin the only person who ever really loved him besides Wayne. There should be some kind of warning sign on him: Beware, do not get attached, will hurt you.

"You're awake," are the first words out of Steve's mouth, and despite everything, Eddie can't stop his heart from responding to the sound of his sweet voice. Steve sounds tired, weary, but to Eddie's ears his voice is better than any Metallica song could ever be.

He tries to smile at him, but he feels as tired as Steve sounds, so it lacks the usual spark.

"Sure am. From what I heard, I have you to thank for that," Eddie adds, unable to help himself. He still doesn't know why and especially how Steve knew he needed help. If this were a Nicholas Sparks novel, their love would have created an invisible bond that made Steve feel when Eddie needed help.

But this is real life, and no matter how much he loves Steve, there is no invisible bond holding them together. Just an unbridgeable chasm.

Steve is still hovering at the door and Eddie thinks he is fighting the urge to wring his hands. Eddie knows his tells by now and he figures Steve isn't sure he's welcome here. Which is ridiculous, because even at his worst, Eddie will always want Steve around, no matter what crap Eddie tells him.

It takes a lot of effort, but Eddie manages to sit up and lean out of bed to pat the chair next to his bed, his eyes never leaving Steve.

Eddie sees Steve's shoulders slump, some of the tension visibly draining from his body at the gesture, and Steve walks over to him and sits down tentatively.

"So..." Eddie begins, dragging out the 'o'. "What happened?"

Steve looks up from his hands in his lap, obviously surprised by the question. "You don't remember?"

"No. The last thing I remember is sitting on a leather couch with a bunch of people I don't know and don't care about, fooling myself into thinking I was having fun." Eddie has had plenty of time to think about his life and where he went wrong, so he decides to stick with honesty. Steve deserves as much and more. "Someone handed me a bottle of whiskey and I opened it and started drinking straight from the bottle. That's the last thing I remember. The next thing I know, I wake up in an ugly bathroom that smells like disinfectant, my whole body hurts like I've been hit by a train, and I have no idea where I am."

Before he can bring himself to say the next part, it's Eddie who has to look away, his eyes focused on his hands playing with the edge of the blanket.

"They told me it was you who called 911 and helped them find me. They said without you I would have died lying in my own vomit." He swallows audibly, tears burning in his eyes, wondering how he could have cried more in the last ten hours than in the last ten years. "They also said you were the only one who came to see me."

Eddie forces himself to look up and into Steve's eyes as he says, "Thank you, Steve. You didn't... I don't deserve you doing this. Not after..." The words die in his throat and he feels like he's choking on them.

He can't do this. He's a fucking coward, not worth saving. Not even worth looking at someone as good and beautiful as Steve.

There's a crease between Steve's eyebrows that Eddie used to smooth with his thumb and lips every time he saw it, and his fingers itch to do it again.

"You called me," Steve tells him, his own hands playing with the edge of Eddie's blanket. "At the party. You called me from the bathroom. I thought it was a butt call or maybe drunk dialing, I hadn't heard from you in months, Eddie."

Eddie winces at his words, but Steve chooses to ignore it.

"But then you sounded so small on the phone. You called me 'Stevie' and 'sweetheart' and then you started to cry." Steve looks like he's about to cry, too. His eyes are glassy and Eddie gets lost in the way the light breaks in them, gold and brown and green all mixed together.

"You told me you weren't feeling so good, that your stomach hurt and the room was spinning so you had to lie down. Your voice -" And here Steve's own voice breaks, after it had already started to shake badly, and without thinking Eddie grabs Steve's hand and holds it tight.

"I'm here, Stevie. You saved me. I'm okay."

"But you almost weren't!" Steve insists, his voice rising, and Eddie finally understands the depth of Steve's feelings. After all these months, after everything Eddie had said and done, Steve still cared deeply for him.

"You talked like you were dying, Eddie. You weren't drunk dialing, you were calling to say goodbye, asshole. You were telling me all these things that I needed to hear you say for months. But I wanted to hear them with you in the room so I could punch you in the face and then kiss it better. Not like this. Not as your last words over a fucking phone call."

That's when Steve breaks down, the tears finally overflowing and he buries his face on the bed at Eddie's hip, their joined hands pressed against his wet cheek.

"Baby," Eddie whispers, shocked, his own heart aching worse than ever as he begins to run his fingers through Steve's messy hair. "Shhh, it's okay. I'm so, so sorry, Stevie. I never meant to hurt you, but it seems like that's all I did."

Taking a deep breath, Eddie continues. "I don't know what I told you on the phone, but since I woke up I've had time to think about it all. I don't know if I can ever make it up to you. Or to Wayne and the kids, Gareth and Jeff and Grant. If I will ever deserve your forgiveness, but I want to try. I want to deserve it one day. I know I have no right to ask anything of you, but... I will go to rehab. I will quit drugs and alcohol, I will clean up my act. And then, if you let me, I will try to make it up to you every single day for the rest of our lives."

Steve slowly lifts his head from the bed and looks at him, searching Eddie's eyes for something.

"Why?" Steve asks, his hand gripping Eddie's even tighter.

There are so many reasons, so many things Eddie wants to say, but in the end there is only one simple answer.

"Because I love you."

The smile on Steve's face tells him it's the right answer, even more so when Steve presses a kiss into his palm. But then he turns serious once more.

"I haven't forgiven you yet, Eddie. You hurt me too much and I need time. But I need you to stop trying to run away from me. I don't want you to go to rehab and clean yourself up before you come back to me. I want to be with you every step of the way. Do it together. Because if you love me, you have to let me take care of you. You have to let me in, Eddie. Let me carry you for once, like Sam carried Frodo when he couldn't go on. Trust me not to let you fall. Please."

"Did you really just make a reference to Lord of the Rings?" Eddie demands and Steve rolls his eyes.

"Is that what you get from everything I just said?"

Eddie sobers up immediately. "No, it just made me fall a little bit more in love with you, and I didn't think that was possible."

"So what do you say?" Steve asks, chewing his lip between his teeth, and Eddie suspects he's not even breathing.

"It's going to suck, Stevie," Eddie says in a quiet voice, stroking Steve's knuckles with his thumb."Are you sure?"

"Yes." No hesitation, no wavering in his voice. It's the same tone, the same determined look on his face as when he told Eddie "Fuck'em," when Eddie told him people in their small-minded town would talk if Steve held his hand in public.

"There's a bunch of brochures of places to check out. Wanna help me pick the least horrible one?" Eddie says, pointing to the table in the corner of the room.

Without another word, Steve gets up to grab them, and for the first time in a long time, Eddie allows himself to hope.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddie fic #rockstar eddie munson #cw drugs #steddielovemonth #day 1 #love is letting someone take care of you #my writing

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rineptune · 2 months

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hiiii! i just read your angel fic and it was so amazing omg😭😭😭 and i wanted to make a request for hazbin hotel if its possible, like the reader is from goetia clan, and somehow (i didnt think much about this request im sorry😭) ends up in the upper circle of pride ring, aka where hazbin hotel is, and i wanted it to be more alastor baised, because we know he doesn't like people who are stronger than him, and goetian are royals, so reader is stronger than him, i dont know you can wing it as you like i just really like your writing style!!

thank you!!!

under your skin.

summary: alastor despises aristocrat hellborns for the priviledged, unadultered power they’re born with, and he loathes you even more than anything else because you fall under every category he despises in hell.

a/n: winging it as we speak, nonnie & don't worry!! this made sense, and i just love this trope you submitted pls. and thank you!!

alastor despises you.

it’s pretty straightforward, though he conceals it perfectly with that for-show smile of his. no one could’ve guessed that there was a demon in hell that made his blood boil to the highest degree.

but he made sure the façade never crumbled, even when you showed no interest in him and his sinister advanced to use you as leverage for him.

he remembers the day you came to visit the hotel to congratulate charlotte. alastor remembers all too well because you paid him no mind and had your fill in questioning his true power. that’s when he found out that he loathes aristocrat hellborns—you, specifically.

“who are you again?” you ask.

“oh, forgive me,” he smiles, his eyes narrowing into slits for a second.

“i am the host of the hotel! you might’ve heard of me from my radio broadcast.”

“radio?” you ponder aloud.

“and here i thought radio had been long gone. vintage,” you chuckle. a bow of greeting you returned. “but quite irrelevant nowadays, won’t you agree?”

the way he smiled... so rigid and on the edge, you already knew how to get under his skin.

“i suppose we have contradicting perspectives on the matter.”

•

alastor wants to murder you.

you and he were the only ones present in the hotel, with the others out and about with their daily activities to bump up their morale to be redeemed.

and all of the places you could’ve made yourself comfortable in, you decided to lounge in his radio broadcasting tower. the nerve. you’re about to set off all of alastor’s accumulated rage if you were to break anything or even misplace anything from their original position.

“i heard the rumors,” you tell him.

inspecting the surroundings, alastor’s alert enough to not let his guard down. it’ll never completely settle.

“of how you broadcasted the screams of the overlords you overtook.”

that piqued his attention.

you? having heard of him now?

how pathetic.

“i’m well-aware of how i get under your skin,” you smile. “and i’m glad i’m able to do so. it’s entertaining to see your glare, how your aura shifts, and how your shadow mirrors your true emotions.”

“ha-ha, you’re quite observant, sir.” alastor forces him to laugh.

“then, i hope for you to broadcast my agonizing scream in this very tower one faithful day.”

the mood dips. the usually easy and light aura is suffocating, and alastor’s knees buckle, forcing him to kneel in front of you. all of this against his will, his eyes piercing through yours.

this triggered alastor’s fight-or-flight appearance, the figure becoming sharp and menacing as if he were as much of a threat as he used to be—as if he were still in his rising prime.

“because i love the challenge,” you conclude with a chipper clap. “and i’d love to see you try and fail miserably.”

“fuck you,” he spat, smiling. “where’s the originality when you’re only quoting my exact words? haha.”

“i thought you’d be much wiser than to question my motives. though, i suppose i should be heading to the main lobby as i hear charlotte and her party have just arrived.”

“think about it, alastor. if you play your cards right, you might be able to make a deal with me—or even better, kill me.”

alastor was not a man of faith; he does not believe in gods and deities, but he does pray for the goetia’s downfall. and when the time is right, he will strike with all his might just to laugh at your misery.

satan, he’s obsessed.

#classic ໒꒱ ink #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x y/n #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin alastor #alastor x reader #alastor x y/n #alastor x you #alastor

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dxckgrxsonx · 1 year

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dickpic!reader trying to tease jay by giving him her panties but it backfires badly when later he sends her a video of him with his hand, that’s holding the panties, wrapped around his cock and he fucks himself w them 🫡

phew!! almost 2k words. think this might be my fave part so far.

You flinch awake in complete darkness.

Soft, imploring fingers trail from your ankle up to the sensitive skin across the back of your knee. Panic flares so cold it burns all the way to the very top of your head and you kick out, strong but clumsy, foot catching someone warm and firm in the stomach.

There’s a soft ‘oof’ and the hand disappears. You find yourself up on your knees in the space of a few seconds, fists raised, heart threatening to pound straight out of your chest. Fight or flight hooks into all the nerves along your shaking spine and there’s half a second where you don’t even know where you are.

Until someone says your name.

It feels like taking a deep breath first thing in the morning when the air is so cold and crisp it burns your lungs. Feels like dumping freezing water over your head in the middle of a summer heatwave, body caught halfway between complete shock and endless relief.

“So this was my surprise, huh?” Jason says mildly, and the tension shoving open your ribs exhales. “Not what I was expecting but m’not complaining.”

Wearing his black tactical pants and long sleeved undershirt, Jason unclips his weapons holsters and drops them on the bed. Inelegantly falling backwards against the headboard you cross your legs and reach out, fingers curiously grabbing at one of his guns.

The weapon is cold and heavy in your hands. You find the safety close to the trigger and make a conscious effort to stay away from it. Part of you wonders how Jason can find comfort in the weapon, holding it now, you feel almost dangerous.

But a quieter, more thoughtful part of you thinks that being dangerous might be the point. After all, there’s a certain sense of control that comes from being armed, it kind of feels like protection in a weird, twisted way. People generally think twice before going to hurt the person with the gun.

And you know in the meat of your heart that Jason Todd has been hurt enough.

“I ought to shoot you for waking me up like that.” You threaten, gun pointed firmly away from Jason. “Scared the hell out of me.”

“You’re in my bed.” He deadpans, unbuckling his belt. “What did you expect?”

Placing the gun beside its holster you grab a handful of jelly beans from where you left them on the bedside table and switch on the lamp. “Is it too much to ask to be woken up normally? You know, you could have said my name or even turned on the light.”

Offering a shrug in response he grins and takes off his pants.

Raising an interested eyebrow you tip some jelly beans in your mouth and chew, “You want some?”

Pulling yourself to your knees again you shuffle to the end of the bed as Jason steps out of his tactical pants and meets you partway. Opening his mouth expectantly you roll your eyes and tip the rest of your handful into his greedy mouth.

Chewing thoughtfully he gives you a brief once over, “Are you wearing my shirt?”

“It’s comfy and I didn’t bring any sleepover pyjamas.” You defend. Pressing a warm hand to your whole face Jason smiles mischievously and shoves you backwards. Falling flat out across the sheets you try to kick him in the chest but fail, “It’s your own fault for leaving it in plain sight. I’m totally blameless in this scenario.”

“You’re nothing but a common criminal.” Jason grumbles, moving to grab a new shirt to sleep in. “First my jelly beans, and now my shirt.”

“Hey! Your hiding places suck. Have you suddenly forgotten that I know you? Like really know you. You mean the world to me, so of course I make sure to pay attention to what you’re doing.” Shuffling to one side of the bed you kick back the covers and settle underneath. “Don’t think that I don’t know about the stash hidden in my apartment too by the way.”

Jason’s face does something odd then.

It’s less like surprise and more like outright horror. You find yourself on high alert, wanting desperately to soothe it, you haven't seen him look at you like that before, like you’ve just single handedly sent him scrambling for solid ground.

For a second, you wish you never told him you knew.

“You found that?” He says, and there’s something vulnerable in his voice.

You hum in confirmation, “Came across it when I was clearing out my old clothes from the wardrobe.” You remember the surprise of finding it, all that food, and then the sharp bite of confusion that followed. “It’s still there, I haven’t touched it, figured it was something important.”

“You can get rid of it.” Jason chokes, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know it’s stupid and I’m sorry for hiding things in your apartment.”

“It’s not stupid.” You say quickly, jumping out from under the covers to reach for him, fingers grabbing at his waist, his shoulder. “Jay, if it means something to you then it’s not stupid. Not to me. M’not going to get rid of it unless you want me to, okay? You spend so much time at my place, I’m surprised that’s all you’ve stashed there.”

The faintest smile brushes his mouth and your fingers itch to chase the soft, plump curve of his lips. The urge feels more dangerous than holding a weapon, it feels more selfish, feels almost heavier. Walking your hand along the top of his shoulder you brush a stray strand of hair out of his eyes.

Jason says your name so softly, with so much meaning, and you shiver. His hand comes up to press over your own and your chest cracks wide open, everything important and critical about you exposed.

“Let's get some sleep, yeah?”

The mention of sleep makes you yawn and Jason smirks before shoving his finger in your wide open mouth.

You wake with his breath on the back of your neck.

There’s a slow realisation of the position you’re in. Jason plastered to your back, hand anchored around your waist. He’s warm and safe and you shuffle backwards even further into his hold, content to spend as much time as possible in his embrace.

When he wakes, you know that things will go back to normal. Both of you stuck between friends and something more.

Loving him is a lonely thing.

Under the early light of dawn you drag the very tips of your fingers over his forearm. There’s a faint twitch of muscles and you feel Jason sigh before he snuggles against you, leg nudging yours under the covers.

“Jay.” You whisper. “I need to get up, I’ve got to get ready for work.”

Slotting his leg between your own Jason grumbles and tightens his grip, “No.” He whines, sleep clinging thick to his voice. “Call in sick. Wanna cuddle with you.”

Tracing the veins from his wrist to the crook of his elbow you laugh lightly, squinting against the sunlight shining through the window, “Maybe next time?” You offer gently, peeling his arm from your waist.

“Promise?” He sighs, rolling over onto his back.

Sliding out of his bed you beeline for the bathroom and give him no response, not trusting yourself to say the right thing. If he asked, you’d promise him just about anything. If only to see the soft, touched smile on his face. If only for the chance to kiss him.

Before leaving though, you stop by his bedside and make sure the sheets are draped loosely around his shoulders; you know how much he hates feeling trapped, confined to one single space.

And if you drop a kiss to his forehead, that’s between you and the dawn.

Checking your phone as soon as you get home you almost catch fire.

The sudden heat reminds you of solar flares, bright and shining. A burst of plasma and energy powerful enough to knock your whole life straight out of orbit. He has a habit of doing that to you. Knocking you so far of course it feels like burning yourself alive.

Jay: I think you left these at mine this morning Jay: sent a photo

Opening the image you ache between your legs.

Jason has a pair of your underwear wrapped around his fist, and he’s holding his cock, precum leaking from the fat head all over the soft fabric. It’s the pair you were wearing yesterday and you know that they’re not exactly clean.

You: you’re killing me You: i’m dying You: they’re not clean, i wore them yesterday

His reply comes a few moments later and you struggle to keep some semblance of composure.

Jay: i know Jay: sent a video

Pressing play you sit down on the sofa and make sure the volume is turned up. The video focuses immediately on Jason’s thick cock. Your underwear is wrapped around the base and you watch as his fingers twist into the fabric before he drags it up to the wet tip, jerking himself off with it.

His breath stutters when his hips thrust upwards, shoving his cock through the cotton until he twitches. The fabric steadily gets stickier and stickier as he leaks everywhere, his fist tightening until he moans.

The camera shakes when Jason shudders and you sink your teeth into your bottom lip. He groans softly when your underwear rubs over the tip and you gasp at the wrecked sound of his voice, desperate to hear what other pretty noises he can make.

All the muscles in his stomach tighten and you’re mesmerised by the catch and release of them. Even more by the faint trail of hair dusting his navel. The edge of the camera barely catches his thighs but you see them shaking, see him struggling to control the urge to really fuck your underwear.

He fails miserably and you shake when he moans, long and low.

Grinding himself up into his fist he gasps and chokes out your name. Seconds later his body locks up and you almost whimper when Jason’s pretty cock starts twitching, covering your underwear with his come. His release is thick and white and your pussy aches, clit straining for even one touch, for even a slight bit of attention.

Jason says your name again and this time it’s different. It’s softer, you almost don’t think he meant for you to hear it.

But you did hear it and you go back, listen to it again because it’s breathy. Because if you close your eyes you can hear a touch of his Gotham accent. Because for a moment you could really believe that you’re there with him.

You: great You: imma go rub one out

Jay: aw for me? Jay: how cute

You: yeah for you You: want me to send you something?

Jay: please please please

You: okay

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x reader smut #jason todd x you #jason todd x you smut #jason todd fanfic #jason todd fanfiction #red hood x reader #red hood x reader smut #ella writes #asks #answered #birthofvcnus

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e-claire · 1 year

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Misophonia sucks so fucking hard and no one anywhere ever wants to talk about it. Literally the only people I've ever had listen to me about my Misophonia are other people with Misophonia. So fuck it, Misophonia Awareness Post or something, I want to vent.

Allow me to describe what it is first for all the lucky people who aren't fucked over. Misophonia is likely an Audio-Processing Disorder (Potentially some form of Synesthesia) in which certain sounds trigger a fight or flight reaction. Trigger sounds can vary and sometimes after long term exposure it can create a reaction to the visuals associated with those sounds. It is possibly genetic, there is no known cause, there is no known treatment, there is only suffering and ways of generally kind of reducing that suffering. When I hear people chewing I am filled with a rage that can only be described as "Bordering on a primal desire to Kill." and there's nothing I can do about that. A family member or friend takes a bite of something crunchy and I have to sit there and exist with thoughts of pounding their fucking skull into paste with my bare god damn hands and then afterwards I have to go back to "being normal". I have to just pretend that didn't happen, I can't do anything with those emotions, I can't put them anywhere, I can't talk about them with anyone or gain any understanding or sympathy from others for having them.

When I see someone chewing food anymore it's borderline impossible for me to remain in the room with them for any more than a few seconds because the mere sight of them chewing makes me physically ill and inspires in me a sense of deep disgust and panic that I could never ever hope to describe.

I tell people about what it's like and I get one of four reactions :

"Oh I think I have that too" With a weird amount of curious excitement at the concept of having a fun new quirky thing to mention in conversations. This means that they don't have it, and they'll then proceed to list off a couple different things that literally no human being likes to hear and how much that thing "annoys them". This makes me want to kill myself.

"Wow, Yikes." Through a grimace. This means I was too open about how it makes me feel and they now think i'm a either a freak, liability, time bomb, or over-dramatic, and will do everything they can to avoid the subject in the future so that I can't make them uncomfortable. This makes me want to kill them AND myself.

Immediately eats something really loudly to set me off as a "joke". This means that they're an obnoxious piece of shit that I have to try my absolute hardest not to beat to death with my bare hands. This makes me want to kill them, if that wasn't already obvious.

"Oh. So that's what this is called." This means they have it, and we can both engage in a brief period of mutual trauma sharing that helps us know we're not alone, and that our curse is unfortunately shared with others. This makes us both somewhat melancholy, and kinda ruins the vibes until something fun happens.

And then we get into the "How do you make the pain stop", and good news! You can't. There is no way to make it stop. But you can make it hurt less with ✨Spending Unbearable Amounts of Cash✨

You can buy a billion different types of earplugs that will all do great at muting the world but always leave you incredibly unaware of the world around you and leave you fucked in-terms of listening to media.

You can buy normal headphones that will kind of work but never mute the world around you anywhere near enough and vaguely frustrate you constantly, but hey at least you're a bit more accessible! Try combining these with a combination of rain and static noise playing at all times in the background for an extra layer of silence :)

You can buy ANC headphones that cost infinitely too much money and are almost always built to break so that they can farm cash from you in repairs, but the ANC is so useful despite not working perfectly that you can't really exist without it so you're gonna spend 200+ dollars every couple years because you don't have a choice, and spend every single day 24/7 wearing hot heavy over-ear headphones! Use the Rain and Static Noise combo with this as well for the best ANC effect.

And inevitably, all of these options will give you hearing problems, potentially make you aware of new trigger sounds, and always leave you a step behind everyone else when a conversation happens. Pro-Tip : For when the sounds are really intrusive and you're on the verge of a breakdown, Combine ANC with Ear Plugs and the R&SN background audio to basically kill noise in it's entirety for a little while :)

AND NOW WE GET TO THE PART WHERE I SAY WHAT THE FUCK CAN YOU NORMIES DO TO MAKE OUR SUFFERING LESS FUCKING CONSTANT.

Listen to us. Don't ostracize us for experiencing emotions we can't control and don't mean or want to act on. If you can, try your best to do the trigger noises quietly, and try your best not to do the trigger visuals in-front of us. We know it's not something you can control entirely, but if you can make the effort to make our lives suck less, we'll really fucking appreciate it.

And if you try to get back at us during a fight by eating something really crunchy to abuse our disorder for your benefit, I swear to god I will hunt you down personally and subject you to the most violent and painful torture I can manage before killing you and hiding your body somewhere no one will ever find it so that your loved ones never have the closure of knowing if you died or if you're still somewhere out there. Thanks for reading even though I know you didn't because the length of this post is frankly unhinged and i'll probably only get like 2 likes at best.

#Misophonia #Misophonia Awareness #Actually Misophonic #Disorder Awareness #Mental Health

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thedelusionreaderbitch · 1 year

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Fred Weasley x male! Reader - Fred Weasley is sure his family thinks his boyfriend is a lunatic

A/n: the reader lives in the usa, normally I wouldn't try and mention where the reader lives (I don't live in the us) but it felt better with this fic. Also we live for badass muggle readers, there will be many more to come!

Warnings: Swearing, fighting (physically), the reader having some mental health problems but it isn't touched upon further then you can read, I think that's it? You have been warned!

Summary: Being introduced to Fred's family as his muggle american boyfriend already makes you sound like some exotic animal to them. It probably won't help that you have another secret just waiting to come out...

The three P's:

[Pov: 2nd person] [Pronouns used: you/your, he/him] [Pairings: (romantic!) fred x reader, (platonic!) fred/reader x the order/weasley family, (mentioned romantic!) Hermione x ron, (mentioned parental! harry x sirius]

I do NOT support J. K. Rowling, or any transphobic/homophobic things she says (or anything she says really), or TERFS!

You stared up at the ceiling of the Grimwald place with your hands laid on to the sides without a care in the world, opposing the anxious feeling bubbling in your throat.

You closed your eyes as you heard the familiar whispers of the other members of the Weasley family and the "order" replaying in your mind; "A boyfriend, a muggle boyfriend? And an American!" You must have been something to gauk at.

They looked at you as if you were some strange enigma not a newly graduate from your public highschool that wasn't fancy, and no, did not have moving staircases.

Who the fuck would want staircases that moved and that someone could potentially fall down? It seemed like a major safety hazard to you. Though all of Hogwarts seemed like a violation of the welfare of children from all the bits that Fred had told you about, although you're sure your city was much worse.

Where you lived there was crime left and right, and so much of the police were corrupt that it was dangerous to walk at night without someone beside you in case you got jumped.

Damn it, you were not supposed to think about crime right now, because it would just make you more anxious and jumpy and it always sent your spider senses aloof. Yet all you could think about was your city, without it's hero - Spiderman, to protect it. You just prayed while you were away the villains decided to take a break too.

The door to your room opened and your body immediately stood up, triggering it's flight or fight response with your muscles tensing up and you mentally preparing yourself for a fight.

Only to see Fred Weasley, your boyfriend enter the room.

Holy hell, you really were going insane.

Letting out a sigh of relief you let yourself fall against Fred and let your head rest on his shoulder as he wrapped his arms around you.

"Tired?"

"Hm."

"Was it my father asking relentless questions, or them thinking you were a friend, and me having to come out of the closet?"

You lift your head and smile lazily at his cheeky grin on his face as he teased you.

"Wouldn't you say wardrobe?"

Fred rolled his eyes. "You Americans always butchering our way of speaking, it's wardrobe, and no. Saying "coming out of the wardrobe" sounds absolutely ridiculous."

You laugh at him and close your eyes, you let your worries about being in England and leaving your city unprotected slowly ebb away with Fred's presence. He always had that affect on you, calming you, letting your mind settle down from the endless ways that people could be dying and how you could be failing to save them.

Not that he knew of course.

When Fred was trying out a new product for Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, he had accidentally gotten teleported to your house in America. Well it was your aunt's house at the time but that was besides the point.

It scared the ever living shit out of you, and you nearly thought he was a super villain with immense powers. No, it was just some stupid boy who had been mistakenly apparated to your residency and who couldn't get back because he didn't have his wand on him when he did.

"Freddie- or whatever your name is, I have a feeling you're not in England anymore."

After introducing you to magic, he was stayed at your place for three months, because you had no way to buy him a plane ticket to London, as you were barely scraping by as is. And someone would have to show him the terrors of an airport and how to navigate (that person being you) meaning you would need two tickets.

Eventually he found a witch who would apparate him back, although he was hesitant. He didn't want to leave you.

Reasoning with him that his family probably thought he was dead (also considering he did tell you there was a war with some dark wizard named Morty?) So he did, not before he confessed to you and decided he would come see you every weekend.

Then every weekend, became every other day and every other day became every day after work.

He was with you through everything and had told you things about himself his twin didn't even know, insecurities not meant for the cruel world. He was there for you when aunt may died, and when your best friend did too.

Yet you couldn't tell him your secret, that you were Spiderman. That you went out every night and saved people from getting hurt - or worse. Maybe more simply put that you were bitten by a radioactive spider that gave you superpowers (heighten senses, the ability to climb walls, webs, heightened intelligence, healing factor, spidey senses, super strength, super speed, super reflexes, superhuman durability, and immunity to wizard spells) and when your uncle died made you want to become a capped crusader without a cape that saved people?

Alright, perhaps that is a bit harder to explain.

Still you felt guilty that you hadn't told him, the two of you had been together for two years, he deserved to know.

"You alright there love?" Fred asked you as he ran a hand through your hair. "I seemed to have lost you there for a minute."

An American, muggle, boyfriend; man his family must have stared at you like a freak in a cage and you didn't notice.

"Fred I have to-"

You cut yourself off as your spidey sense started "tingling" more like blaring in your brain.

Quickly you pushed Fred to the left side of the room as a women in some weird sliver mask and black gown (that must not have been good for running after people in,) appeared out of some black smoke.

Emo much?

A spell whosed out of her wand as it hit the wall behind you two and you blankly wondered (not minding the danger) if she was in a cult.

It definitely wasn't one of yours that's for sure, usually they had better costumes.

"They've gotten passed our defenses!" A yell was heard from outside your secluded room and you couldn't be bothered to identify who it was before Fred casted some spell that made the women fall down straight like a board.

You could admire the irony in that.

Fred looked at you with confusion in his eyes. "How did you- It doesn't matter, you stay in here, okay? It's not safe out there."

Oh it was deatheaters, the people they were at war with. So you were right, it was a cult, to be fair it wasn't just any cult, it was the cult.

Fred quickly casts a spell under his breath over towards the lady now stiffed on the ground and closed to door on your face. As he locked it without even touching it.

You cursed, stupid magic, stupid people, stupid boyfriend, you had to get to them and help. You knew you could help because you were sure Wizards that hated anyone who wasn't "pure" and hated muggles didn't carry guns, making them incredibly useless. In addition to that wouldn't they not learn basic self defense because that would be below them or something?

So it would be mostly a saving-people-from-dying mission, you hated those.

"Because someone always ends up dying." A voice in the back of your mind speaks, way too happily when talking about death.

You slam the side of your body against the door as it flew off the hinges and you ran out to help the others. Whoops, hopefully you wouldn't have to pay for that.

You had the advantage of sneaking in, so you climbed up the walls so that you were sticking to the roof. It was strange climbing again in regular clothes, you usually did it in your spidey suit. It reminded you of when you were just starting out and freaking out about your powers, it nearly made you chuckle

Spotting Fred's twin - George (yes you could tell them apart it wasn't that hard) in a tough spot with two deatheaters cornering him you decided it was your time to jump into action before someone got hurt.

"Hey asshole!" You yelled at his perpetrators from the ceiling. "It's over, I have the high ground!"

Then you dropped from the ceiling on one of their faces.

The masked deatheater that you jumped on crumbled to the ground and hit their head on the floor and didn't make another noise. You didn't have time to check their pulse and make sure you didn't accidentally kill them as the other one sent a spell flying your way.

You giggled at their stunned expression when the spell did absolutely nothing to you.

"Ya, that isn't going to work buddy." You spoke confidentially before leaping towards them and punching them in the face.

"But may the force me with you!" You yelled as you threw your arm back to readying it for another punch.

You hit them just with the right amount of force, and just in the right place that they would get knocked out. You didn't want to do some brain damage or anything. You're sure there were some Wizard police or something that could take care of them, and they most likely would want to extract information from them too considering they were in war right now.

Okay two down, ten more to go? This is the best break ever!

Molly, Fred's mum was firing spell after spell at people, and didn't seem to need any help, and Sirius Black (escaped wrongly convicted?) was also just doing fine as he fought along side his godson. Harry Potter, the kid who the leader of the deatheater cult really wanted to kill because he couldn't kill a fucking baby. Although, he always waited at the end of the year to either try and kill him or apprehend him.

Well, at least Morty cared about the kid's education right?

You scanned your eyes around the room and they fell on Fred's youngest sister who was fighting along side Ron, and Hermione (who should really fuck already) and looked to be losing.

To be fair, three kids versus five adults? Didn't exactly seem fair to you.

You judo kicked one of them, before throat punching another, then knocking one on the jaw (you really hoped it wasn't broken,) while dodging some strikes coming your way.

"Here's Johnny!" You screamed.

Next you webbed the fourth cult member's arms and legs together, and finally you got the last one in a choke-hold cutting off their air supply before they fell to the ground on conscious.

You fought the remaining one off before having your short victory of them all being alive but unable to move or open their eyes.

"Bloody hell, I know, you're that superhero from America - Spiderman!" Ron exclaims.

Winking at him you let your spidey sense guide you to the next danger.

"I'm Batman." You grudge in your best Bruce Wayne impression possible before throwing your head back with laughter.

"Yes, it's Spiderman." You clarify, at their perplexed expressions and their wonderment of your sanity.

Suddenly your brain flared and you shot a web at Fred quicker than the speed of light and pulled him towards you with it as a spell that was bright green that sounded like "abracadabra" narrowly missed him.

You felt like you knew the spell, you feel like Fred had told you about it specifically- Oh. It was the killing curse.

That Bastard tried to murder your boyfriend.

Rage filled your veins that you hadn't felt since your uncle died, an old friend that come to greet you with a dagger in it's hands that had your name on it.

This was had to end now.

You took down the rest of the deatheaters swiftly even if the idiots had figured out you were immune to magic they were no match for you.

Then, some white light, smokey stuff came from out of nowhere and people stepped out of it. You almost go to attack them only to see that they didn't don the stupid all black gowns, nor the sliver cult masks with designs only children would call creepy.

Was this the rest of the order?

"The the fuck happened here." Some guy spoke with an mechanical eye, but not really mechanical eye? It just looked everywhere at any point? You were so confused honestly.

You're pretty sure the most emotion you've been feeling this entire time has been confusion.

"Sorry, did I step on your moment?" You question them with a toothy grin while your boyfriend marveled at you with a bright red blush covering his ears and cheeks.

"Merlin, that was so hot."

You throw your head back in laughter as George elbows Fred who continues to ogle at you.

"So you're not mad?" You ask him as your eyes flash with fear.

"Mad? Why would I be mad?" He chuckles and comes forward to wrap an arm around your waist.

"Well I kinda didn't tell you and you told me about your wizard thingy..." You trail off, as your hands fidget with each other.

"As much as this is sweet-" The man with mechanical the eye starts up with a grumble.

"No, no, I want to see how this will play out." A women with pink hair smirks.

"Were you going to tell me eventually?" Fred continues.

"Yes, why wouldn't I?"

"Exactly, you just had to tell me in your own time."

You gaped at the man in front of you, you couldn't believe that this wizard is yours.

"I love you so much!" You threw your arms around Fred's neck.

"Mate!" Ron piped up. "Fred's boyfriend just annihilated a bunch of deatheaters like they were flies! How is hugging him now?!"

Fred just ignores his brother as he places a kiss on your brow.

"I love you too, you crazy spider."

Bonus 1:

"I think my family is terrified of you now." Fred whispers in your ear as you glance over Ron who's shaking slightly as he leans over to Hermione and mutters something to her along the lines of; "He took down twelve deatheaters! Of course I'm scared!"

"That's what Ron's telling Hermione right now."

Fred stares at you, an astonished look appearing over his freckles.

"You can hear them, from here!"

"It's called super hearing babe."

"I know you, already explained your powers to me! But you willingly listened in on them!"

You bashfully turned your head. "I was just curious!"

"Who are you, and what have you done with Y/n!"

"You caught me! I'm Bond, James Bond."

Bonus 2:

"You know Morty and his deatheaters should really learn self defense." You state with your arms crossed around your chest. "I'm seriously concerned about their physical well beings!"

Fred looked over at you as his face split into a grin and his belly filled with uncontrollable laughter.

"Did you just call Voldemort, Morty!"

"That isn't his name?"

Words 2511

-thedelusionreaderbitch

Hp Taglist: @regulusblackswhorecrux

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standfucker · 8 months

Text

Engravings

inspired by the following comment on my last SH fic:

Couldn't stop thinking about it, which eventually led to this.

Characters: Sanji

Reader: GN, they/them

Word Count: 6.2k

CW: Hurt/Comfort, SH, SH scars, auditory hallucinations, PTSD, mental institution-related trauma. No shipping, ace-friendly

Summary: It’s Sanji. You’re immediately, wholeheartedly certain. It’s Sanji, and he knows.

AO3 Link

"I’m listening to everything / please, tell me everything"

Nothing’s happened.

The sea is calm, the sun is shining, and the breeze is strong. All in all, a great day for sailing.

Nothing’s happened…

No recent squabbles among the crew, no surprises from sea beasts, no battles with pirates or Marines.

There’s no reason to feel the way you do. No trigger or logic to it. But you feel it anyway.

It’s like there’s an invisible filter over everything. Nothing looks different. Things sound different, though. The sounds of the waves and wind, the snapping of sailcloth and rope, the din of the crew’s voices. All of it wavers, like someone has their hand on a universal volume dial, yanking it back and forth at random. Sometimes the sounds are piercingly loud, like they’re right next to your ears, making you resist the urge to cover them. Sometimes the sounds blend into the background of everything else in a low, dull hum–so distorted that you have to focus to parse what’s being said to you.

The sound issue is your second tip-off that you’re having that kind of day. The first is the sense that the Sunny feels too small. And, crushingly, overwhelmingly, it feels like your fault. Irrational, but you can’t shake it. Really, it’s stupid: On the outside, it just looks like you’re hanging out next to your crewmates, making idle conversation. Inwardly, there’s such a deep feeling of guilt for just being there that you’re ready to throw yourself overboard.

You try to cope. You really do. You make an effort, mentally talking yourself through it.

I am allowed to take up space. I am allowed to exist.

You want to cry. You want to get down on your knees and beg for forgiveness. It doesn’t make sense, and there’s no cause you can identify. You feel like you’re going to throw up.

No one notices. How could they? Your mask is calm smiles and practiced eye contact, formed with easy jokes and interest in what the others say. Your mask is years in the making, thick with each layer you’ve added to seal in the cracks. It’s heavy and ugly, but it keeps you safe.

I am allowed to exist.

There’s no danger. You can’t explain why your fight-or-flight response is going off. There’s something wrong with you, and no one can see it because the problem is deep in the wiring. You can’t even see it. But you can feel it, and it feels so god-awful you don’t know how to endure it.

You feel yourself shaking from head to toe, so much so that it’s hard to keep your balance. But when you look down, your body is completely still. The noise around you blends together and buzzes like static, harsh on your ears. Then it gets louder.

I am allowed to exist.

You want to crawl in a hole and hide.

I am…

You excuse yourself–casually, collectedly–and head for the ship’s interior. You know what you’re going to do before you even start moving, like the decision’s already been made for you. A certainty that settles in your system, something to hold onto. The background noise grows even louder.

You stumble into the bathroom. As soon as you shut the door, all sound cuts out.

You can’t hear anything. Not even the sea, nor the creaking wood of the ship. The room shifts, draws away from you until you have tunnel vision. Your vision warps, then focuses on the cabinet above the sink until you can see nothing else. Just like before.

It’s been a few weeks since the last time.

The background noise slowly picks up, but it’s distant, like you’re hearing it coming from a different ship. You reach for the cabinet.

What are you doing?

You open the cabinet. It’s organized so each crewmate’s stuff is clustered together, with the common items at the bottom. Your gaze passes over your deodorant, your nail clippers, your toothbrush, and settles on your straight razor.

Aren’t you too old for this?

You take your razor. From the common items, you take a bottle of alcohol. You fold up some tissue paper.

What would the crew think?

It’s hard to ignore the thoughts. But like any bully, they usually go away if you don’t give them energy. Usually.

The razor’s weight in your hand is comforting. It shouldn’t be, but it is. You unfold it, wipe down the blade with some alcohol. Then you lift up your sleeve and slide it over your shoulder.

This stretch of sea has been balmy. With the pleasant weather, you’ve worn a t-shirt, the short sleeves going just less than halfway down your arm. Underneath them, high up on your shoulder, are the scars. Faint and healed, a few shades lighter than your skin tone. Noticeable in the light, but that’s why you don’t participate in the group baths.

The background noise gets louder again. You think you hear shouting, faintly, but that’s normal for the crew. It barely registers over your heartbeat.

Your heart is beating harder than before, dull thumps in your chest that seem to echo. Anticipating, ready.

Everything is going to be okay.

Finally. Finally. A hurt you can make sense of. Small, controlled. Yours.

There’s supposed to be a rush, you’ve heard. You don’t feel one. But there is a difference. The tunnel vision stops, the filter lifts. The world snaps back into place, the sound goes back to normal.

That’s when you really notice the shouting, no longer muffled by brain static. Something’s off. You focus. It doesn’t sound argumentative, like Zoro and Sanji. Nor is it playful, like Luffy or Franky’s might be. It’s startled and panicky, immediately grabbing your attention and making your adrenaline surge.

A second later, you hear an echoing BOOM, followed by an ear-splitting crunching of wood. It’s a sound you recognize, one you’ve heard before–a cannonball tearing into the ship.

You’re under attack.

For just a moment, you stare at your equipment, caught off guard. Then you pull yourself together–take your feelings and compartmentalize them for later dealing with–and tear out of the bathroom, dropping the tissue in the process. Your pistols are in their case, in the sleeping quarters. You need to get to them before you can join the fight…

The enemy pirates are strong–for a New World crew. Unfortunately for them, they’re completely outclassed by Luffy alone, much less the combined strength of the Straw Hats. Still, the numbers favor the enemy, and the battle is tiring enough to be distracting. Enough so that you forgot about what you were doing before it started. It’s only an hour into helping Franky patch up the ship, when you feel your shirt sleeve catch on your scabs, that you remember.

Then you realize you left your equipment out in the bathroom.

The razor. The alcohol. The bloody tissue paper.

Panic floods your system. You drop your tools and jump up as if electrocuted, all but flying to the bathroom. Has anyone used it since the fight?

Please no, please please please be wrong.

You kick the door open. It bangs harshly against the wall.

The equipment is gone. Your stomach sinks.

No no no no no.

You open the cabinet. Everything’s been returned to its place. Your straight razor has been folded and put away, as has the alcohol. The used tissue paper is gone. Not in the trash, either. Whoever it was must have discarded it in the toilet.

No no no no no!

Who?

Who was it? You run through the possibilities in your head. Zoro? No, he wouldn’t clean up after someone else’s mess. Neither would Nami. At least, not for free. And what about the rest of the crew?

Whoever it was, would they even know what they saw? Surely they’d just think you cut yourself shaving. That was the only explanation, right? Even if the patterns on the tissue paper were distinct, the stains shaped into blurry, beaded lines–unless they had done it before, there’s no way they’d know. Right?

This time, when you shiver, it’s for real, not just a figment of your imagination. What would happen if you were found out? At best you’d be kicked out of the crew. At worst…

I’ll get locked up again.

You feel ill. Dizzy and nauseated with the prospect. You try not to spiral, try to get a grip before panic can take hold. The best you can do is to close the door behind you, sit on the floor, and take deep breaths.

You’re not sure how long you’re there–minutes, hours–but you don’t get up until someone knocks on the door.

“You almost done?” Usopp calls from the other side.

Swallowing hard, you find your voice. “Yeah. Just a sec.”

Usopp doesn’t so much as give you a second glance when you pass him. It’s not him.

You’re hypervigilant the rest of the day, scrutinizing every action, every word from your crewmates. Nothing seems different, but that only makes you more paranoid.

Nami offers you a tangerine. The simple action sets off a cascade of racing thoughts: Is she trying to make you feel better? Because she knows? Did she tell anyone? Did she tell Chopper? Luffy?

Every interaction is like that–an innocuous action that makes you flip out internally.

Franky gives you a gift: A cute little wind-up frog toy, made from scrap metal. He says it's to thank you for helping with repairs. You scan his face, but he’s only grinning proudly. Not Franky, either.

Zoro invites you to drink with him. Brook plays a song you like. Robin hands you a book she’s just finished, saying it might suit your tastes. Nothing unusual, but enough to make you second guess everything. Each time, you cling to your mask, holding it so tightly to your face that you can barely breathe.

The next day, Sanji cooks your favorite meal for dinner. That wouldn’t be too weird, except you know for a fact that your favorite involves pricy ingredients that he prefers to save. You know this because he mentioned it, years ago, when he was teaching you how to make the dish.

You and Sanji had joined the Straw Hats at the same time. Two weeks before Luffy had shown up, you had tried and failed to dine-and-dash from Baratie. Zeff forced you to work to pay it off, plus an extra week to “teach you a lesson.” That was when you got to know Sanji. Unlike the rest of the chefs, he wasn’t mad at you for what you did. He even taught you some of the basics of cooking. As the only soft presence on the floating restaurant, you grew attached, and that feeling of reliance never really left since then. You were drawn to his air of confidence and self-assuredness, but mostly to the fact that he never hid who he was, even when who he was could be straight-up idiotic at times. But you still respected that about him.

You always liked to hang out around the cook, helping him prepare meals with what you learned at Baratie. You both fought well together, having each others’ backs in battle despite your different fighting styles. It was safe to say that he was your favorite crewmate, and though you weren’t sure what he thought of you, you viewed him as your closest friend.

So you really, really don’t want it to be Sanji.

You appraise his expression, his movement, his actions. It all seems normal, on the surface. And yet, it feels off somehow, but you can’t tell if that’s just the paranoia speaking.

“How is it?” Sanji inquires.

You stare for a second. It’s not a question he usually asks–he knows it’s your favorite and he knows you think it’s amazing. Maybe it’s just your imagination, but the smile doesn’t seem to reach his eyes.

“Delicious, as always,” you say. Your own smile lights up your face, the way you’ve carefully practiced. “What’s the occasion?”

He pauses, rubs the back of his neck. “No reason, really. I just thought that it’s been a while since we’ve had it.”

That evening, you’re alone at the port side of the ship, leaning against the railing and looking out at the night sea. Sometimes it helps with your racing thoughts. This time, it does nothing. Nothing keeps you from fixating on the situation. You feel like you’re hanging by a thread, like at any moment you’ll get kicked off the crew, and then your whole world will unravel. And it’s entirely your fault.

The questions won’t stop repeating themselves: Who was it? Did they know?

Behind you, someone clears their throat. You whirl around a bit too quickly and steady yourself with a hand on the railing. Sanji’s standing there with his hands in his pockets. Something about his posture sets alarm bells off in your head. He’s too stiff, trying too hard to appear composed.

“Hey, Y/n,” Sanji says gently, “can I talk to you about something?”

It’s Sanji.

You’re immediately, wholeheartedly certain. It’s Sanji, and he knows.

You gape at him for a moment, then collect yourself. The mask comes back on.

“Actually, I’m pretty tired. Gonna turn in for the night. Tomorrow, okay?” you dismiss, and go to walk past him.

“Wait a second, Y/n,” he reaches to grab your wrist, but you yank it away before he can.

“Don’t!” you snap, stepping back, then quickly correct yourself. “I mean–don’t surprise me like that! We’ll talk tomorrow. I really should sleep...”

Sanji frowns, hand slowly lowering, and you make a hasty retreat.

The rest of the week is torture. You’re constantly avoiding Sanji wherever possible. He doesn’t strike up conversation when the others are around, which only makes you more certain that he knows. You ensure that you’re never alone with him, and if he does approach you by himself, you make yourself scarce. It becomes harder and harder to hide that you’re avoiding him. The crew takes notice–it’s not difficult considering you and Sanji are normally close.

Zoro’s the first to say something.

“Oi, Y/n. Did you have a fight with the cook or something?” he asks bluntly.

“No, we didn’t,” you reply.

Zoro’s eyes narrow slightly. “Well, you’re both acting weird.”

Some of the others are looking your way, now. Anxiety sours your stomach. You hold your mask steady as he continues.

“You’ve been kind of flighty lately. And he’s oddly subdued,” Zoro says, “I can’t believe I’m saying this, since he’s finally quiet for once, but it’s annoying. Would you just talk to him?”

“Uh…yeah, sure thing.”

Obviously, you don’t talk to Sanji. You keep evading him at every turn, only growing more distressed with each passing day. You know you can’t dodge the issue forever, but the moment you stop is the moment you’ll get kicked off the crew or worse, and that thought makes you want to die.

But the Sunny is only so large, and eventually, Sanji manages to corner you one night at the bow of the ship. You have your back to the figurehead, throat dry as you face him. Brook is up in the crow’s nest, keeping watch. Everyone else is asleep. It’s just you two, and you know you’ve run out of luck.

“We need to talk, Y/n,” Sanji says firmly.

Your throat goes dry. “Now?”

“Right now. No more running,” he says, taking a few steps closer. “I need to ask you something, and I need you to answer honestly.”

There’s no getting out of it anymore. “...Alright.” you say. Your heart pounds harder, palms growing damp.

Sanji takes a long drag off his cigarette, then stubs it out–that’s when your adrenaline really spikes, when you know you’re in for it. He looks you in the eye.

“Should you have access to firearms?”

The question hits you like a brick, stunning you into wide-eyed silence. You open your mouth, then close it, unable to respond for a second.

“...What are you talking about?” you try.

“Given how you’ve been avoiding me,” he says coolly, “I think you know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“I’m–I’m not following.”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Y/n!” he snaps, and you cringe. “Of everything you’re hiding, this is the one thing I’m going to find out. I’m not asking. You’re going to tell me or I’m going to tell Chopper. So answer me, right now: Are you safe around guns?”

You can’t take another step back, but you instinctively try anyway, your heel scraping the wood of the ship. But there’s nothing you can do. The mask crumbles, years and years of desperate crafting turning to dust in an instant.

“God, Sanji,” you respond, “what am I supposed to say to that?”

“The truth,” he says.

“And if you didn’t like my answer, what would you do? Take them away from me?”

“Yes.” His tone is unyielding, his eyes hard.

Yours start to sting at the corners. “And what after that? You’ll have me–” you bite your tongue to keep the tears from forming, “–you’ll have me kicked off the crew?”

“I never said that,” he says stiffly, “you don’t get it–”

“You don’t get it!” you bite back, voice rising. You lower it before continuing, “you don’t know anything.”

“I know you’re cutting.”

You flinch. The words sting. It’s not a pleasant sting this time. You turn your head, unable to look him in the eye.

“It’s just…” Sanji says, and there’s a touch of hurt in his voice, “after everything we’ve been through, I thought you trusted me.”

“I do,” you say automatically.

“You have a funny way of showing it.”

That stings even deeper. You shake your head. “I do, Sanji, but this is different.”

“Why?”

“It’s none of your business!” you bite. Bile rises in your throat at your venom; you hate being callous.

“My friend’s hurting themselves,” Sanji replies thinly, “that makes it my business.”

“That isn’t how this works!” you argue. “You don’t get to know everything about me just because you don’t like this!”

“Don’t I?”

“No!”

“You don’t feel safe with me.”

That one’s like a punch to the gut. You can’t tell what’s worse, the words themselves or the way he’s looking at you. That one hurts the most, because it’s true.

“...No,” you say after a moment, then steel yourself. “You’re right. I don’t. I can’t.”

“Why?”

“Sanji, please.”

“Don’t you plead now,” Sanji says, his tone hardening. “Don’t you put me in this position, Y/n.”

“I don’t have a choice, Sanji. I can’t. I just can’t.”

“Why?”

“Sanji!”

“Why?!”

“Because last time I trusted someone with this, I lost everything!” you blurt out. “I was institutionalized, okay?! Locked up! Is that what you wanted to know? Are you satisfied now?”

Your words echo in the silence that follows. He stares, jaw dropped slightly. You’re shaking, for real this time, and the words pour from you like a dam unblocked.

“You don’t know how humiliating it is, Sanji, to have the strings on all your clothes cut off, to be given only felt tip pens to write with, to not have doors, to have a scheduled bed time. To have all your choices taken away.” Your vision blurs as you continue. “I couldn’t do anything. It was like a prison. The other patients didn’t give a shit. The staff definitely didn’t give a shit. And all the while, they drained me of all my savings, until I didn’t have a single berri to my name. Then they kicked me to the curb. The one who reported me didn’t want to be associated with a crazy person. Neither did the rest of my friends. I was homeless. I had no one and nothing! That’s why I fled my home island, and that’s why I tried to dine and dash at Baratie.”

Sanji looks taken aback. He blinks quickly, then stares down at the deck. “What would you have me do, then?”

“This is supposed to be private!” You cover your face, fighting back tears. “You need–you need to keep your mouth shut and mind your business! I don't want anyone’s ‘support.’ You were never supposed to know.” You take a shaky breath and lower your hands. “If you really care, you’ll keep it to yourself, you’ll forget what you saw, and if you tell anyone…I won’t stick around to make the same mistake twice.”

Despite what you say, you already know it’s too late. There’s no going back, and now that he knows, it’s only a matter of time until you’re left behind. You bite your tongue to keep from crying at the thought, but you have to bite harder this time. The tears keep threatening to spill anyway, until you’re tasting iron.

Sanji is quiet. He pulls out his cigarettes and lights one, not speaking until after he takes a drag. “…Do you regret joining the crew?”

“Joining the Straw Hats was the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” you say honestly. “I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.”

“But you aren’t happy, are you?”

“Multiply something by zero and you get zero, right?” You look away, guilt eating at you. Experience tells you that no one wants to hear this. “I’m not trying to sound dramatic. I just… I don’t work right.”

“I don’t think you’re being dramatic.”

For some reason, that, more than anything else, breaks you. The first tears slip past your defense. You say nothing, lower lip trembling.

Sanji takes another slow drag of his cig and exhales away from your direction. “I don’t know how I missed it.”

“I do,” you say. “At the hospital, they…” the words die in your throat as the memories surge forward. “They…they…” You can’t finish, but tears begin streaming down your cheeks. You shake your head. “Let’s just say, after that, I learned not to ever give anything away. Never again.”

“They did something to you.”

You barely nod. Already you feel yourself slipping into a flashback, feel the nurses holding you down and the needle jabbing into your flesh.

“I’m sorry,” Sanji says, taking a step toward you, and then another, until he can reach out and gently touch your forearm. The touch brings you back, grounding you so that you’re back in the present. But the gentle action, and Sanji’s soft expression, only makes the tears flow faster, makes your nose run. You shrug.

“It must have been scary.”

Slowly, you nod again.

“Will you answer my question, Y/n? Please?” Sanji asks. “Please, I need to know you’re safe around guns. Will you at least tell me that much?”

You swallow the lump in your throat and wipe your face. When you answer, you look him in the eye so he knows you’re telling the truth. “Yeah. I’m… Yeah.”

Sanji sighs, his shoulders sagging with relief. “Thank goodness. Okay. Can I ask you something else?” At your nod, he goes on. “How long have you been feeling like this? Before the hospital, I mean.”

“...Since I was young,” you sniff. “I’ve been ‘coping’ on and off for years.”

Sanji sticks his hands in his pockets. “Okay. Can I see?”

“What?” The question catches you so off-guard that you stop crying. “I’m–I’m sorry?”

“You’re not going to show Chopper, right?” Sanji says. “So–”

“You’re not gonna tell him?” you cut him off, surprised.

“I haven't decided yet,” he admits. “I don’t want to go against your wishes, Y/n. But I don’t know the extent of the damage. Just… Just, let me see?”

“No.” You’re shocked at his audacity. What’s he thinking? Of course you can’t do that.

“I won’t judge. I swear, I just want to know you’re okay,” Sanji says.

“You can say that, but…” you rub your arm. “Be real. You’ll never look at me the same way again.”

“It won’t change how I think of you.”

“It will!” you shout, then lower your voice. “It will, forever. There’s no going back once that line is crossed and you see me for what I really am.”

He frowns. “Which is?”

“A freak!”

Neither of you say anything for a moment. Then you shake your head again. “I’m sorry, Sanji. But a guy like you–strong, handsome, confident–you wouldn’t understand.”

Sanji gets a weird look on his face, one you’ve never seen in all the years you’ve sailed with him. He looks to the side, then down, then up. His drags on his cigarette become long and harsh, finishing it in three breaths. He lights another, making a face. Then he nods to himself, like he’s decided something.

“Okay,” Sanji says. “There’s something I want you to see.”

You frown. When Sanji puts his hands on the hem of his pants, you frown deeper. He pauses.

“Um. Just trust me, okay? I promise I’m not doing anything weird–just wait a sec.”

He slides down his pants, and you have no idea what’s going through his head until his pale upper thighs are exposed. Then, finally, you understand, and you cover your mouth in shock.

Both of his upper thighs are covered in a myriad of scars. There must be over a hundred, clustered just above where shorts would hide them. Most of them are big, inches long and criss-crossed with each other. A few are keloid scars, thick and raised above the skin.

Your stare could burn a hole through his flesh. Slowly, you look up at him. Sanji has a faint blush on his face, looking sheepish.

“Guys like me can be freaks too,” he says simply.

You’re in complete disbelief. You keep looking back from the scars to his face. It’s too much to process–where would you even begin? Sanji, of everyone on the crew–Sanji’s like you? Brave, unwavering, gallant Sanji? Of everyone? When you don’t respond, he speaks again.

“See, Y/n? You’re not alone.”

Tears sting the corners of your eyes again. You find your voice. “Yours are old.”

“Yeah. I got lucky. Had someone’s support.” Sanji smiles slightly, in a way that he only does when thinking of…

“Zeff?”

“Yeah. He eventually found out.” Sanji laughs nervously. “At first he freaked out. Thought I was using kitchen knives. After he calmed down, he told me…he told me he wouldn’t abandon me over that, because what kind of parent would that make him?” His expression wavers like he’s trying not to cry.

You, on the other hand, start crying again the moment you hear the word “abandoned.” You realize that’s precisely how you felt back then.

Sanji grabs your shoulders so you look up at him. “You’re not getting kicked off of the crew.”

“...I’m not?” you ask, voice small and pathetic.

“No. I promise.” Sanji squeezes your shoulders reassuringly. “No one else needs to know. But, Y/n, I’m not going to leave you to deal with this alone. So, will you show me?”

“...You won’t tell anyone?”

“I won’t. I swear on my honor. This stays between us.” He lowers his arms.

You bite your lip, sniffing. You shut your eyes, mustering up your courage, and nod. Sanji waits patiently as you breathe slowly to steady yourself. You hesitate before peeling back your sleeve, exposing your upper arm.

He’s quiet as he inspects the damage. Unlike his old scars, yours have yet to finish healing, still in the scabbing stage. A ladder of thin, dark red lines decorate your upper arm and shoulder. You look between your cuts and his scars. Yours aren’t as deep as what Sanji had done, which you feel weirdly ashamed about.

Sanji’s hand comes up, hovering over your cuts like he’s going to touch them, but then he rests it on your forearm instead. Despite the clear evidence that he won’t judge you, you’re still self-conscious, so you break the silence.

“The scabs catch on my sleeves,” you say awkwardly.

Sanji nods. “I had to bandage my thigh so it wouldn’t bleed through while I was working. It always felt so…”

“Stupid,” you both say. Then you both smile at the unexpected camaraderie.

“What’s really stupid is how long I went thinking I was the only one,” you say, “and all this time, you…” You gesture vaguely.

“Can you do something for me?” Sanji asks. “Whatever you’re using–I’m not going to take anything from you. But in exchange, I want you to talk to me. We can talk in the galley, when it’s just us two.”

“I don’t know how to talk about it.”

How could you, after what had been done to you? After everyone you used to trust turned their backs? Knowing that Sanji understood you couldn’t fix the mental scars left behind by others. You could try to rationalize it, but just thinking about discussing the past made your throat dry up.

“If I told you about mine first, would it make you more comfortable?” Sanji offers.

You balk. “You–you don’t have to do that.”

“I don’t mind, if it means helping you.” Sanji says earnestly. “You can tell me anything. I won’t judge. How could I? We’re the same.”

Something broken inside you changes right then. Deep engravings fill with gold like broken pottery, sealing some of the cracks in your soul. Unmasked and exposed, Sanji sees into you, and he doesn’t waver or turn. He smiles, gently and softly and lovingly. Your eyes fill with fresh tears.

Sanji holds out his pinky finger. “Freaks?”

You smile from ear to ear, even as the tears start flowing again, and lock pinkies with him. “Freaks.”

So caught up in the moment are the two of you that neither one notices when Zoro appears until it’s too late.

He’s further down the deck, but standing right under one of the ship’s lights, so you can see him smile. “Hey, you guys are–” he starts, then notices Sanji’s pants. His smile instantly turns to a look of indignation, then rage. “What the hell?!”

Sanji scrambles to pull up his pants as Zoro charges.

“What the hell are you doing to Y/n, you creep?!” Zoro yells.

You hurriedly pull down your sleeve and move in front of Sanji, holding your arms up. “Wait a sec, Zoro!”

“I-It’s not what it looks like!” Sanji cries.

Zoro screeches to a halt right in front of you, but then stretches over your shoulder to snarl at Sanji. “You better have a good explanation for this, shitty cook!”

You grab Zoro’s arms to hold him back. Not that you could ever hope to overpower him, but you know he’s too brotherly toward you to push you out of the way. “Zoro!”

“What?” Zoro turns his focus on you, “what did he do? I’ll kick his ass for you, Y/n.”

“No, that’s–”

Sanji interjects, “I didn’t–”

“We were…”

Zoro relaxes somewhat, now frowning and looking at both of you weirdly. “What exactly were you guys doing?”

Really, being in the middle of the night, it’s not a good look. You and Sanji are both caught off guard. Fumbling hard, you both speak at once.

“I was looking at a fungal infection!” you say.

“They were removing a tick!” Sanji says at the same time.

Both of you glance at each other.

“Tick,” you correct.

“Fungal,” Sanji says.

Zoro blinks. “A fungal tick?”

You both just nod.

Zoro stares between you two, then relaxes. “Oh... Okay. Good of you to not wake Chopper.” He nods and turns, leaving the two of you to it.

So flooded with relief are you that it’s staggering. You mentally thank the stars that Zoro is a simple and straightforward type of guy.

You and Sanji watch Zoro walk away. Once he’s out of earshot, you both look at each other.

Then you both burst out laughing.

“Oh my god,” you breathe, clutching your chest.

Sanji wipes away a tear. “That was close, huh?”

The laughter dies down into giggles before you calm yourselves, grinning at each other. Then you’re both throwing your arms around the other in a tight embrace, squeezing like you’ve never been hugged before in your lives. You bury your face in Sanji’s chest, he rests his head on yours. Your fingers dig into the other’s clothing, soaking in the warmth and the comfort that you could only get from someone who truly understood. You stay like that for a few minutes, quiet, close, and held.

“Are you sure?” you whisper after a minute. “That you want to deal with this? With me? What if I never get better?”

“Nothing’s set in stone but the poneglyphs,” Sanji replies, running a hand over your head so you look up at him. “Our future hasn’t been determined.”

“Our future?”

“You and me and the rest of the crew. There’s still time to grow, and to change.” He holds the back of your head tenderly.

“When does that time run out?” you ask, uncertain.

“It doesn’t.” Sanji smiles down at you. “As long as we’re alive, there’s another chance. That opportunity is always there.”

You smile back, then press your face into his chest again. Sanji squeezes you tighter.

“Tomorrow,” you mumble into his shirt. “Let’s talk tomorrow. I’m tired.”

“I bet.”

“I never want to hide from you again.”

You feel Sanji kiss the top of your head. “And I never want to make you cry again.”

“I want to tell you everything.”

“I’ll listen.”

You both stay like that for a while longer, each second spent there healing something within yourselves.

It will take weeks to figure out how to talk about your troubles. When you’re up for it, you talk in the galley as Sanji cooks, you helping him out as usual with prep and cleanup. It’s even longer before Sanji learns everything. In the interim, you become the only Straw Hat to learn of Sanji’s past before he ever gets a wedding invite.

Like worn muscles rebuilding, like bone regrowing stronger, the scars you’ve revealed to each other, both physical and mental, strengthen your bond more than anything else ever could.

"let it out, let me in, take a hold of my hand / there's nothing like another soul that's been cut up the same" -Handwritten, The Gaslight Anthem

#one piece x reader #sanji x reader #reader insert #one piece imagines #zen writes

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xerith-42 · 4 months

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*bats my eyes at you* spare some angsty headcanons perhaps?

Ask and you shall receive

Laurance is triggered by the smell of burning hair. Bro had hair down to his waist and then went into literal hell, I imagine so much of it caught on fire or was maybe even deliberately burnt, and it's such a distinct smell. It rarely happens, but if a stray spark from the fire accidentally catches on Cadenza's hair Laurance kind of freaks out a little. Fight or flight kicks in but he freezes but he also fights but he's also frozen and that smell is so awful he literally wants to rip his own skin off.

Katelyn doesn't ever think she'll love again. It's why she's so put off by Travis' advances, she just doesn't think it's a possibility. Every time she thinks about love she thinks about Jeffory. Seeing him on the island, even if it was an imp, did not help matters.

Kenmur still loves Sasha. He will always love Sasha. There is no amount of time that will stop him from loving her. Even if he also loves Emmalyn more than life itself, even if he's dedicated himself to his wife and his studies, there's still always that part of him that will answer to Sasha. Whenever she's around he can feel himself being pulled towards her just from the sound of her voice.

Zianna hates the sound of silence. So many years completely alone in such a huge estate. By the time Zane and Garroth disappeared, she was effectively estranged from her husband, only staying so they can maintain this cover of the Lord and Lady of O'Khasis. But their home is massive, designed for an entire family and then some. Even after Vylad and Garroth "died", Zane kept the house busy and often had Jury members present. The hollow emptiness of her home is nearly maddening for the poor woman.

The only reason Zianna never left is because she still held out hope for all of her sons. Zianna held out hope that any one of them would come stumbling in through the front door, likely beaten and bloody, and she would be able to take them into her arms and welcome them home.

This could very well turn into it's own post but here's a few small relic angst headcanons. Aph starts to lose her sense of self because sometimes she'll talk and it won't sound like her. They have mostly similar speech patterns, and she says things she would normally say, but it sounds like someone else, and she can never put her finger on it. Others notice, but nobody can quite figure out what's wrong with it. Until Zoey hears it and says it sounds familiar.

Travis usually likes to be a bit of a know-it-all, having a lot of random bits of trivia he's just learned from years of having nothing to do but entertain himself alone in a cabin, but sometimes the facts he gives are on subjects he never studied. He knows it's because of Enki's relic and he can't do anything about it. He hates how monotone his voice sounds whenever it happens, like he isn't even happy to know this information.

I'm sorry but we cannot gloss over how much turmoil Garroth would be over getting Esmunds relic after Zane already had it. He lies awake at night wondering what the three of them have in common, what he and Zane have in common at all. How could the protector bond with such a destructive awful man? How much is Garroth really like his brother? Can he even say he isn't like his brother if they were able to bond with the same relic?

Zoey may not have personally known all the previous relic holders, but she saw them. She was ten when Irene was walking among the mortals. Sometimes when she looks at her friends she sees... someone else. Someone so familiar, so similar to them, but the details aren't right. She can't tell if this is an effect of the relics or her own dwindling sanity/life force after giving up her immortality.

And entirely for myself because I will keep rewriting Aaron in my posts, Aaron feels such tremendous guilt like all the time. The survivors guilt has consumed everything he is, even the relationship that's supposed to be healing it. All he can think about is how he let everyone down, when he was supposed to lead them. Aaron wears the bandana not because he's hiding his identity, but to hide the permanently miserable look in his eyes.

#text post #minecraft diaries #laurance zvahl #minecraft diaries laurance #garroth ro'meave #mcd headcanons #mcd garroth #aphblr #mcd #aphmau minecraft diaries #travis valkrum #mcd travis #mcd zoey #zianna ro'meave #mcd kenmur #mcd emmalyn #mcd katelyn

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bronx-bomber87 · 5 months

Text

Happy Wednesday amazing fandom :) This is a very emotional episode for Lucy. Melissa’s acting in this one is outstanding. All I want to do most of this episode is hug her. And tie Chris to the back of a truck and just drive…Our lovely couple are apart in this episode but it’s such a good one. I have a lot of Chris rage in this one so prepare yourself haha Let’s get started.

4x17 Coding

We start off with Tamara making Lucy breakfast. I love her natural instinct to take care of Lucy in these moments. Just like Lucy did and still does for her. I adore their dynamic so very much. Tamara is protective when they talk about today. She doesn't understand why Lucy has to do this. Noting Rosalind is already serving four life sentences. She doesn’t like that the DA is making her dredge up painful memories just to slap on more charges. Lucy tells her it’s important to make sure she’s charged as an accessory to Caleb’s crimes. That Rosalind needs to be held accountable for that.

Most of her victims didn't make it...She is one of the lucky ones and doesn't want to waste that. Can see a strong sense of justice brewing deep in her soul as she explains this. I love how strong she is being for Tamara. Showing her what a bad ass she is. Modeling that for her. Tamara still has worry in her eyes and says she’s coming with. That she will have snacks and puppy videos at the ready. Be her emotional support human. Since her normal emotional support isn’t with her today. Love them.

Speaking of Lucy's ESH he’s at the hospital with Nolan. His car crash victim was a a rough one. I can’t watch the cold open for this one ever. I did it once and I bawled my eyes out. I can’t do stuff with kids after becoming an auntie. Her being sad the popsicles were gonna melt for her kid. That her husband would be mad about the car.

Makes me think of my niece, nephew and my sister. I just can’t handle it. But kudos to the writers for evoking that out of me. Glad John was there in her final moments but it was rough to watch. Tim comes up to him and notices Nolan is still in shock about it. Gah I would be too. I still can’t handle rewatching it let alone living it.

Tim is so wonderful and gives John some good perspective about it. That yeah it was rough and tragic no doubt about it. But that girl is going to get a new heart because of it. Tells him to try and focus on the silver lining of it all. Love this man. His empathy has grown leaps and bounds since we first met him. Was always there Lucy just needed to get it out of retirement when they met.

Lucy and Tamara arrive at the DA's office and we can see Lucy tense up. Just being in the office is setting her off already. She tells Tamara she’s going to the bathroom. She is so sweet and asks if she needs her come with? Lucy tells her no she handle that solo. We watch Lucy escape into a stairwell. Poor thing is in an absolute panic. Rubbing her DOD tattoo trying so hard to ground herself. I’ve been there where something just triggers your PTSD.

All you need is to find somewhere to expel all that energy surging through you. Because she is having an intense fight or flight moment. She is desperately trying to ground herself. Breaks my heart because I love her. Also because I’ve been her. I know this feeling she is experiencing. Nothing worse than getting engulfed in that sort of emotion. It's like the walls are closing in on you. It's what creates that flight instinct and you just need to get out just to breathe.

To be able to function at all. You can feel the panic rising in your throat and you’re drowning in it. Poor thing is getting flashes of what happened to her. It's taking her right back there. We watch her take a deep breath trying to reset her body. She clearly doesn’t want Tamara to see her like this. Ugh. This is just fuel for my hate fire later when I wanna bitch slap the clown. My heart hurts for her in this ep. It really does.

Tim is still at the hospital with Nolan. He continues his sweetness with John. Saying if he needs to see a counselor he can. Won’t be any charge to him. Look at our sweet empathetic Tim. I love it so much my heart is gonna burst. Their chat is interrupted by the hospital shutting down.

They find out quickly the man before them is ransoming the hospital to get his wife the heart. Wanting to steal it from that young girl for his wife instead. Threatens that he’ll shut down their entire network if they don’t do so. Tim looks pissed as hell. Which is kinda sexy tbh. They’re at his mercy it would seem...

Lopez comes charging in clearly ready for a fight. Asking for a status update on everything. They have the husband and wife separated atm. Her husband is being held in a conference room with an officer. Angela wants Tim to take a run at Jonah and sends Nolan to crack the wife. Hoping either the IT dept. will crack the hold on the network or they guys will get one of the spouses to fold.

Nolan is a swing and a miss with the wife. So we cut to Tim and Jonah. Tim looking particularly fine as he questions the husband. Has his hard stance going on trying to get this guy to crack. Telling him to dial back the threats that if he scales back now it won’t be as bad.

It’s here we see a man with nothing to lose. We watch Tim soften a little bit. It's when he says his wife is his entire life. Tim can relate to that and it shows as he’s listening. Doesn't last long though. He goes back into cop mode when Jonah starts threatening again. Saying soon enough something else will start with a new phase. It’s here we see a complete lock out of the system for the staff. Phase 2 has started.

We rejoin Lucy at the DA’s office. Chris has to take over since her normal person is out sick. He tried to reschedule but Lucy pushes against this. Saying they’re professionals and she can do this. I think she just wants it done and over with tbh. I hate how he questions her though. With this smug authority I cannot stand.

The more he pokes at the wound the more we see Lucy get agitated. Like a cornered animal being poked and prodded. Ready to lunge and attack at the slightest provocation. He is questioning everything about Caleb being connected to Rosalind. We watch her go back into fight or flight mode. As she examines the pictures and gets more flashes of her time in that horrible barrel.

Love her snapping at Chris when he says he’s just ‘Wants her to be ready.’ Schmuck.... He has this semi smile the entire time and I just wanna clean his clock so badly. He is beyond insensitive about this entire thing. Not reading her body language whatsoever. Seeing how tightly wound she is. I wish Tim could be there for her. He would be a much better rock for her. I hate Chris and this episode just ramps that right up.

Then comes the moment I was to punt Chris down the stairs. Like skipping a rock across the water. See how many flights I can get him to fall down with just my rage. He starts singing her barrel song like the dumbass he is. Showing the clueless SOB he truly is. Melissa crushes this scene though. The shaky way she delivers her lines. How she backs up every time Chris tries to approach her. Needing as much distance as she can get in that room.

The way she snapped at him earlier should've been evidence enough. The writing on the wall was there. He just needed to be extra sensitive. What does he do? Sing that song. It’s the way he says ‘Yeah it’s evidence.’ All cavalier. No clown it’s visual proof of the worst and most traumatic moment of her life. It is far more than just evidence you stupid schmuck. That was her death song. She thought it was over and she sang that as a way to comfort herself. It’s a deeply intimate and emotional thing for her. He’s treating it like it’s just part of the case.

We can see how the thought of him watching it is wrecking her. He keeps trying to close the gap and she keeps widening it. He is pushing her physical boundaries when she is screaming for him to stay away. Being the clueless oaf he is Chris continues to try. Saying he’s sorry, he’s in the DA office, blah blah blah. Meaningless words to her in this moment. Her saying ‘Yeah you said that already…’ She is disassociating in this moment. Trying to distance herself from him. Because he has wounded her and she needs time to regroup.

I hate that stupid semi smile on his face still. He’s truly not understanding what she needs in this moment. Makes my blood boil. Further proof he's not the guy for her. Tim can read every emotion. Know exactly what she needs. Then there is this putz. Shouldn't be allowed to breathe the same air as her at this point. Lucy has to practically beg him to give her a moment alone. Shaking and absolutely wrecked emotionally. I hate this so very much for her. She is in serious distress right now.

He's so selfish all he can thinking about is absolving his involvement. Not reading her emotional state whatsoever. Trying to push past her boundaries. She finally makes him go away. He storms off like a child. I'm shaking at how mad I am rewatching this. Especially with carrying PTSD myself. One of my trauma triggers is my physical boundaries being pushed. He had no damn right to impose himself on her like that. Chris has already proven he’s not the guy for her. This was the nail in his coffin IMO for that. What an absolute clown this man is….Melissa killing me softly with this scene.

We return to Tim and Nolan at the hospital. Someone has died due to Phase 2. So the hospital gives into his demands. Let’s his wife get the heart. I love how Tim wants to clean this guy's clock. Telling him to lose the attitude. Gah if he only knew what was going on at the DA’s office. His rage would be ten times what it is right now. Jonah restores the lights but only for the OR. Tells them he wants to be there for his wife’s surgery. To make sure they’re really doing it. This guy is something else. Tim re-cuffs him and they head to the OR together.

Lucy finds Chris and he jumps up and apologizes again. She cuts him off not having time for his BS. This isn't about you bub. She asks for him to get her the video. That he’s seen it and half the lawyers in this bidding have. But she hasn’t. Chris tells her it’s incredibly hard to watch. Lucy doesn’t care and tells him she needs to see it. My girl I just wanna hug her. Also I’m so damn proud of her for standing up for what she wants.

Chris having no leg to stand on agrees to show it to her. He has the gall to ask if he should stay? Obviously not you friggin stunad…Got me so angry I’m calling him an idiot in Italian. He really doesn’t get it. It’s ridiculous. After how she reacted earlier. How she's been this entire time you’d think she was going to say yes? The last thing she needs is your stupid ass there. She thanks him for the video. He doesn’t deserve that,

All he deserves is a swift kick to the nads. So he doesn't reproduce little clueless offspring….Whoever set up these shots did a good job btw. They are so well done. She’s psyching herself up to press play. The shot of her with her ring. We see it visible on her hand. The ring that saved her life. The ring Tim found and held onto until she was ready to have it back. Trying to ground herself before watching this. The way her hand shakes before she hits play gets me all in the feels.

Melissa continues to crush this scene. Watching her watch that video makes me wanna cry. It’s so hard to watch her witness the worst moment of her life. Once again another beautiful shot of Melissa above. The way she closes her eyes as she listens to herself sing, the way she touches her lips in an anxious manner, the ring close to her as she continues to listen. Having the object that saved her close to her as she watches. Like a safety blanket as she takes in the video.

You can see her whole body trembling as she tries to get through it. Hurts my damn heart to watch unfold. Serious props to Melissa for conveying so damn much in this short scene. Lucy trying to prove to herself she is strong by watching this. By going through with this whole thing at all. Trying to push down all the emotions eating away at her. Last ep all I did was laugh. This one all it does is hurt my heart. Hurt for her. It's so good though.

We return to the hospital. They’re wheeling Jonah’s wife back. Tim is super stern with him and I’m here for it. You tell him babe. Directs him not to mess with the surgeons or how they do their job. Is that understood? Jonah goes on to say how he never would since it’s saving his wife. The saddest part is next. The father of the daughter they’re stealing heart from comes after them.

Trying to kill his wife because if he does his daughter will live. The love a parent has for their kid is immense. How it it should be really. Sadly he gets arrested and Jonah continues on like it's nothing. Like he isn't destroying lives with this decision of his. They have to continue their march towards the OR despite this. Because Jonah still holds all the cards right now.

This next part gets me right in the feels. Nolan is able to get his wife to listen to the daughter. Her speech gets me teary every time. What a strong and amazing young woman to say what does. Did what Nolan couldn't do in the first place. Build rapport and get her to break. To change her mind on this whole thing. I think it's the fact that she forgives this woman that gets her to break. To let her know she forgives her even thoush she's taking away her second chance. This episode is all kinds of emotional in the best way.

His wife withdraws consent after that. Says she can’t do this anymore. Just like that it's over. Or so we we think. Jonah tries to turn off the ransomware but can’t. His partners have locked him out and want a ransom to unlock it. One the hospital cannot afford. Tim and John are escorting Jonah out now. He’s going on about needing to be there for his wife. Tim tells him he gets nothing since he let someone die. He’s going to prison for a murder charge.

John steps in and says if he can tell them who he’s working with they can help. It's possible Jonah can get bail so he can spend what time she has left with him. He lets them know who he was hired by. That it was their idea to hack the hospital. Saying they’d pay him to build the ransomware. He was an easy target due to his medical debt. He’s slowly figuring out they were just a means to an end. Tells them the IT dept. can track messages they sent him.

Cue to sexy OP Tim mmm. Tactical Tim is one of my favs. Also nice shots of his ass and I’m not complaining LOL The house is empty once they clear it. They're worried they've already left or haven't been here for awhile. Tim noting it has to be here. No way they could run that kind of software on a laptop. They decide check outdoors and Nolan see's transformer with a cable running from it.

Tim follows Nolan as he sees a massive cable running along the grass. They trace it to a container on the property. This is where the hackers are set up. Nolan tells one of them they can have a deal the other gets way more jail time. Just depends on who answers him first. One of the hackers easily gives up their partner in a flash. Tim's ‘Good answer’ cracks me up LOL I love him.

Lucy is in an emotional coma when Tamara and Chris check in on her. Really it's Tamara that says they should. Chris has no drive to check on her himself. He tried knocking once and gave up. Tamara is the one to push it and make them enter the room. She doesn't have time for Chris to grow some balls to check on her. Dipshit I mean Chris asks her if she watched it? Not a single brain cell in that head is there? How did you make it through law school sir? Seriously? Of course she watched it you idiot. I love Lucy for not testifying. This was so big for her to step away from. It was not an easy decision for her to make. Once again being the strong role model for Tamara.

I'm so proud of her for being courageous enough to watch that video. I get why she did. Everyone else had access to it. Seen it. I think it was part of her decision to move on. Her processing things was her realizing she had nothing to prove. Damn right you don’t. Screw Rosalind, screw Chris and this whole thing. Her saying she survived that felt like a call back to 2x12. Where Tim helped her see it wasn’t a failure but proof of what a survivor she is. His words sticking with her in this moment. I love it.

Tamara coming over and hugging her is the best part. She is so proud of Lucy for making this call. It was her's to make and a place she needed to get to on her own. If it had been up to Tamara she never would've gone through this at all. I love her telling her she is going to make dinner. They really are a make-shift family and it's so lovely to see. I just love them so much. How she instantly wants to take care of Lucy. Makes my heart happy in an ep where all I wanted to do was murder Chris.

How their relationship survived this episode I couldn’t tell you. His ass deserved to be dumped so very hard. Like a cat with nine lives. He keeps on ticking. When all he deserved was to be shut out of her life for good. Also of course Chris doesn’t cook... Chalk another one up for the clown. I seriously have zero idea what she sees in him. Other than just being lonely and wanting companionship. So ends this episode. I wanna say I’m sorry for all my Chris rage but I’m really not LOL

~~~

Side notes-non Chenford

James and Nyla be cute. I love them. That be it.

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deerlottie · 22 days

Note

NAT ANGST I THOUGHT ABOUT

Tw-flashback about Nats shitty dad, safe word use, mention of abuse, and she gets very scared and the end is sort of hurt/comfort

Thought of it being one of the first times nat and R have sex and they’re still figuring out each others kinks and their dynamic(s). nat going into it like “willing to try almost anything” but then quickly realizing that verbal degradation takes a lot out of her and it can trigger a fight or flight response in her :((((

“uhh- fuck, RED! Sorry, fuck, i’m sorry, please stop, i can’t, please don’t touch me right now, i just need a minute, sorry”

her rushing to the bathroom with wide and frantic eyes gripping the sink trying to tell herself to get it together but she can’t get rid of the memories of her dad. The second her brain processed the words “little slut”, she felt the weight of the gun in her hands, the powerlessness of watching her dad hit her mom and then hitting her, the way she felt like her pain was limitless when he called her stupid and useless, she couldn’t get out of her head. As r approached the door wondering if it’d be helpful to go in with her or stay out here, nat quickly barges through, grabbing her clothes from around your room, avoiding eye contact the entire time.

“Listen, um, it’s been real and uh..i like you a lot, but i just remembered a thing i gotta do so i’ve gotta head out. I didn’t mean to give you blue balls or anything, but i’ll see you.”

She didn’t even believe the shit she was saying…tears were still coming down her face the whole time she was talking and she tried to give you a quick “smile” and kissed you on the cheek, but even someone without a working olfactory sense could smell the bullshit from miles away. Next time you see her, she goes out of her way to explain why she freaked out last time. Lottie had encouraged her to talk about her feelings instead of running away. Had it been up to her, she would’ve moved to another continent to avoid talking about her feelings. But she really wanted to make things work with you.

“I don’t know. I guess i had kind of a shitty life with my parents and everything and uh. I guess i just got.. scared? I was really, really scared. It like. Brought me back to somewhere i didnt wanna be.”

She doesn’t get into detail at all, but you get the gist of it well enough to understand. You apologize, thinking maybe if you had asked her in depth about what she was comfortable with, she wouldn’t have freaked out. You like her SO much. And you’d never knowingly do anything to hurt her.

Then the weeks after she talks to you, she turns into the biggest cuddlebug ever. She won’t admit it, of course, but she feels safe around you. That hasn’t happened for her in forever. A part of her is scared shitless by it, but she lets herself indulge in the simple pleasures of being held and holding people she cares about. You’re there to hold her when nat has a nightmare one night, shushing her cries and whispering to her that it’s just a bad dream and that she’s safe with you. Oh my god i love her.

oh mygod :(((((((((((( the second she says red, you stop immediately and your heart sinks. the last thing you ever wanted to do was hurt her and you feel SO guilty and ur minds racing a million miles a second while she's in the bathroom ☹️ you text her a few times after, asking if she's okay, but she never responds so you get the hint to just leave her alone but you feel sick and sosososo bad.

thinking about her sneaking into your window to come and apologize :((( you're so happy to see her again and relived to know that she doesnt actually hate you, and you give her all the time in the world to just sit in silence and figure out what to say. holding her while you two sleep that night and she's never felt safer and more secure ☹️☹️

sometimes she just needs to hold you for hours just to calm down too :((( her head gets to her sometimes and she just Needs you. ur always there to whisper reassurance in her ear and she feels like a fool for crying at the simple words but they help so much.

#natalie scatorccio thoughts 💭

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zoeykallus · 10 months

Note

Hey! This is a bit much, so there is a trigger warning for the rest of this.

I had someone that I thought was a friend 'out' me in front of a bunch of guys. We had been on the topic of sex and my 'friend', knowing I have a history with SA and r*pe, made an offhand comment about:

'Well, you started early in your childhood. I personally think 5 years old is a little young, but what do I know?'

I guess she was trying to look cool in front of the guys? Or make herself look better? I've cut off the friend, but the looks I got from the guys in that group make me sick.

Regardless, I was wondering how you think the Batch (+Gregor and Fives, if you think it would fit?) would react to someone saying something like this to their friends or partner when the Batcher didn't know about it. Or, at least someone making fun of their friend or partners SA/r*pe trauma in a public setting like this.

I know that this is a lot, so please don't feel pressured to do this at all! If you need to delete this, it is 1000% fine. I do want to say that I'm good, and things are okay now, just so you don't worry about that. I love you, I love your work, and thank you for all that you do! Good luck, best wishes, and much love!

- 🪼

Aloha!

First off, I'm sorry you made this experience, not only the violation, this breach of your physical (as well as mental) integrity, but also this thoughtless and unreflective, rude behavior of your former friend.

Ooof. I thought about this one for a very long time, keeping it in my drafts for even longer. Opening the file, thinking for a moment, and closing it again. I have long thought about whether I can and want to write something about it. But these are the wrong questions. This is more about whether I should. Finally, I have decided to go into the subject, hoping to be able to provide some comfort.

The HCs are relatively short and to the point, at least that was my goal. I didn't want to go into too much depth, especially since I wanted to include all the characters you asked for and leave out too many triggers.

The focus is mostly, almost only, on the guys' reaction to mentioned friend.

I'm glad to read that you are in a good/safe place now! Thanks for letting me know 💜

The Bad Batch/Fives HCs x Reader - Outrageous And Thoughtless

Trigger Warnings: Mention Of Abuse/ SA/Hurt/Mention Of Traumatic Events/Strong Language/(18+)

Situation:

In the presence of your partner, a friend makes a remark regarding your past and reveals sexual abuse you were subjected to in the past. Something that your batcher does not know yet.

Hunter

At first, he can't quite grasp what he has just heard. Immediately afterward, his keen senses perceive how the situation overtakes you, panics you and makes you feel insecure. He frowns in annoyance and turns to your friend who has been talking so thoughtlessly. "Will you please back off!!! That was very inappropriate!" Your heart races, plagued by memories and above all the fear that Hunter now sees you in a different light, you stand there rooted to the spot, all muscles tense. Adrenaline is produced in your body, as in a fight or flight situation. Hunter approaches you, taking your hand carefully, tenderly. "Take a deep breath," he says softly, "And exhale again." As your acquaintance is about to speak up again, Hunter interrupts with a sharp look. His expression clearly says that silence is the best option now. Your hand trembles in his, and Hunter pulls back with you, away from everyone else present. He looks at you, quietly, gently. He smiles tentatively.

"It's all good. You're safe with me. You know that, right?" You nod, of course you know you are safe with him, and you are very grateful for that. "Good," he says contentedly, "You don't have to explain anything to me. Everything is okay. Take a breath first. You can talk to me anytime you want, but you don't have to." You take a shaky breath and nod again. "Thank you," you say softly. Hunter kisses your temple tenderly. "There's no need to thank me. That you are safe and secure with me is a given."

Echo

His eyes widen. Echo stares at your friend and grits his teeth. His gaze wanders to you and he sees the anger and panic bubbling under your surface. His hand clenches into a fist. He would like to break your friend's nose, but he pulls himself together as best he can. "How dare you say something so insensitive, so thoughtless?" Your friend looks at him in surprise. As they are about to answer, however, Echo raises his hand to interrupt your friend. "Don't bother. I don't expect a meaningful answer from someone with so little subtlety," he says, growling. Your friend looks at you, smiling, trying to salvage the situation more poorly than good, but Echo puts himself between the two of you, his anger almost palpable. "I think the evening is over, you should leave now," he says harshly.

His tone doesn't tolerate any backtalk, and no one dares to contradict him. His shoulders are tense, you can see it in his posture. When you are alone, a part of you does not dare to look him in the eye. You have the uneasy feeling that everything is different now, that Echo perceives you differently. But Echo's feelings for you don't shrink in any way, he has the same sincere respect as before, and you won't lose his affection anytime soon. "Look at me," he says softly. As your eyes meet, he smiles and says, "I hope you'll forgive my outburst, my interfering. What came out of your friend's mouth was incredibly tactless." You swallow, nod, finally daring to take a breath. Echo spreads his arms wide, and you automatically lean into his embrace, grateful for his closeness, protection and understanding.

Wrecker

He has just turned over the grill when he hears the words. His brothers are also all sitting at the table, with you and a friend you brought along. It has suddenly become very quiet, only the sizzle of the grill can be heard. Wrecker spins around the huge tongs in his hand. He blinks, within seconds he is torn between worry, anger and confusion. Worry and anger prevail and the handle of the tongs creaks under his hardening grip. He looks directly at your friend and says, "Why do you expose her like that in public? That's not something you do with a friend." Your friend, who doesn't really think much and just wanted to stand out among the men, realizes that the attempt is about to backfire. "That's a good question," growls Crosshair, who moves the toothpick back and forth between his lips with a piercing look. That's the first sentence he says tonight. You sit silently in between. For a moment, you toy with the idea of forcing a laugh or running away, doing something to take away this feeling of exposure. But you feel heavy as lead, as if you were stuck on the camping chair.

Hunter says quietly but clearly to your guest, "It's best if you leave now." Wrecker has put the barbecue tongs in Echo's hand and comes over to you, somberly eyeing your friend as they nervously make their way out of the way, hastily avoiding his gaze. Wrecker sits down in the chair next to you, grasping your hand tenderly. "What would you like to do now, dear?" he asks gently. You look at him questioningly. "What?" "Do you want to talk? Do you want to be alone? Should we just keep enjoying the evening?" he asks. You take a deep breath. "Can we pretend that didn't happen just now?" you ask quietly. As if on cue, movement comes into the round. Tech gets up and starts setting the table, Echo continues to tend to the grill, Hunter hands out drinks, Crosshair gets a deck of cards from the Marauder, and Wrecker stays with you. He acts normal, he doesn't press you, he doesn't ask questions, but he stays close to you just in case you still need a hug or a listening ear. Neither he nor his brothers will ever bring up the subject again, but if you want to talk, you can count on Wrecker.

Tech

He's very direct himself sometimes, but what he just heard is way off the mark. Tech is sitting next to you and your friend is sitting across from you. He lifts his eyes from the cup he was looking into earlier, lost in thought, and looks at the person sitting across from you. "That was very inappropriate," he says, frowning critically. He can't for the life of him imagine what could tempt a person, a friend at that, to abuse your trust like this. He is sure that you told this person these things in confidence, because he himself knew nothing about it until now. Since you neither deny that the statement is true nor do anything else in this way, he assumes that there must be some form of truth in it. "Why? It's not a lie. I thought you knew about it," the friend says promptly. Tech can feel you tensing up next to him, he can guess how uncomfortable you are with all of this, even though no words are crossing your lips at the moment. "No, I didn't. And even if I had known, that's not a subject you just bring up casually. It's a traumatic subject, and the way you deal with it is very inconsiderate."

You finally say quietly, "Maybe we should postpone this meeting and back off." Tech looks at you, his expression softening. He nods at you and takes your hand as you both stand up. Your friend tries to persuade you to stay, but Tech says, "I don't think we'll be doing this again," and gently but firmly pulls you with him. On the way home, he says, "I have to say I'm surprised. I thought you were good friends." "I thought so too." Tech says, "You need to pick your friends better." His hand gently squeezes yours as he asks, "Are you okay?" "I'm confused" you admit, "And I'm scared". He stops and looks at you. "Of what?" "Of you seeing me differently now," you admit. He shakes his head, softly stroking your face, "You're still the same person, the person I love. Nothing about that has changed. What I've come to know and love about you is still there, no one can just take that away from you."

Crosshair

He's so perplexed, the toothpick he was chewing on before falls out of his mouth. Crosshair stares at your friend, who thinks they're being particularly funny or whatever. Then his gaze moves to you, and he sees how you seem to be getting smaller and smaller, because your colleague keeps talking. "Shut up," he finally snaps, giving the blabbermouth a sharp look. All is quiet, Crosshair's somber expression seems to unnerve your friend. "'Say, are you shitting me?' How do you come to talk such private things entrusted to you like that, as if you were telling a joke? Did they drop you on your head too many times when you were a kid? Or bathed you too hot?" Your friend just stares dumbly at Crosshair, wide-eyed. This reaction is probably unexpected. The Sniper growls as he pulls a fresh toothpick from his belt and puts it between his lips, "You better get out of here before I get the idea of hurting you."

Everything about this situation has surprised you so much and thrown you off course, that you simply remain silent and observe the situation as if you didn't even belong to it. Only when your friend is gone and Crosshair addresses you do you awaken from your rigidity. He says, "We're not inviting that person again. Only over my dead body." You nod and say quietly, "Okay." He frowns worriedly as he sees your strange expression. "I have to say a few things I understand better now, though. Like your reticence when we first met, your jumpiness at every touch" You absolutely don't want to talk about it, you just want to forget that Crosshair knows about it now. As if he reads your mind, he says, "We don't invite that person anymore and this never happened". You nod and breathe such a sigh of relief that he notices it too. "Hey Kitten, but just so you know if you want to talk, we can do that, okay?" Again you nod, grateful for his understanding, grateful that he has once again acted as your shield as he so often does.

Fives

His gaze jumps back and forth between you and your friend. His muscles tense and he almost feels a bit sick, from anger, but above all from concern for you. He can see from your reaction that unfortunately it wasn't just a very tasteless joke. There are a few of his brothers present, and he can roughly imagine how exposed you must feel right now. So his first reaction is to remove you from the crowd. Fives grabs your hand and pulls you with him. "We have to go now," he says with a grin to the crowd and says goodbye. He gives your friend a very sharp, admonishing look as they attempt to follow you, though. "Just stay away," he hisses at them, on the verge of lashing out, he just barely holds back. "Fives... I," you start, but break off again. You don't know what to say to him at all. "It's okay, you don't have to explain anything to me," he says softly and walks with you out of the bar into the open. He takes one last look to make sure you weren't followed, especially by your so-called friend, then calls a cab for you.

"Fives?" you ask him as you sit together in the back of the cab. "Yeah?" You gulp and ask, "Now that you know about it....," but break off again. "What's up with that? Do you want to talk about it?" he gently prods. You shake your head, "Not really. Not now anyway." Fives nods and says, "Then we don't have to talk about it either, sweetie. Relax, you'll talk to me when you feel ready. And if that's never the case, for whatever reason, then I have no problem with that either" "You're the best," you say with relief, leaning into the arm he puts around you. "I know"

Ko-Fi (If you feel like giving me some coffee)

I decided to not tag anyone, just in case.

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