#hes been getting nightmares and flashes of memories back piece by piece but
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Day 19: Favorite "Alt" Hermit [Evil Xisuma, Last Avatar of the First Memory]
today, i've got a drawing and a short piece of writing containing a bit of my Xisuma lore!
warning for... death and the existential horror of knowing you're the last of your kind?
Xisuma emerged from the portal like a bolt, hurtling into the Nascent with enough force to fire them into the opposite wall—that is, until their boot caught on a fabricator, wrenching its delicate cage out of shape and pitching them into the stairs face-first.
Their Avatar caught himself early, slipping into the ethereal so as not to meet their Arbiter’s fate. He steeled himself for the pain as he took a cautious look around—ouch!—and saw…
Ruins. The outpost was shattered, ceiling bowing, bricks fallen out of the walls or covered with algae where water leaked in, illuminated only by the molten rock flowing through the portal chamber.
He had just enough time to take in his surroundings before a wave of psychic torment brought him to his knees.
Xisuma’s Arbiter clumsily hefted himself to his feet, silently thanking the Slayer that he had his helmet on. Shaking off the dizziness of portal travel and the additional disorientation of their unpleasant egress, he turned around to check on their Avatar.
In that moment, the Avatar let him in.
A crushing wave of confusion and horror overwhelmed Xisuma: the desperate wail of the entire Memory. There were no words, only a stampeding nightmare, raging, overwhelming, a boiling surge of loss. They sifted through the feedback to find any dregs of connection, any sense in the caterwaul, but only fell deeper into the abyss.
The barrage carved a truth out of their mind with the precision of a sculptor and the violence of a siltstorm. This was it. This was the dying howl of their people.
But… why? How?
Reuniting as one, they dragged themselves, prone, to the edge of the portal. It was sparking, flashing in and out; the foci were rattling in the frame. They had to go back. They had to do something—this couldn’t be it.
The waves of horror were physical, something they had to fight with every fibre in their bodies. They reached out to the surface of the portal, like boiling ink—boiling sky—and reached through.
A surge of searing pain shot through their Arbiter’s right arm as the foci shattered, severing the connection between worlds. They were left dangling over the roiling lava, arm spasming from dimension shock, buffeted by heated air that was now as trapped as they were.
Not even seconds after the portal broke, the entire outpost shook, tremors from deep within the earth further fracturing the brickwork.
With the tremors, the Memory hushed, as if witnessing this with rapt horror. Xisuma was alone, and if they died here, the Archonate died with them.
They rolled over and looked at the ceiling, taking quick stock of the fractures thereupon—they had to get out of this room. Clambering to their feet with the help of their good arms, they stayed low as they scrambled out of the portal chamber. A cacophony of clattering rock behind them confirmed their worst suspicions.
Only able to move on their hands and knees, and even then only barely, they dragged themselves into the corner of the next room and huddled there. Their Avatar petrified his arms and folded them over the back of their head as their Arbiter clutched his wounded arm close to his chest.
The world shook around them for some time, and the cold panic did not subside even in the stillest of moments. They sat there through the rest of the quake, and through the worst of the aftershocks, paralyzed by fear.
Their Avatar stirred first, reaching out into the Memory alone. The prior silence had since been fogged by the hushed weeping of the dead—the grief of minds that knew themselves to have become but hollow simulacra.
Grimly, they hailed him: Knight-Regent of the Nascent, Xisúma, scion of Aquhúo.
The Arbiter started at the thin sound of their Avatar’s joyless chuckle—punctuated by a pained keening.
“They promoted us. We’ve been promoted…”
#hermitaday#hermitadaymay#hermitcraft fanart#hermitcraft#xisumavoid#xisuma#evil xisuma#evil xisuma fanart
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full hcs for what post-route m6 would say if they got to talk to pre-memory loss mc for a few minutes?
The Arcana HCs: Post-Route M6 get 10 minutes with Pre-Memory Loss MC
Julian
He's sorry
There's a lot more he wants to say, but he begins with a stream of apologies when the person in front of him isn't the investigator who became his ally, but the assistant he failed to protect
He's not proud of it, but for a moment he feels himself slip back into who he used to be
Someone whose value lay solely in how useful he could be to someone else, self-hatred creeping back in like an estranged family member when he sees how useless he was to you
But the you from back then, standing in the middle of the plague and seeing someone stronger, better-fed, less sleep-deprived, the you from back then can see that he's grown. He's happy
The you from back then only seems to want to know if the plague you died trying to make up for had a cure, and if the doctor you lost your life assisting was ever able to find it
And he did. Twice. Without having to prove himself to anyone
Asra
Oh, how they used to miss this version of you
There's so much running through his head. On the surface, it's the first and only chance he's really had to see the difference between who you were when he lost you and who you are now
But deeper, it's the wave of phantom pains, pulling them under and back to when they would've given anything to see this version of you again, when they waded through hell to get you back
And the fear, flashing up from an underlying simmer, that the you then and the you now are so irreconcilably different that there's only one of you he can truly love
As they fold you into the kind of hug that only old friends share, the first difference they notice is that your heart doesn't beat in time with theirs the way they're used to - and it's their revelation
He had enough love in his heart for who you were - and it grew to love you back into his life - and more again to hold both of you in the current one. He has enough for every piece of who you are
Nadia
She's ... humbled, a little
The you that she knows and loves now is someone who has faced down the terrifying and illogical with her, who has supported her through the rejuvenation of an entire city
But the person standing in front of her reminds her more of the person who first walked in through the Palace gates
You're ... normal
Not in a bad way at all, but - you look like every other citizen her carriage passes on her way through the streets. She's reminded all over again how important seeing you in her dream was
Because if you hadn't been pointed out to her, if your first proper meeting hadn't been you freeing her from three years of nightmare plagued sleep, she would have never thought to seek you out
So when the you from the past seems surprised to see the elusive Countess, not nearly as well-known as her extravagant husband
All she really wants to do is thank you by showing you your worth
Muriel
Well. This is awkward. And that's coming from him
There's a well of emotions swirling in him as he looks at you, at the you that Asra left the hut to live with, at the you that took his only found family from him, at the you he came to resent
Because if the worst he can see when he looks at you is someone who captured more of his friend's attention than he did -
What do you see when you look at him?
The you from the past wouldn't have known him when he was retired and forgotten, the you from the past would've known him when he was a gladiator
Or more accurately, when he was the Count's executioner
He's not sure it's good for either of you to be looking at each other
But he can't turn away, and that's because not only do you not seem to be afraid of him, you won't stop looking at him
Your gaze feels the same. Exposing. Open. And though this one is considerably less affectionate - safe, somehow
Portia
She is both starstruck and deeply disappointed
Starstruck because the person she's looking at seems a lot more put together than who you are now, if a little less ... developed
Your magic hovers around you like an old friend and your eyes seem a little more sure about where they want to look
And that's exactly why she's also a little disappointed
Because you aren't like the person she loves now in that way. Who you are now is always looking, always soaking up the world around you like a sponge, because so much of it is still new to you
And nothing seems new to the past you - not even her
She's so happy to take your hands in hers and ask you all about who you've been and collect all the stories and fill in all the gaps she can, to better know how you got to where you are now
And then when the visit's over, she'll happily wave goodbye and walk forward to who you are now
But not without a word of encouragement to her darling first
Lucio
Oh. Ohhh boy
You see, he was fortunate to meet you when you knew fairly little enough to encounter him with an open mind. By the time you learned about his horrible past, you knew his present self
But past you ... past you seems to know quite a bit more
And he doesn't like the way you look at him
There's an edge of uneasiness to the way he plasters on a smile and loudly calls your name, only to be met with a gaze that's polite at best
You're not supposed to be polite to him, you're supposed to love him, to want him, to admire him when he's done good and call him out when he's done bad and forgive him when he tries to do better
At the same time, this is the version of you whose death he knows he's responsible for. It makes him wonder if he's a bad person for being relieved that you changed before meeting him
He'll be happy to leave - but he does manage an apology, first
#ask arcana brainrot#the arcana#the arcana headcanons#the arcana hc#the arcana game#asra the arcana#julian the arcana#nadia the arcana#muriel the arcana#portia the arcana#lucio the arcana#asra alnazar#julian devorak#nadia satrinava#muriel of the kokhuri#portia devorak#lucio morgasson
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Nothing's gonna hurt you baby | prologue
Detective! Javier peña x f! reader
summary: You were kidnapped one winter night, but you have no memories of the incident or the person who took you. A year later, a homicide leads Javier Peña to your door, seeking help. He soon learns that he must protect the woman he loves.
chapter warnings: mentions of kidnapping, death, angst. The story doesn't follow the plot from narcos, but the use of Javier as the main lead in this story.
w.c: 1,7k
a/n: So lately I've been reading a little bit of this kind of genre and I wanted to give it a try, I got inspired by some readings and movies, and I know that this kind of topic may be triggering for a lot of people, but I'll try not to describe anything hard to read. Thank you in advance for allowing me to keep practicing with my writing, I hope I get better at this someday and I would love to know what you think!
masterlist
dividers by @/saradika
NEXT CHAPTER
There was a pain in your head when you woke up. The different voices in your surroundings were pounding against your skull, and terror creeped in.
You slowly opened your eyes, adjusting to the bright light piercing through your headache, intensifying the pain. You tried to recognize the people’s voices around you echoing in your ears, jumbling together into an unrecognizable symphony.
You attempted to move, but a sharp ache shot through your body. You winced. Panic crept in as you struggled to put the pieces together. Tiny fragments of broken memories flashed through your mind, but nothing seemed to explain why you were here.
As you blinked away the haze of confusion, you noticed a figure standing by your bedside—perhaps a nurse—with a gentle expression and a comforting presence. Their voice cut through the chaos, speaking softly to you, trying to reassure you. But the fear remained, gnawing at the edges of your consciousness like a relentless predator.
Questions flooded your mind, demanding answers that seemed just out of reach. What had happened to you? Why were you in the hospital?
“I was coming home from the restaurant; I had this fight with Tom,” you struggled to answer.
“Who is Tom?” the officer asked, walking towards your bed.
“My boyfriend,” you replied.
“That’s the last thing you remember?”
“That’s the last thing that happened yesterday.” You were completely confused, not understanding what was going on.
“Miss,” the officer began, carefully with the next words he was about to say: “That happened a year ago; you had been missing for a year.”
Your hands were shaking; you were completely lost, and the officer tried to comfort you. Your breaths came in short, shallow gasps, each one feeling like a struggle against an invisible weight pressing down on your chest. Panic clenched at your throat, making it difficult to swallow, as the reality of your situation crashed over you like a tidal wave.
The officer, sensing your distress, motioned urgently to the nurse, who hurried to your bedside with a concerned expression etched on her features. "We need something to help her calm down," the officer instructed, his voice laced with urgency.
You had woken up and come back from hell.
You had survived from a nightmare, your captor.
ONE YEAR LATER
Javier parked his car at the curb. The chaos of curious people had already gathered outside the house. Surely, for people to witness a homicide was not an everyday occurrence, and what had happened at this place woke great concern among the neighbors.
He had been working on the Violent Crimes Division for years. However, despite facing things that people wouldn’t normally endure, he had never fully gotten used to them. He had to face death almost on a daily basis, and yet it hurt to see a human become a lifeless frame on the ground because another person took their life away.
Yet he made his way through the crowd, avoiding the concerned people around him. He passed by reporters who asked such morbid questions he couldn’t even believe. The withering look he gave them was enough to make them feel angry, so he kept walking towards the cordoned house, with some officers making sure no one got too close.
“Good morning, people." He greeted her, crouching down under the police tape.
“Good morning, Peña." Steve was welcomed, joined by their other partner, Lauren.
Javier’s gaze traveled down and up his female partner, mesmerized not only by her blonde hair but also her hips. She was a doll, and he considered himself a lucky guy to witness her presence not only here but inside the four walls of his department almost every night.
“How are you, Javier?” She greeted her, placing and swagging her hair.
“Blessed by your presence here,” he answered, smirking.
Not long after, Lauren furrowed her eyebrows, signaling for their partners to follow her to the crime scene.
“What do we have here?” Javier asked, analyzing the horrid image in front of him.
“Naomi Warren. She was found dead this morning at eight thirty by her roommate. She told us Naomi always ran in the morning; it seemed like some crazy bastard followed her here,” Lauren explained, and they kept studying the situation.
They walked closer, and the girl laying there, lifeless, broke Javier’s heart; she didn’t seem older than twenty-five with a life ahead that stopped so suddenly. She was lying there in a white gown with her hands placed over her chest, holding a bouquet of daisies in between.
“Guys, how are you?” the forensic greeted
“What do you think?” Steven replied, walking around, being careful not to step on the evidence around the girl.
“Do you have the cause of death?” Javier wanted to know, although he could imagine it already.
“It seems like she was strangled, but I’ll be able to tell you more after the autopsy,” she said.
The forensic officer motioned for them to crouch down. But he would initially assume that it was very likely that she had been strangled. The three detectives observed traces of blood in the victim's eyes, and the answer was almost clear.
“There was a note, though,” she clarified.
“A note?” Javier asked, taking a pair of latex gloves from the forensics’ briefcase and kneeling down.
With a gentle hand, he reached out to retrieve the note, his fingers trembling slightly as he unfolded the paper, his eyes scanning the words written in hurried script, and his brow furrowing in concentration.
The note was brief, yet its message was chilling in its simplicity. "You can't hide forever," it read, the words scrawled in dark ink that seemed to seep into Javier's consciousness like poison.
There was a name next to it: yours.
Javier's heart skipped a beat as he read the name next to the ominous message. It felt like a punch to the gut, the familiarity of the name sending a jolt of recognition coursing through his veins.
As the weight of realization settled upon him, Javier's mind raced with questions. What connection did this person have to the victim? And why had they left such a chilling message behind?
“Who kind of bastard could have done something like this?” Lauren asked as she gazed at Javier’s hands.
"Wait,” Steven said. “Do you remember that case from that girl in Boston?”
“Which one?” Javier asked,
“The girl who went missing for a year?” Lauren questioned.
Javier's mind flashed back to the haunting memories of the Boston case—the details of the missing girl, who had disappeared for a year before her tragic fate was discovered. The parallels between that case and the current one sent a shiver down his spine, the pieces of the puzzle slotting into place with eerie precision.
"The Boston case," Javier muttered, his voice tinged with a mix of dread and determination. "It's all coming back to me now."
Lauren's eyes widened with understanding as she connected the dots, realizing the significance of Steven's mention. "You think there's a connection between that case and this one?" She asked, her voice hushed with apprehension.
“There is a way to find out.” Javier's gaze hardened with determination as he contemplated Steven's suggestion. He knew they had to pursue every lead and exhaust every avenue of investigation to uncover the truth behind the chilling message and its connection to his own name.
"What do you have in mind?" Lauren asked, her voice betraying a hint of urgency.
Javier took a moment to collect his thoughts before responding. "We need to revisit the Boston case," he declared, his tone resolute. "We need to dig deeper, reexamine the evidence, and see if there are any overlooked connections between that case and this one."
Steven nodded in agreement, his expression mirroring Javier's determination. "I'll reach out to the authorities in Boston," he said, his voice steady. "We'll request access to the case files, interview witnesses, and do whatever it takes to uncover the truth."
"I know someone from there," Javier said, his voice resolute as he recalled a contact he had in Boston. The mention of this connection sparked a glimmer of hope amidst the uncertainty that hung over them like a shroud.
Javier had found that you and the victim were, in fact, similar. The eerie similarities between yourself and the victim painted a picture of connection that couldn't be ignored. His heart clenched with empathy as he imagined the fear and uncertainty you must have faced, knowing that the same darkness that had claimed the victim now threatened you.
You had moved from Boston and changed your last name. It was clear that you had been running from the ghosts, seeking refuge from the nightmares that haunted your past. But now, those same nightmares seem to have caught up with you, threatening to consume you once more.
With each passing moment, Javier felt the weight of responsibility pressing down on him like a suffocating blanket. He knew that time was running out and that he had to act swiftly to ensure your safety.
Armed with newfound resolve, Javier spared no effort in his quest to track you down.
As the first light of dawn broke through the darkness, Javier stood before your door. He knew that this moment would be pivotal and that the truth awaited him on the other side of that threshold.
With a steadying breath, he reached out and knocked, the sound echoing through the silent morning air. Seconds stretched into eternity as he waited, his anticipation growing with each passing moment.
And then the door opened, revealing you standing before him, bathed in the soft glow of morning light. Javier's breath caught in his throat as he took in your appearance, your eyes meeting his with a mixture of surprise and curiosity.
In that moment, time seemed to stand still as Javier drank in the sight of you, his heart swelling with a mixture of awe and protectiveness. There was something about you—something that stirred a deep instinct within him. The need to protect, to shield you from all the dangers of the world.
For a moment, he found himself lost in the depths of your gaze, the weight of his responsibility pressing down on him like a heavy burden. But then, with a shake of his head, he pushed aside his doubts and fears, focusing instead on the task at hand.
"I'm Detective Javier Peña," he said, his voice steady despite the turmoil raging within him. "I need to talk to you.”
#javier pena fic#javier pena x reader#javier peña#javi peña#javier pena imagine#javier pena fanfiction#javier pena x you#javier pena narcos#javi peña x reader#javier peña x female reader#javier peña x f!reader#javier pena fluff#pedro pascal#pedro pascal characters
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❛ don’t worry, i’m staying right here. ❜
Marc spector x female reader💛
Marc feeling that the reader has left his bed so he leaves his room to find her on the sofa having an anxiety atack.
A bit angsty but mostly fluffy💗💗
now this is my first writing for marc but i loved this so much and I accidentally made it more fluffy than angsty
𝘣𝘢𝘥 𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 – 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘤 𝘴𝘤𝘦𝘱𝘵𝘰𝘳
→ warnings: nicknames [babe, baby, sweet girl], description of shooting and dead body, panic/anxiety attack, angst, mostly fluff.
Before you can think of a plan to get away or even register the sound and what has happened Harrow pulls the trigger and shoots Marc right in the heart. You feel your world and your heart shatter into a million pieces all at the same time as you watch his body hit the water. blood gushes through his shirt around the wound and you need to cover your mouth fast to stop yourself from screaming. Tears quick to brim your eyes threatening to fall as you watch in horror as Harrow's men pull your boyfriend's body from the water, you wanted to scream, run at them, even if it meant simply dying alongside your boy.
Once his body was on flat ground his men stepped back letting Arthur set something small and shiny on his chest. He’s quick to leave Ammits tomb with the goddess in hand who was encased in a tiny stone statue, you turn the corner from your hiding spot the minute they leave and run right to Marc.
“Marc! Steven! Please my love, either of you please..” your voice gets caught in your throat and you choke on it. Tears began to softly stream down your face as you kissed his forehead and placed your hand over the scarab on his chest. Your heart feels like it’s been ripped from your chest, fighting to hold back the gut reaching scream that’s bubbling in your throat.
You’re jolted awake in a sweating, out of breath haze. Your heart feels like it's gonna jump out of your chest with how fast and hard it's beating. Your chest heaving hard, you felt like you couldn’t breathe properly no matter how hard you tried. head spinning, your eyes filling with hot tears, clouding your vision. It felt so real, you couldn’t even tell if you were still dreaming or not. You didn't know what was real, you couldn’t stop relaying the moment the shot rang through your ears and you watched the love of your life’s body hit the water. That sight is burned into your memory, every single detail of it.
Being so wrapped up in your spiraling thoughts you are startled at Marc placing a hand on your shoulder. He had been woken up by the jarring shift of your body besides him. His hair was all disheveled and fluffed up, his eyes half lidded, you’d make a comment of how cute he looked if only you could speak and weren’t in the middle of a panic attack.
“Babe…what’s wrong?” Once he woke up a bit more he took in your appearance, you were hunched over the edge of your shared bed, a hand on your chest, eyes brimming with even more tears and labored and inconsistent breathing. He pushes his way up out of bed to come sit beside you on the edge of the bed, it sinks down as he slowly sits down, he’s never seen you this way, it's slightly scaring him as well as steven.
“Hey..hey baby what happened..?” He is slow and careful as he reaches his hand to place on your knee in an attempt to calm you. The last he wanted was to startle you again. “Night-nightmare…of that night in the-the tomb…” your voice was so hushed and shaky Marc almost couldn’t understand you but the moment your wobbly words sank in, his heart sank to his stomach with them. More tears stream down your cheeks as you watch fear flash on his face, as if his sequence of events of that night just replayed in his own head.
“Thought i lost you all over again…” your words came out a little less shaky this time and yet your words break Marc’s heart all the same. “Oh..sweet girl…” he sighs and he softly wipes away your tears as they fall. You lean into his touch, your heart aching like you haven’t seen him in years, you needed to touch him, needed to know he was real. As he’s wiping your tears away you rush forward, wrapping your arms around his neck and smash your lips against his. “Need to know you're really there….” You mumbled into the kiss and through your tears, your eyes squeezed so tightly shut like you wanna never open them up again as if he’d simply disappear the moment you do.
He grunts and shuts his eyes, kissing you back deeply and softly. A kiss so full of love, devotion and tenderness, a kiss that restores the breath in your lungs. Marc softly pulls you in close by the waist and lays the both of you down, the both of you holding onto one another for dear life.
You both pull away slowly, limbs intertwined and panic subsided. “Dont worry im staying right here baby…” he whispers softly as he presses a small reassuring kiss to your forehead before resting his against yours, looking deep in your eyes. “I’m right here my sweet girl, nobody’s taking me away from you, not even over my dead body” he smiled sweetly and rubs his thumb over your stomach and hip.
You hit him lightly for his poorly timed joke and rub circles on the back of his neck. You’ll always forever be thankful for whatever in the hell happened that allowed marc to come back to you, and steven. You needed them both more than they knew.
“I love you” you whisper softly as you and marc drift off to sleep, body’s wrapped around one another, like your souls, forever intertwined.
→ a/n: so i fully intended on posting this a while ago but never did anyway, i kinda forgot a bit of the request like she was supposed to leave the bed but im still a bit rusty after a long ass hiatus again and i barely proof read this cause i wanted to post today!! I love Layla but for this to work reader pretty much sorta is Layla/replaces her but you and marc aren’t married lol
#message received ☾☆#fluff#angst#marc spector#marc spector imagine#fanfic#moon knight#moonknight imagine#moonknight fic#moonknight fluff#steven grant#moonknight x reader#f!reader#marc spector x reader#marc spector x y/n#marc spector x f!reader#marc spector x fem!reader#fem!reader#panic attack#anxiety attack#fluff blurb#blurb#moonknight blurb#marc spector blurb#short fic#fluff headcanons#moonknight headcanons#moonknight x you#moonknight x y/n#female reader
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Unforeseen Reunion | TP Ratchet x Drift/Deadlock | NSFW 18+
Word count: 7000+ 😲
Warnings: Smut ( valve and plug interfacing ), mentions of violence, near death experiance and angst. NSFW 18+.
Notes: So yeah, I lost complete control of myself. Holy crap, I'm impressed with myself. I decided I wanted to go with Prime universe as that's what my hyperfixation went with. I didn't completely focus on canon just so everyone is aware. I had way too much fun with this and I'm so obsessed with these two. Enjoy this work of art you beautiful sinners. 🥰
The crash landing was the sign that his luck had run out. Deadlock had been travelling for far too long, isolated in his barely hanging on ship without contact, that's until he managed to receive a transmission from decepticons. He should've been pleased, yet he didn't feel it, just emptiness.
It wasn't until he hit the earth's atmosphere that his ship decided it had enough, power shut off and he came plummeting towards the earth. He tried gaining control but that failed so he tried contacting the decepticons requesting assistance, but even that was a deadend. No help was coming for him.
Bracing for impact he thought he might have a chance but the rough landing was much harsher than expected, throwing him around and a sharp piece of metal punctured through him, slicing his fuel tank and severed a fuel line. Terrific.
Deadlock manages to get himself out of his piece of scrap ship and take a few steps forward, only to collapse onto the ground with a pained grunt and look down at his servo that held his wounded area to see a lot of energon was leaking from him. He can't help but let out a vented chuckle, convinced this was going to be it for him.
Only managing to get a short distance away from the crash site he couldn't walk anymore and slid his back down against a tree, venting out heavily as if a pressure was lifted from him. He knew though, his systems were struggling, warnings flashing before his optics, it won't be long before he shuts down and slowly offline from bleeding out. One more time he tried making contact but got nothing in return. Either his com links weren't working or they didn't care about him.
There used to be someone in his life who was very dear to him. He saved his life after getting himself hooked up on circuit boosters, gave him a chance, and he stayed with him. He loved him with all his spark, then the war started and that's where it all went wrong.
Eventually he would make choices and every choice has a price. Whether it was worth it or not, Deadlock never wanted to answer that himself.
He was one of Megatron's favourites. He's the one who gave him his new name and grew from that back on cybertron. He thought he was making the right choice, but he was wrong, and he's had to live with that all this time. He became emotionless, making him willing to kill when needed or ordered, leaving a trail of horrors behind which was enough to make any autobot and decepticon worst nightmare.
Now, he was dying, alone. Just as he deserved.
Leaning himself against the tree all he could do was observe his surroundings, take in what might be his last memories. Everything grew weaker, more burned out as his fuel tank pumped harshly to get energon through him, only for it to leak out.
His audios managed to pick up some sounds of a ground bridge. Had they finally decided to show pity and come for him? He onlines his hazy optics only to be met with the end of a blaster and an autobot symbol.
"Oh just my luck." Deadlock manages to say between harsh vents. "An autobot gets to watch me die in my final moments....or, you can take the shot, put me out of my misery?"
"Is that what you want?" Arcee keeps her guard up and weapons ready, not wanting to give him any chance to attack if he was faking.
"Does it matter what I want?"
"No, it doesn't." Bulkhead comes up behind, forcing Deadlock to move his helm up to look at him.
"Well you're a big one." He casually smirks through his pain. "So, what's it going to be? What's the...autobot thing to do?"
Arcee and Bulkhead had been sent to investigate the crash sight after it made impact. They knew it was a decepticon shuttle but weren't sure if it was occupied. Upon arrival it's confirmed. Neither wanted to let their guard down just in case he had any tricks or if the decepticons might show up.
"What do you think?" Bulkhead asks Arcee, unsure what they should do. Letting him die without them helping didn't seem right, but he was a con.
"Let's call Optimus, see what he has to say." Arcee answers.
Deadlock heard the autobot leader's name causing him to let out another vented chuckle. "Your big boss is here? Huh. Alright, call him, see if he has mercy on a filthy con." He was just talking, it's all he can do for his final moments.
While Bulkhead makes the call Arcee keeps her optics on him with her blaster still drawn. "You got a name?"
The big ask. "If I told you...you're going to wish you pulled the trigger." He decided to not say his name. If she found out, she might just pull the trigger on him without hesitation, not that he cared.
"I don't recognize you. You're not someone I've bumped into before, and I remember every bot I have. So who are you?"
"How about you tell me your name first?" Deadlock manages to tilt his helm to the side as he meets her optics, letting out a smirk when all she gives is silence, his pearly white dentas and sharp fangs pressing over his bottom lips. "Yeah...that's what I thought."
Deadlock notices Arcee say something else but it all goes deaf to his audios. He's lost a lot of energon and he knows he's in trouble as things in him start slowly shutting down. He manages to activate his audios again and this is when he hears more voices and steps coming closer. If he was to survive, he wasn't even sure what he'd do next, not anymore.
A part of him did want to be offline. It'll end everything for good, and perhaps give him some peace of mind, not that he deserved it.
"Hey, you still with us?" Bulkhead taps the top of his helm to bring him back, causing him to let out a groan and online again.
"Sort of..." Is his only honest answer.
"Well, today is your lucky day con. Our medic is going to come and patch you up. Try to remember this moment that we helped you." Bulkhead adds firmly for him to think about.
"I'm jumping with joy." Deadlock chuckles dryly, a little energon drops from his mouth as he tastes it flooding in his intake. Yeah, he felt it was too late.
"Drift?"
That voice.
He manages to move his helm back up and his amber optics flickered as he meets the gaze of the ghostly familiar figure standing before the ground. Ratchet. His Ratchet.
"You know him?" Arcee was surprised to hear Ratchet say the decepticons name. But Ratchet couldn't answer, he was frozen, as if he was petrified or enthralled by the very sight of what he thought he lost those years ago.
Deadlock, his given decepticon name, lets out a softly dry laugh that lingers longer with a smile, disbelief and sadness overwhelming his struggling processor. He finally found him.
"Perhaps I am lucky." He says with his wide smile, sharp dentas glittering in under the sunlight. "It's good to see you Ratty."
Under Optimus' orders Ratchet came to patch up the new decepticon before sending him on their way. He was a medic, he treated the wounded, but treating a decepticon was different. He's done it before of course, but not often. Ratchet felt his servos shake as he stood there. Hearing the old pet name made his vents hitch a little and his own emotions boiling up, completely deaf to Arcee as she questions him.
It's not until Deadlock slumps against the tree that Ratchet finally acted. Hurrying forward he came to his side and started to work on him. His wounds were bad, he knew this already just simply looking at him from afar.
"How do you know him?" Arcee repeats coming to the medics side.
"Later." Ratchet's focus was on him. "Let me work."
Neither Bulkhead or Arcee have ever seen Ratchet like this before. Sure, they've seen him sad, angry, annoyed, happy, but this is different.
When he feels his servos against his frame Deadlock lets out a shutter, both relief and pain. He tilts his helm up to get a better look at Ratchet and manages to hold a soft smile that feels foreign to him, he hasn't smiled like that in a very long time. There was a deep history there, and the two went through a lot together, right before he hurt his Ratty. He didn't deserve to be saved, or given a chance. Damage was done.
"Saving your life, again." Ratchet mutters mostly to himself, his own emotions rattled. "Reckless. Stupid. All this time and you're online, still. I'm out of my mind. I should hate you, no, I do hate you, but my spark is aching for you." His voice is low as if he's whispering to himself but Deadlock hears it. "Why did you....How could you...." His words break apart and that hits Deadlock hard.
"I'm sorry." Is all he can whisper, touching Ratchet's working servo and gaining his attention. "I'm sorry....I'm so sorry." Apologising won't fix the past or his choices, but it's the first time he's ever said it to him.
As much as Ratchet is hurting he knew he couldn't lose him again. Whatever happens next will be whether it was too late or not.
"Kids, stay back." Bulkhead hurries through the ground bridge first and warns the kids all hanging around the raised platform along with Agent Fowler and June.
"What's going on?" Raf asks curiously, noticing his worried expression.
"Optimus, he won't listen. Can you talk to him? This is crazy!" Arcee is next feeling enraged about Ratchet's decision.
Ratchet comes through next, carrying a badly wounded Deadlock in his arms with strength no one else had seen him with for a long time.
"You brought a Decepticon back here?" June raises her hand over Raf and makes sure the kids stay behind her. "Ratchet the kids are here!"
"Don't like it, find the door." Ratchet barks back, taking many of them off guard. He ignores everyone and places him on the medical berth, quickly gathering tools to start stabilising him.
Deadlock was hanging close over the edge, everything in him hurt and his processor was swimming wildly. He had no idea where he was, only that Ratchet was with him, and that's all that mattered.
"So cool." Miko comes closer to get a better view. Jack tries to stop her.
"Miko-"
"No way I want to watch!"
Optimus comes closer but stays out of Ratchet's way and stares at the decepticon brought in, his optics widening a little as if something clicked in his processor, and Arcee notices this.
"You know him too. Ratchet called him Drift. Who is that?"
Optimus is quiet before looking at his comrades. "Ratchet knows him. Let him work."
"But-"
"Please, Arcee." Optimus knew just how sensitive this would be for his old friend, and can't imagine but he must be feeling right now.
Arcee finally backs off but that doesn't mean she was alright with this. Most of everyone wasn't. Miko sits on the edge of the lower platform as she watches Ratchet do his magic on the decepticon, a fascination. June only manages to keep Jack and Raf away, still not liking that a decepticon was near the kids base.
"Prime, is this safe?" Agent Fowler questions him quietly. "I get that he's a friend of Ratchet's, but that doesn't change he's a decepticon."
"I understand your concern. But please, I'm asking you all to let Ratchet handle this." Optimus didn't want to explain everything in that moment, respecting Ratchet and hoping everyone will follow the same.
Deadlock was in and out of it for a bit, gold optics flashing repeatedly as Ratchet tried to stop the bleeding and keep him stable. Everything hurt through him, but not as bad as the ache in his spark that throbs with grief for his Ratty. He was saving his life yet again, trying to at least.
"Are you still with me?" Ratchet's tone is more gentle as he hovers over him once he manages to stop the bleeding.
"Ah huh..." He manages to say between heavy vents.
"I need to repair the damage and get energon running through you again. Try to keep still, you're at the start of a long road recovery."
Before he could say anything else, Ratchet had gone to get a few things. Deadlock tilts his helm a little to the side and through his flickering vision he spots something, or someone. The pink is what catches his attention first and gives himself a moment to adjust his vision before it clears up almost.
"Well, you're tiny." He manages to say softly through a short chuckle.
"I might be small, but I can rip your spark out." Miko doesn't hold back.
"I better...stay on your good side than. What are you?"
"What am I? I'm human. The names Miko. You've never seen a human before?"
"Nah, you're the first, Miko."
"What are your first impressions?"
"Well...you did threaten to rip my spark out...so I'm fearful of you." He only meant it as a joke and Miko knew this, and she gave a small smirk at him. She didn't like cons, but this one seems different.
Even Ratchet didn't seem bothered about his interaction with her. June slowly comes closer, Jack and Raf right behind her, still being careful.
"You're Drift, right?" Miko leans her chin against the railing feeling a bit more comfortable to stay.
"Yes." It's Ratchet that answers quickly before Deadlock could. He understood. Meeting his gaze there was that firm and serious blaze he knew all too well from his Ratty. It meant there was going to be no further mention about it.
"Yeah...I'm Drift." Saying the name again after so long felt weird, but guess he'll adjust to it again.
Suddenly, he jolts and groans in pain through clenched dentas as Ratchet wields something into place. It hurts a lot, but at least it doesn’t last too long.
"Could you give me a warning next time?" He vents once it stops.
"Nope." Ratchet answers simply.
He understands.
"How do you two know each other?" It's Raf that bravely asks, mainly both of them.
"We...go way back." Drift answers, optics shifting at the medic at his side. "Ain't that right Ratty?"
"Hm." Ratchet doesn't answer much after hearing his old nickname.
"Ratty?" Miko can't help but smirk at the medic.
"Only he is allowed to call me that." He tells her. No one else ever did.
"He hates it, but I get away with it." Drift smirks lightly before wincing again. "Frag..." Optics manage to cast over at the other autobots standing together outside the bay and staring, most of them looking not too happy causing him to vent out. "Stop."
Ratchet does but only because he's confused. "What?"
"Just...stop. Just...you shouldn't be helping, you know?"
"Do you want to be offline?" Ratchet hits his tool against the table causing the humans the jump and gives an intense stare at Drift. "Do you just want to give up?"
"Your friends don't want to waste resources on a filthy con...I don't deserve it. You...you shouldn't be helping me."
"Well, too bad. You don't get to have a say in what I do, we're well past that. Perhaps you're right about not deserving to be saved, but the only one that gets to decide your fate is me." Ratchet leans closer to Drift, optics burning, before he erupts. "The only way you will be offline is if I allow it, because I'm the only one who has every right to let you bleed out right now! You don't get to decide your fate! I do! Is that understood?!"
His outburst is heard by everyone. Even the humans shrink away a little, never seeing Ratchet this angry before. Something deep was there, but no one knew just how deep.
Drift doesn't flinch. He takes it, accepts Ratchet's rage. He's right, only he has the right to decide what happens next. All he can do is let him do what he wants, he is no longer in control of his fate.
"Understood."
Ratchet lets out a heavy vent and goes back to work on him, only to look up when he feels everyone staring. "What?" He snaps, bothered that everyone was just staring.
"Everyone, let's give them space." Optimus finally says. "Ratchet has work to do." He'll give that privacy to his old friend without distractions.
June leads the kids away and Miko follows to let Ratchet work. Only Optimus understands what Ratchet must be feeling, he knew what Drift meant to him, and knew just what they've both dealt with over the years. The others all had raising questions but at least they weren't hammering either him or Ratchet with them to get answers, and respected what Optimus had said.
It is a long recovery for Drift. Weeks go by, but he is doing better. Ratchet worked hard to repair the damage he received from the crash and make sure his fuel lines were pumping correctly. He worked his magic and did a good job on Drift, never giving up.
"Alright, follow my digit." Ratchet was doing simple tests, everyday he did them, and Drift obeys as his optics follow the moving digit in front of him, clearing and without struggle. "Good. Better today."
Drift was feeling better, both physically and mentally. After being by himself so long it was going to take time adjusting to have others around.
Not the autobots, mainly the humans kept him company. Drift was curious about these organics. Sure, he's come across them before, but not humans. He doesn't mind them.
"Does this mean I'm off bed rest?" Drift asks as he straightens his back. Ratchet shakes his helm with a short chuckle.
"Yeah right. You're clear when I say you're clear. Just because you look and feel better doesn't mean you're fit for duty."
"Duty?
Ratchet stops and looks at him, optics unreadable before venting softly. "You're staying, right?"
It hasn't been something they've talked about really. Drift had no idea what to do next honestly. Since finding Ratchet he didn't want to leave him behind, not again.
"You're here, so I'll stay. Don't think your friends are going to like that though." He didn't think they would welcome him into team prime. "Does that mean I've got to become an autobot?"
"Don't worry about them, I'll handle it. They don't know your decepticon name, yet. I don't want to hear that name ever again. And yes, you'll become an autobot, because I said so."
Drift understands. "Alright." He was willing to do whatever Ratchet wanted. All he wanted was to have him back in his life again, to not throw away his second chance.
"Good. Now, let's have a closer look."
Drift feels Ratchet's servos touch both sides of his cheek platings, examining him further and making sure he didn't miss anything. But Drift slowly leans into the touch, purring, and reaches up to touch them both under his own. The action gets Ratchet's attention and they both stare at one another, the fondness slowly growing as the medic's optics soften.
Ratchet does like the purrs Drift makes, he always did, and hearing it again makes his knees feel weak. Such a strange effect it gives, yet so addictive. It's been so long since he last heard them, causing his feelings to stir wildly. As much as he hated him for his choices, he never stopped loving him.
Neither did Drift. He has a lot of regrets, but the one he'll always carry is he hurt Ratchet. He'll always carry the weight of that.
Leaning closer, Drift presses the front of their helms together, savouring the moment for as long as he can as his optics shutter closed. Ratchet doesn't lean away and lets it happen.
Drift wants to kiss him, and he tries to do this by leaning closer towards his lips, but Ratchet stops him. The moment is gone.
"It's too soon." Ratchet can only whisper, trying to keep his emotions from pouring out. "You left a deep wound, one I could never repair."
Drift knew he deserved that.
"Your injuries aren't the only recovery you'll be going through. There's a lot....between us, that needs time to heal. Won't be simple, but I need time to adjust to this, to trust you again."
"So there's a chance?" Drift held onto that hope.
Ratchet vents softly and caresses his servo against his cheek plating again, running his digit under his optics gently. "I hope so."
That's all Drift needs. "Take your time then."
Optimus gathered everything, even the humans, so they can all listen to what Ratchet has to say. Drift was resting and took this moment to explain some details to his friends. They've all been very patient.
"How's he doing?" It's June that asks, the only one who was kind enough to ask about Drift.
"Doing better. Still recovering, but he's making good progress." Ratchet answers.
He looks up at everyone who stares at him, all focus and attention. His optics glance over at Optimus who was there for him through this. It's time to reveal it.
"Drift and I have a long history, all the way to the time before the war started on cybertron. He hasn't made the best choices in his life, which is why things are messy between us, but he wants to change, make better choices. I'm willing to give him that second chance."
"I understand your concerns." Optimus then jumps in and speaks to everyone. "We both do, but I trust Ratchet to take charge of him, and I believe there's hope for Drift, to become better."
"So he's becoming an autobot?" Jack asked curiously.
"He will. It's a lot to ask but it would be a great help if everyone treated him fairly, so he can settle into this life. He's been alone for a long time without contact, it has affected him, but with time he'll adjust and do better." Ratchet explains.
"Is he like your best friend?" Raf asks innocently.
The medic gives himself a moment before finally saying it. "Drift is my conjunx endura."
"What?' Arcee quirks quickly in surprise.
"You never said you had one!" Bulkhead is just as surprised while Bumblebee lets out a bunch of whirls and beeps along with them.
"Ah, sorry, humans are confused here." Agent Fowler raises his hand. "What's a...conjunx endura?"
"Well, for humans to understand, we're married." Ratchet clarifies.
"What?!"
Ratchet knew this was going to be a shock to everyone, and he'll silently admit he was trying to avoid this moment, but knew that wasn't going to last forever. They had a right to know what Drift meant to him, and what happened.
"Drift comes from a troubled life. He got himself addicted to circuit boosters, drugs for humans to understand, lost himself, and Optimus found him, or at the time he was Orion. He brought him to me where I had my own medical centre, doing what I could for those who were considered lower classes. I saved his life there, and I saw just how lost he looked, so I gave him a choice to stay and help me out, or he could leave. He got clean and stayed, few of the smart choices he's ever made. Over time we grew fond of one another and...well, we ended up together for a long while, fell in love, things were good and we were happy." Ratchet remembers those fond memories with him before he close his optics.
"Than the war started. Megatron approached me, offered me a position as his head medic officer, but I declined. I thought that was it, but I was very wrong. Megatron got to Drift, manipulated his mind, gave him false hope, and he fell for it. The next time I saw him he wore the Decepticon badge. He was already convinced I was going to join him, but I refused. I got angry, expressed my disappointment loudly. The Drift I grew to love left that day and he became stone cold. Megatron gave him the order to destroy the medical centre and he did it, leaving me in ruins. Megatron gives him a new name..." Ratchet went quiet. He couldn't say it, and looks at Optimus, who understands
"Deadlock."
The name rings through the autobots. They all knew that name all too well. The horrors they've heard, the carnage left behind by the same bot that was now in their base.
The humans all take notice of their reactions. "You've heard of that name?"
"The very name that a lot feared." Arcee says to them, voice full of dread. "I never bumped into him, only heard what he had done, and it's nothing good."
"Drift is Deadlock? The very con that Megatron favoured?" Bulkhead struggled to process this.
"Why did Megatron favour him?" Jack sounds worried.
"Because of his lack of emotion, no empathy, and did as he was told without hesitation." Ratchet adds through a shaky vent. "But...he's coming back around, the Drift I know. After what happened, I joined Optimus to try to do what I could for the autobots, all the while trying to silently mend the damage done to my spark. As much as I hated Drift, I never stopped loving him, and always held on some hope he might come back."
"And he did." June says softly, moved by the story he told everyone to have a better understanding of what just happened. Though they were concerned about his past with the decepticons, they understood what Ratchet must be feeling to get his lover back again after so long.
Ratchet lets out a shaky vent and looks at everyone. "I'm willing to forgive for his mistakes, because that's my choice. I need to ask you all to respect our privacy, our past, and for there to be no further questions about Drift's time with the decepticons. Please, don't shut him out, give him a chance, get to know him. He might not be the smartest, and he's made terrible choices, but there is good in him."
"I don't like cons, but he seems...different." Miko perks up, looking over at Bulkhead. "I've gotten to know him a little, he's not so bad. Just have to ignore that history part with the cons."
Bulkhead groaned in displeasement but knew there wasn't really going to be any other way around this. Drift was going to become one of them, so they might as well start opening up to him.
"We'll do that." Arcee then says through a soft vent. "For you Ratchet, we'll give him a chance."
Ratchet feels himself relax a little hearing this. He had a pretty good team here. "Thank you."
Drift is up and walking. He then finds himself facing the autobots and humans, all looking at him as Optimus and Ratchet approach. Least they didn't have weapons drawn on him, it's a start.
Optimus is first to speak. "Drift, we've all talked to one another and Ratchet has informed the others about your bondage with him. It is Ratchet's wish to give you a second chance, for you to leave behind your past with the decepticons and to become one of our own. I ask for you to have zero connections with any decepticon and to prove yourself among our team here."
Drift looks at Ratchet who gives a simple nod at him. This was his chance to fix what he tore apart between them, to show he could be something better. He wanted that.
"Thanks, Optimus. I'll do whatever Ratty says, I don't want to let him down again, or anyone for that matter."
"Ratty?" June can't help but repeat through a small smile.
"None of you are allowed to call me that." Ratchet points at everyone with a firm glare.
"Only I can." Drift sends him a smirk knowing he was right about that.
"I'm going to lay down a few things as well." Ratchet starts as he steps closer towards him. "You'll follow our rules, our ways, no arguments or whining about it. You'll treat everyone here with respect and you'll be treated the same in return. Everything is going to be stripped, your model, colours, nothing that will give any decepticon a hint who you used to be, a complete new look. Understood?"
Drift listens and doesn't hesitate to nod. Like he said, whatever his Ratty wanted. He was in his control now. "Sure, alright." He gives a smile, sharp denta's lightly exposed.
Ratchet stares before pointing. "I'm removing those modified dentas." Drift's smile slips and goes to say something but Ratchet raises his servo. "Nope! They're going. They look ridiculous on you."
Drift vents heavily. Complete new look. "Alright...whatever you want."
"Wow, who are you and what have you done with Drift?" Miko asks the completely new looking robot sitting in the medical bay. She had just arrived with the others. It seemed Ratchet was very serious.
Drift sends the girl a soft smirk, sharp dentas now back to their default model along with most of his amour, colours neutral grey, ready for a new scan and colour.
"Ratchet wasn't kidding." He answers through a gentle chuckle. "But hey, I think it will be good to have something different."
"Something calm." Ratchet points out as he sets up some programs for Drift to scan and choose from. "Soft, nice, you know? Nothing dramatic."
"Ugh, such a control freak." Miko comes up onto the ramp along with the others.
Drift can't help but snicker. He liked humans. They were different, had a lot of character, he grew to like them very quickly in his short time there.
"What colour, Ratty?" Drift asks as he looks through some models.
"That's for you to decide."
"I want what you want."
"I want you to pick yourself. I'm sure you can't mess up on that." Ratchet doesn't mean for that to sound harsh, but it did. Drift shifts his amber optics at him, looking like a wounded feline, and Ratchet vents softly, lowering his voice. "I didn't mean-"
"It's fine." Drift doesn't want him to apologise, so he forces a smile. "I'll pick myself." He says trying to sound positive.
Ratchet nods and leaves him to it.
"Ouch." Miko whispers while hanging over the railing.
"Are things alright between you two?" The youngest Raf asks kindly.
"It's not simple, but it's progress." Drift answers honestly.
For a moment he scans through the new designs before looking up at Ratchet talking with Optimus. His optics scan over him and he smiles. He's picked a colour. Adding the program he scans the new look, his armour shifting colour and shape right in front of the kids to watch, astonished by the change happening before it finishes.
Drift looks at his reflection and smiles more. He looks good, very good. He now holds a very similar colour matching with Ratchet.
"It's a good look." Jack praises.
"You and Ratchet got matching colours now. That's cute." Miko beams.
Drift shifts his optics at Ratchet who is looking at him now, a lingering enchantment holds in his optics as he stares at Drift. They both do indeed share the same colours, a similar design, with Drift only being more slender framed.
"It is cute." Drift sends Ratchet a wink.
Ratchet has to try to cool himself when he sees Drift. He wouldn't say it, but he feels himself heat up at the sight of his long lost mate looking like that. He likes the new look. Clearing his vocals, he nods simply. "Very nice."
Drift doesn't miss the pink hue at his white cheek plating.
Laying on his berth in his given room Drift finds himself staring at the ceiling and letting his processor run over everything that's happened. He was now an autobot, one of team prime. His servo runs over the new symbol over his chest and lets out a soft vent.
It's not that he was disgusted by it, but it does feel foreign still. All this was going to take time to adjust, to move on from his troubled past and do better for him and for Ratchet.
All that time ago, when he hurt him, he lost himself. He became something dark, horrible, one of Megatron's favourites because he did anything he was told. All those memories will forever haunt him, but he hopes he can move past all that and start over with Ratchet. It's all he wants.
The sudden knock at his door jolts him out of his thoughts and goes to open it. He stares at Ratchet who stands on the other side.
"Did I wake you?" Ratchet asks through a soft tone.
"No, recharge is...it's not easy these days." Drift admits.
Ratchet nods lightly. "Can I come in?"
Drift feels his spark thump rapidly as he nods, allowing him to enter and closing the door behind. He watches as Ratchet turns to face him, and there's that struggling look he held, when he wanted to say something but couldn't find the words.
Drift comes closer, calmly stepping in front of him and trying to look into his optics. He can feel the heat radiating from his charris that he wants to touch, but holds back.
"I wanted to see you." Ratchet manages to say. "I...I just want to be with you." Hearing this makes Drift smile, only for it to slip away hearing his next words. "But I'm scared you're going to hurt me again."
"I know." Drift knows he hurt him badly, he'll never forget that. "And...I'm scared you're never going to stop hating me."
"I don't hate you. I'm just trying to trust you again."
"What can I do?" Drift doesn't know himself. "Tell me what to do."
"No." Ratchet shakes his helm, face hardening. "I want you to decide for yourself, not what I or anyone else tells you." On his own free will, not in control.
Drift gets it now. So, he does that. He touches his face plating, running his digits across and savouring the warm feeling, before closing the distance and kissing him gently.
The kiss is simple and short, but it's what Drift wants, what Ratchet wants. It's broken for just a mere moment before Drift dives in again, slowly deepening it as he slides his servos across Ratchet's shoulders and running behind his neck. Without holding back anymore ratchet consumes the kiss they share and backs him back against the berth, leaning over and pressing himself between his thighs as their lingering heated moans fill the room.
"I've missed you." Ratchet manages to whisper between kisses. "Primus...I've missed you so much."
"I'm here, I'm right here, and I'm never leaving you." Drift says before he retracts his panel, revealing his already soaking valve and the housing opens for his spike to throb out. "Please, Ratty, I need you inside me."
Climbing up over him, Ratchet retracts his panel and his throbbing spike emerges from its housing. He rubs himself against Drift, sliding between the lips of his valve, catching his sensitive node with each thrust. Drift throws his helm back against the berth and wraps his legs tightly around his waist, tugging him close and eager to get him inside.
Finally, Ratchet sinks in, groaning lowly as his spike fills Drift, feeling every ridge running against his inner walls, all the while Drift arches his back as he's filled so perfectly, mouth open as he mewls lowly. He missed this, he missed Ratchet.
Ratchet holds himself up as best he could over Drift before he sets a pace, thrusting his hips against Drift while grunting and venting heavily.
"Ratty, so good, so fragging good!" Drift chants as he holds onto him, clenching his valve around his thickness while running his servos along Ratchet's arms.
However, Ratchet makes a blunt noise, as if he's trying something but is struggling, right before he stops moving and lets out an annoyed heavy vent.
"What's wrong?" Drift vents densely as he feels Ratchet's hesitation and tries to avoid his lingering stare, removing himself from his valve as he backs up. "Hey, hey, Ratty, talk to me. D-did I do something wrong?" He touches his face plating and watches as Ratchet's optics shutter closes and leans into his touch.
"No, no, you did nothing wrong. It's me."
"What do you mean?" Drift shifts closer, placing his other servo over his shoulder and listening to whatever he might want to say.
"It's embarrassing." Ratchet rolls his helm a little. Though he knew Drift wasn't going to let this slide, the concern hanging over his face causing him to vent once more. "I'm old. My stamina isn't what it use to be."
Realization hits Drift. So that's it. He can't hold back a smile.
"Don't you dare laugh." Ratchet warns but this only causes Drift to giggle lightly. "It's not funny."
"I'm not laughing." Drift only fails as he continues to giggle.
"Stop that, you're still laughing."
"I'm not, I'm not." Drift forces himself to calm down and bit back his smile before caressing his face. "Ratty, it's alright. Don't worry about it." Leaning close he kisses him gently. "How about you let me on top? Let me take care of you."
Drift gently pushes Ratchet onto the berth and has him lay down before straddling his lap, thighs trapping against his waist while his exposed valve rubs along Ratchet's throbbing spike, causing soft moans to leave from both of them. Drift hovers closer towards Ratchet's face with a tender smile.
"You always took care of me, now it's my turn to take care of you." Leaning closer, Drift kisses him, letting it linger before gently pushing his glossa inside, coiling with Ratchet's.
Positioning himself he sinks back down onto Ratchet's thick spike and starts to ride him, rolling his hips slowly, rocking himself and riding his spike slowly.
Ratchet moves his servos to his waist, gripping his digits into his soft armour while keeping the kiss deep between them, letting out short moans and feeling more comfortable like this.
Drift vents softly into the kiss, letting out short muffled moans as he sucks at Ratchet's glossa, clenching in sync with his movements as he rides him. He moves his servo between them and he starts to stroke himself, rubbing his tip gently before pumping his servo over, arousal and pleasure quickly boiling between them.
"Drift...Primus....you're so tight." Ratchet gently praises between heated moans against his lips.
"Ratty, oh Ratty! I feel so full, filling me so good." Drift presses his forehead against Ratchet's, keeping close while riding his thick spike buried deep in his valve, rubbing against his ceiling node while Ratchet takes over to stroke Drift's cable then.
Moments like these were dreamed between the two over their time apart from each other. So much war, hate, and now reunited, lost in the moment as if nothing happened.
Drift holds a firmer grip, throwing his weight down over again more firmly, clenching around the perfectly ridged spike throbbing in his valve and rubbing against his inner walls. Moans grew more feral between the two as Ratchet kept his moving servo around Drift, feeling ever twitch and transfluid coating his digits and along the length, wet sounds growing more louder as fluids start to build and pool
Tossing his helm back, Drift lets out a louder mewl, crying out in bliss as he rides Ratchet's spike more densely. "Frag, Ratty, frag, I won't be able to hold it back!"
"Do it, let yourself go." Ratchet gives the all clear between heated vents, because he too wasn't too far off from overloading either. "Let's do it together, same time."
Drift beams warmly through the intense pleasure boiling through him as he grinds himself down over again, venting and gasping sharply, soon muffled as Ratchet kisses him firmly and feels his spike suddenly erupt deep within him, thick ropes of fluids coating his inner walls with some dripping out. Within a moment he bites his lips and gasps out sharply as his own transfluids coat between him and Ratchet, a pink glow covering over Ratchet's digits as well.
Taking his servo, Drift lifts it up to his mouth and sucks at his digits to clean to fluids, tasting himself and letting out a delightful hum around each of them. Ratchet is always heated and flushed, he didn't think it would be possible to be even more, but he was wrong when Drift did this.
"So beautiful." He whispers, allured by the delightful sight as his cooling fans kick in along with Drift's.
"You're just as pretty." Drift whispers through a luminous smile. "I love you, Ratty. I never stopped loving you. My spark will always belong to you, my beloved."
Ratchet feels his very spark jump at his words. "I love you too, Drift. Always have and always will. We'll make this work, I promise."
Drift ends up snuggled up against Ratchet, tangled under his embrace as he purrs gently against his charris. Ratchet missed that purr, a soothing vibration and sound he always cherished.
"We'll be alright, won't we?" Ratchet asks as he caresses the back of Drift's helm.
"I believe so." He hums lightly, giving him a gentle nuzzle. "You've never loosing me ever again."
"Good."
Neither will ever be apart again.
#transformers#ratchet#drift#valveplug#idw#prime#deadlock#ratchet x drift#dratchet#canon x canon#smut#fanfiction#writing#sugarrusheag#this is long#6k words#not sorry
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Polaroid | Bob Floyd x Reader
Word Count: 3,200
Cross Posted on AO3
Warnings & Notes: 18+, AFAB!Reader, unprotected sex, fighting for dominance/power struggle, slight jealous/possessive Bob, inappropriate usage of a motorcycle and a Polaroid camera.
Brief Summary: Bob doesn't like how touchy Mav's been with you. Solution? Fucking you against Mav's bike and using his camera to memorialize the moment. But you've got an idea of your own.
Lightning flickers just outside, a brief flash of white light piercing through the tiny, square garage door windows. Such a swift appearance, and yet, you can already tell that it's brighter than the single light bulb posted in the center of the garage. Dull golden hues paint the room in even dimmer shades of bronze. So poorly lit that you can hardly see the silvery 'Kawasaki' logo of Mav's motorcycle, mere inches away from your nose.
Thunder booms. That bleak little bulb fades out for the briefest moment as the house rattles. Whistling wind howls around the corners, shaking the garage door, threatening to tear it down and blow your cover at any moment.
But, fuck is it hard to focus on anything that isn't the soft tap, tap, tap of a velvety cockhead at your entrance. Doing nothing more than spread you open and let you feel the light pressure as he breaches you, only to pull away and repeat it all over again.
Your barefoot lifts off the ground, blindly kicking behind yourself. That might be a shin that you make contact with, but it very well could be another piece of junk on Bradley's garage floor. "Hurry up, asshole."
Bob's halfhearted chuckle almost sounds like the low rumble of thunder, "I will, I will."
But all that does is change his method of torment. Lazily sliding himself between your folds, length rubbing past your swollen clit, sends a frustrating shiver up your spine.
Light flashes.
As white as lightning, but it didn't come from outside.
Click.
That mechanical whirr sounds like...
"Did you just take a damn picture?" But your question is answered the moment you turn your head because there's Bobby, setting that silvery Polaroid camera back onto the table. A thin white piece of film hanging between his upturned lips, color yet to develop. "Isn't that—that's Mav's camera!"
"I know it," Bob's pocketing that dumb little photo without a second thought, jaw flexing as it clenches, "ain't like he's gonna notice."
Pressure blooms as that wet, thick cock head begins to push into you, effectively shoving your thoughts from your own mind. Excess lubricant squelching as that thick tip fully slips inside of you so suddenly that your knees shudder. Pussy stretched wide around him, still tender from how he bent you over the kitchen counter this morning before the coffee had even finished brewing.
Fingertips swirl around your hips, tickling the skin there as he eases in. Your head is too heavy to hold up, forehead thumping against the soft leather of Mav's motorcycle seat. Such an odd place for him to have you out of all of the hiding spaces in Bradley's house.
If you'd known that a nightmare of a storm would force the semi-annual Dagger Squad Cookout into an unplanned sleepover, you would have bugged Bob to bring condoms. Something about these events always leaves you heading home with a limp in your step.
"Look so pretty like this," Bob's big palms span out against your ass, squeezing greedy handfuls of you, unaware of how his cock pushes a desperate gasp from your burning lungs. "Takin' my cock so well."
It's hard recalling just when your eyes fell shut, but you're opening them. Peering over your shoulder once more, mouth opening, but unable to ask him to hurry up. Finish getting inside before your weary legs shudder out from under you.
He hears you.
You don't say a word, but he hears you.
His sweaty palm runs up your spine, hips tilting forward in earnest now. That dull pressure growing into an aching burn as your pussy flutters around him, split wide. You haven't the slightest clue what the rest of his Navy buddies are packing, but you've got the sneaking suspicion that Bob's the thickest one here. Obnoxiously sized to add to that unsuspecting personality of his.
Always the quiet ones.
"Hurry up," your weak voice is hardly able to get out of your mouth, vocal cords strung too tight, "Mav's gonna lose his shit if he finds us in here."
Those big hands grip your waist, holding you still as he draws back agonizingly slow. Paint could dry faster, but fuck does he rub against those sensitive spots so nicely. Perfectly sculpted, like he was made just for you. "I don't care about what that ol' bastard has to say," his tone a little rigid, not its typical lightness.
Is he... "Are you jealous?"
His hips snap forward. Smugly slamming that thick length of his back into you, punches a wail right out of your throat. Your knees nearly buckle. Body bouncing forward a little too far, the frame of a thirty-thousand-dollar motorcycle rocking with you. "Nope."
Fuck fuck fuck you've struck a nerve.
"You're jealous!" And you'd be looking over your shoulder to get a glimpse of his face if he weren't leaning down. Pressing his clothed chest up against your back, bodies snug together, bouncing with each tentative thrust. Figuring out his pace.
"I'm not jealous," sharp teeth nip at the shell of your ear, his hot breath tickling, "I'm being perfectly reasonable."
Because being reasonable involves him bending you over Maverick's motorcycle. A reasonable man takes someone else's Polaroid camera to snap a photo of your cunt wrapped around his cock. But you can't complain about this form of reasonable because it is downright delicious.
Possessive hands dip beneath your shirt, feeling the expanse of your body beneath his touch as he fucks you. Soft puffs of breath knocked from your lungs with every
"That old man is so fucking touchy, sometimes I just wanna..." but he doesn't finish that sentence. Too distracted by the lewd squelch of your pussy, so loud in this garage.
Wind shakes the garage door like an angry fist, howling as it tries to squeeze through the minuscule gaps in the corners. A breeze is all that slips past, licking past your ankles. Only seems to make the room colder when Bob peels away from you, rhythm stalling as he reaches for something on the table.
A second flash tears through the room. Some dumb little whirring sound follows in hot pursuit.
And whatever picture he's taken must be a good one because he doesn't start moving again. Too fixated on that dumb little square that has hardly developed yet. Doesn't respond when you wriggle your hips backward, doing the work your damn self.
This is a horrible position. Legs too far apart to do much, can't pull too far forward without rocking Maverick's beloved motorcycle, gas in the tank sloshing. A warning that you want nothing more of.
But it's easy to stand up properly.
Letting Bobby's cock slip out of you as your back straightens, the garage floor cold against your bare feet as you turn to face the bastard himself. His mouth is moving, but nothing comes out. Unable to make a noise as your fingers tangle in soft, messy hair and pull.
"Ow, ow, ow," he squeaks, eyes scrunching shut as you manhandle him. Knees thunking painfully against cold concrete, unable to do more than paw at your hand as you push him onto his back.
Those glasses jostle, sliding further up his face, and it's almost enough to loosen your grip on his hair.
Almost.
"If you're going to fuck me against Mav's bike because you're jealous," you grit, pulling his head back impossibly further, all to get a better look at his pretty pale neck. "Then you'd better do it right."
His cock bounces against his belly, lube staining his shirt, the only one he has for the night. Angry, flushed tip begging for your attention, twitching when you wrap your hand around him. A little too firm as you pump him, downright squeezing that little grunt out of him.
"I'm sorry," his fist shakes, waving that little polaroid in the air, "I was...it developed, and I—ah!"
His back lifts off the ground, torn between chasing and squirming away from the swift thumb that rubs at the underside of his head. And you think that just might be a little bit of precum that spills out of him, coating your already drenched hand.
True to his word, one of the photos already developed. It's hard to tell which one it is or when it was taken, but even in the poor lighting of the picture, the sight is unmistakable. You. Head down against Maverick's motorcycle seat, Bob's cock only halfway in you, shirt pushed up to reveal your naked back.
Now you see why he was so distracted.
Letting loose of his hair, you begin to move. Properly settling into his lap now, guiding him back up into your aching cunt. So sore already, and you're not even close yet.
Those pretty blue eyes roll back, chest rising with a gasp, "shit."
The camera hits the ground with a clatter, falling right out of his hand without a second thought. No concern of whether it's broken or not, too focused on touching you instead. Clammy palms roaming beneath your shirt, clinging as you sink down on him. Always has to be touching you.
You're already seizing one of them, ignoring how much bigger his hand is compared to yours, as you drag his calloused fingers down between your legs. He doesn't need any further encouragement, pressing a rough thumb against your neglected clit without a second thought.
"That's it," you breathe; now it's your turn to dip beneath his shirt. Hands roaming past soft belly and hard chest, feeling the way he shudders beneath your wandering touch. Such a subtle motion that seems to burn itself beneath your eyelids.
The concrete floor is cold against your knees, biting at your skin as you begin to move. Uncomfortable, but it's still better than the truck bed you rode him in a few weeks ago. And it's so easy to ignore when Bob's hips swivel, fat cock nudging against a small bundle of nerves inside of you.
All the while, his thumb is finding swirls lazily, struggling to keep up with the quick motion of your body. And it's not the best that he can do, but it's got your heart pounding in your chest regardless. Downright panting like a dog as you take what you want, so wrapped up in the way that he fills you.
Stars sparkle in your vision, mottling your near picture-perfect view of Bob's flushed face. Glasses and hair askew, half-lidded eyes peering up at you like you're a work of art. Grunting with every quick meet of your hips, the sound of skin on skin bouncing off the bare walls.
"I've given you an idea, haven't I?" Bob's panting, more of a statement than a question, because there can only be one reason that you're picking up the camera.
It's hard to aim this old thing; too close to really see much, forcing you to lean backward. Color is already beginning to spread across the film as it whirrs out of the camera. What looks to be the soft outline of glasses, or maybe that's his watch...
God, do you hope that the flash doesn't erase the strawberry red from Bobby's cheeks in the final product because it is everything.
A whimper rattles out from beneath you.
Bob's hips impatiently squirm, bucking up into your now still body. Needy. Desperate for you to do something, anything. Put into the same conundrum he put you into just a few minutes ago.
"What?" Fighting back your smile, "Something the matter, Bobby?" This wasn't planned, but oh, are you gonna commit to it. Such a perfect situation dropped right into your lap.
His eyebrows knit together, nose scrunching with it, "Y'know there is."
But he doesn't elaborate any further, and you're having too much fun watching him writhe to let him out of it easily. Feigning innocence, cocking your head to the side and all. No, you truly have no idea why he could be so fussy beneath you right now.
"There is?" You chirp as innocently as you can muster. A little too fake.
A little too much for the man beneath you.
Your back hits cold, hard ground. Head cushioned by a big hand that's settled behind it, a strong body settling atop of yours. Legs spread impossibly wide, unable to do anything but kick your heels against Bobby's ass.
"'m too close for y'to be pullin' this shit," fuck, fuck, fuck, that childhood accent of his is coming out.
And there's not a damn thing you can do but drop everything in your hands and dig your nails into his biceps because he's already beginning to fuck into you. Knocks the air from your lungs with every thrust in, balls smacking heavily against you. Cock head hitting those little nerves dead on. Has a tingling settling into your inner thighs.
"Yeah, now y'got nothin' t'say, do ya?" He's grunting into your ear, sharp teeth nipping the shell of it. That deep voice alone shouldn't have you clamping down around him the way you do, thighs fluttering as they try to squeeze him tighter. Closer.
Yet you can do nothing to slow those unrelenting thrusts; no, if anything, you spur him on even further. Drawn into a frenzy by the way your cunt spasms around him, overwhelmed and stretched to your damn limit. Knocking little sounds out of you that you don't recognize, pitchy, almost pitiful.
"Touch yourself for me," he orders it as if you could possibly need anything more. Heat already pools low in your belly, bubbling to the surface. "C'mon, wanna feel your lil pussy cum 'round me."
But there goes your hand. Reaching down between your tightly pressed bodies, barely enough space for you to crook your fingers and press the pads of them to your swollen clit. Spiraling in their favorite fashion, rubbing over it once, twice—
The heat coiling in your abdomen snaps.
Spreading across every inch of your body as your back arches off the frigid floor, cumming with a cry that's muffled by Bob's sweaty palm clamping over your mouth. Pussy spasming around his still-pistoning dick, clenching tight. Every nudge of his plush head against those nerves enough to have you jolting, head too cloudy to do anything else.
Dully, you're aware of a sudden stillness as Bob cums. Heat spilling into you, promising to leave a sticky mess that you can't be fucked to worry about right now. And then there's that heaviness that follows, all hundred and eighty pounds of him settling on top of you like a weighted blanket.
A weighted blanket that gives lots and lots of kisses.
Peppering over your cheeks, across your jaw, and down your sweaty neck. Not skipping the opportunity to love on every protruding vein and imperfection your body has to offer. That remarkably cold nose taps at you with each one, like a little piece of hail that's gotten in through the garage door.
"I don't know whether to thank Mav or to kick his ass," you croak. Has your throat always been so dry? It takes a moment to get your eyes open; already that time of night when closing your eyes comes with a risk of dozing off until morning.
There he is.
That dumb, soft face with his equally dumb cherry-red ears. You can't help but reach up and squish one of those flushed cheeks, watching how pale blue eyes track your every movement. Could very well dodge your torment if he wanted to, but he doesn't seem to take any interest in that.
"I didn't hurt you, did I?" He murmurs, leaning against your hand. It can't be comfortable, holding himself in this position, oversensitive cock still lodged deep inside of you, bony knees and elbows digging into the ground. Yet he doesn't move.
Your head shakes, "I would have told you if you did."
There's that soft grin of his. Taking over his features as he leans in to press his lips against yours, too lazy for anything but a chaste peck that he sighs into. Then a second, and a third, until teeth clatter together because you're smiling too much.
His elbow cracks as he leans back onto his haunches, properly pulling himself out of you now. And you almost wish he didn't because you can already feel his cum beginning to leak out of you.
Without a word, he reaches for the camera resting next to you.
To say that you're surprised is an overstatement. "Are you taking another picture?"
"Uhuh," one of Bob's eyes scrunch shut as he peers through the little viewfinder. Looks like a proper damn photographer as he takes one more photo.
"You know that Mav's gonna notice the missing film, right?" It's not even a doubt in your mind that he'll notice before he's finished his coffee. Has been meticulously photographing anything and everything he finds worthy of going into his album, from a plain coffee mug to Javy climbing a tree in pursuit of the neighbor's cat.
"I know it," Bob hums, setting the camera down in favor of reaching for the scattering of discarded pictures, "and I hope the touchy bastard spends forever wonderin' where it went."
His hand disappears into his back pocket, producing a worn, leather wallet that's four years older than your relationship. Fraying at the edges but still sturdy.
"You're putting them all in your wallet?" You ask it as if it's not exactly what he's doing.
"Yeah," but he freezes. Blinking rapidly as he glances back up at you. "Did you want one to put in yours?"
"As a matter of fact, I do," and with that said, you're reaching for the camera. Scooping it off the ground just one more time, aiming it right up at him.
And for once, he doesn't try to dodge the camera. Holding still and letting you snap the photo you're after. Some little unsuspecting shot of his sleepy face and lazy smile, the kind of thing that nobody would be able to tell the context of.
Because, unlike Bob, you don't enjoy having a mini heart attack every time you open your wallet around someone.
Getting off the ground is a task all on its own. Two tired bodies bumping into each other, trying to help but only serving to make the situation even worse. Your pants lie discarded on top of a workbench; how they got there, you have no idea, and Bob trips on the singular step out of the garage.
Miraculously, nobody has woken up during your escapades. Not a soul awake as you skitter towards the spare bedroom you've been given, hand in hand.
But you do wake up to the sound of Maverick accusing Jake of 'taking his camera out for a joyride.'
"Least he ain't noticed that his bike was taken out for a joyride, too," Bob whispers into your temple, voice so groggy that you can hardly understand him.
Opening your eyes is not a task you're about to undertake, still clinging to the sweet, cozy embrace of sleep. So close that you can reach out and touch it. "You're lucky he's not your instructor anymore."
"Y'don't wanna see me do two hundred pushups?"
Your eyes snap open. "On second thought," but Bob's rolling on top of you before you can even pretend to get up and tell Maverick of your crimes.
A pair of Polaroid cameras arrive at your house within the week. With an album that you can't wait to fill.
#x reader#robert bob floyd#bob floyd#robert bob floyd x reader#oneshot#top gun smut#bob fucks#bob floyd x reader#reader insert#robert floyd#robert floyd x reader#self insert#reader self insert
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celebrity skin. (part six)
pairing: rockstar!eddie munson x popstar!fem!reader
word count: 6.2k
summary: moving on is not as easy as it may seem. unless, of course, revenge is in the mix.
a/n: this chapter also features steve harrington x popstar!fem!reader
content warnings: 18+, minors dni: suggestive & mature themes, adult language, post-breakup emotional hurt / very little comfort, minor use of pet names, mentions of recreational alcohol & drug consumption — if i missed anything in this chapter, pls let me know!
& psa: images used in the header don’t depict readers physical attributes! these are also described vaguely in the story, only that she’s a little shorter than eddie.
celebrity skin. masterlist
Falling in love was not nearly as magical as you grew up to believe.
Turns out, not everyone is as lucky as your parents. Not everyone gets to find the person they want to be with and just live out the rest of their time together, just like that. No muss, no fuss… no pain.
And recently, all you’ve felt was pain.
Heartbreak caused by the man that’s done it before. You should’ve been smarter than to let him do it a second time, but lost in the chocolate of his eyes and the softness of his skin, you believed in the love you so desperately craved since you were a kid. You believed in his love. Believed he wouldn’t hurt you again, simply because he promised he wouldn’t. Hushed mantras in between the kisses he trailed along your jawline. “You make me the happiest I’ve ever been,” he’d repeat like a prayer. In reality, a fool is what he made you.
For the whole world to see at that.
ANOTHER ONE BITES THE DUST
EVEN HONESTY COULDN’T KEEP THEM TOGETHER
WHY HEAVEN AND HELL DON’T MIX
The list of borderline patronising, and also rather sexist, articles on the downfall of your short-lived relationship with the Corroded Coffin frontman haunted you for months. It didn’t help that they were all lies. Figments of journalistic imagination that only had one thing in common: you were nothing but a lovesick girl, and Eddie ever the conqueror of Hollywood’s elite. Gone was the title of America’s favourite popstar. Replaced instead by “Oh, you’re Eddie Munsons ex, right?”.
Your management team was scrambling to get out of this PR nightmare as quickly and effortlessly as humanly possible, because they didn’t grow your career to the superstardom level it was at, only for you to be regarded as an ex-girlfriend of someone far less popular than you. The team did everything, from pushing brand advertising campaigns forward, releasing a previously stashed single with no promotion, and even faking sightings of you with New York’s most eligible bachelors — (it was actually Val in disguise, more than willing to help).
While all of this was going on, you resigned to rotting away in bed.
The New York apartment you called home yet again, was cold in comparison to Eddie’s mansion. Every item of furniture, every decorative piece, all carefully picked out by you back when you first bought the place, seemed out of place. No longer bringing you the intended joy. You missed the blank walls of Eddie’s living room, the feel of the hardwood floors underneath your bare feet, the once unused kitchen, his display of vintage guitars. You missed his California King. Missed the way it would form perfectly around your frame every time your head hit the pillows. Most of all, despite desperately trying not to, you fucking missed him.
Eddie Munson was your downfall, yet every fibre of your being ached to be close to him once more.
Memories of your time with the metalhead flashed before your eyes every minute of every day that’s passed since he stomped all over your heart, making it bleed. What made matters worse, you were convinced Eddie didn’t miss you, didn’t think about you nearly as much as you thought about him, if even at all.
The reality couldn’t have been more different, but you didn’t know that because the morning Eddie broke you for a second time, his actions were accompanied by a conscious decision to stay out of your life for good. It wasn’t what he wanted. He just didn’t see an alternative, your grandmother’s threat ringing in his ears as the look on your face visibly changed in front of his very eyes from awe to despair.
In the months that followed the split, Eddie also thought about you all the damn time.
Everywhere he went, there you were. Or rather the ghost of you. A memory so vivid, he instantly felt nauseous. He screwed everything up for a second time and even if he wanted to somehow fix it, he knew the only way to do that would be by telling the truth, but even Eddie Munson wasn't an asshole enough to come between a girl and her Nana — no matter how evil the old hag was.
Instead, Eddie focused on his music.
The resounding success that was Honesty, a song about you, performed with you, made the pretext of spending day and night at the studio a little more realistic ‘cause “the band needs a few more songs to complete the album”, he’d say to Marianne. She knew the real reason behind the hours Eddie spent locked inside the recording booth was the sudden, and by all accounts, unexplained breakdown of his relationship with you. She also knew not to say anything.
By all accounts, things were going quite smoothly for Eddie. Sure he felt like a fucking prick for hurting you the way he did — yet again — and on most days, the guilt was eating Eddie alive, but his actions, and their unfortunate consequences, fueled an endless supply of songs he couldn’t deny were about you. Songs that would undoubtedly make the album the best thing Corroded Coffin have ever released. Shit. Did that also make him selfish? He wondered if it was fair that his creativity blossomed while you were hurting. He wondered if profiting off this heartache was the right thing to do. Would it make you more mad? Would it break you even more?
Then he saw it.
MISS AMERICANA MOVES ON
What the fuck.
-
“Did you forget that you promised to come help me shop for dresses?”
You groan at Val’s question, pulling the blankets over your head until your face is entirely hidden and a faint darkness envelops around you. This is your safe space now. This is where you wish you could stay for all eternity, but alas, the universe always seems to have other plans.
“Val,” you mumble under your breath, “I say this with all sincerity, please fuck off. I’m clearly in no shape to hold up to my promise, so just take my credit card and ask a friend to go with you instead. Please.”
She huffs, and even though you can’t see her, you know she’s rolling her eyes. Then, without skipping a beat, she does the exact opposite to what you asked her to do, opting to yank the covers off you entirely with a wicked grin.
“I am done letting you wither away, okay?” She states, “It’s been months of self-pity and I’m fucking sick of it. Everyone is sick of it. Jesus, he broke your heart, big deal. People get their heart broken all the damn time and you don’t see them wasting away in bed.”
“Because they don’t have the privilege to.”
It was the wrong thing to say.
“Nana calls you an ungrateful brat all the time, behind your back of course. I think you just proved her point.”
The sting of Val’s words causes you to visibly grimace, but you can’t say you didn’t deserve her hostile push back. You were acting like a brat. Saying the wrong things in the heat of the moment, you knew better than that. You were taught better than that. Just like you were also taught to uphold your promises, keep your word and do the things you said you would do.
With an exaggerated sigh, you stand, and for the first time in months, you go get dressed in something that’s not an overpriced pyjama set. Val cheers you on, proud of herself for being the person that could convince you to leave the confines of your apartment, even if it was only for one afternoon.
Fifth Avenue is a Manhattan staple. Stretching from Greenwich Village, where you grew up, all the way to Harlem, a secret favourite, if anyone ever asked. Personally, you opted to steer clear of Fifth Avenue as much as you could, though, being one of the most expensive shopping streets in the world, it made sense this is where Val asked Hank to escort you two. Especially, since after hours of browsing stores your little sister normally couldn’t afford on her own, your journey’s end is Saks.
“Tell me again why we’re dress shopping? You hate dresses.”
“Because, since you’ve pretty much turned yourself into a recluse, Nana asked me to join her at the upcoming charity function she’s throwing. Her one demand was that I need a dress.” Val explains, browsing through a carefully crafted selection of garments. “Preferably expensive.”
“She didn’t say anything to me,” you say, furrowing your brows.
“Like I said, recluse.”
You sigh. Nails, overdue a manicure, now at the brim of your lips, threatening to push through at any given moment. It was a bad habit. Something you’ve recently done a lot because speaking your mind clearly wasn’t good enough and only led to misfortune. This was the only way you could ease the anxiety surrounding the mess you’ve made of your life, as gross as it was.
“Well, I didn’t want Nana, or anyone else for that matter, saying I told you so, or thinking I had it coming since apparently I was the only person that had blinders on when it came to…”
His name got stuck in your throat like a bad apple. A choking hazard that brought tears to your eyes and caused your chest to heave suddenly with bated breaths. Clearly, you hadn’t gotten over him, otherwise you wouldn’t spend your days locked up in your apartment. What you didn’t realise though, was that you hadn’t said his name out loud since that fateful morning in his kitchen.
“Fuck you, Eddie.”
The vile tone behind those three words rings in your ears. Of course he deserved it then, there’s no denying that. He still deserves it today. If you were ever to see him at any Hollywood function, you’d either ignore his presence entirely or greet him the same exact way you said your goodbye: “Fuck you, Eddie.”. But for a split second, you feel sad that this is the way you remember his name on your tongue.
“We wouldn’t have made you feel worse, sis.” Val says, oblivious to your inner turmoil. “What do you think of this one?” She proceeds to steer you further away from your deprecating thoughts by holding up a simple red dress. Single strap, maxi length. Exactly the opposite of her usual style, primarily because it was a dress and Val always said she’d rather be caught dead than wearing something designed to limit her movements.
“It’s gorgeous,” you compliment, “Exactly your style.”
If she detected your tiny, white lie, she didn’t say anything. Although, judging by the elated look on her face, no one's opinion really mattered anyway. Not even the one she asked for. The one from her famous older sister.
“It really is, isn’t it? I’m gonna try it on.”
Wanting to see your genuine reaction to her wearing the garment, Val asks you to momentarily join Hank, and wait outside the private dressing suite. You giggle at her, missing the fact that this was the first genuine laugh you let out since Los Angeles, and step outside the heavy door without protest.
Hank greets you with a tight lipped smile, but doesn’t say anything. He never does. You liked that about him, especially considering everyone else in your life always had too much to say. Hank’s silence was like a breath of fresh air. However, unknown to you yet, this time, Hank should have been talking, saying literally anything, repeating any old story, ‘cause then, his deep voice would mask what unfortunately catches your attention next.
It’s not really a squeal, not really a groan either. It’s honestly not really any distinct sound, just something that echoes down the hall, reaching your ears and causing Hank to stop the tune he was quietly humming. Both your heads snap in the direction of the noise, just in case it is something you should worry about, like a paparazzo that somehow snuck in, despite the heavy Saks security. Unfortunately for you, the person that comes rushing around the corner is a lot worse than any ol’ shutterbug.
Suddenly, at the end of the hallway, in all her redheaded glory, appears Max Mayfield.
Recognition feigns across her features as her movements come to a halt the second she sees you perched up against the corridor wall. Her mouth parts in shock, proving that she’s clearly just as surprised to see you here.
Having never officially met, Max still knew exactly who you were. And not because of your fame, the articles about you and her brother. No. Judging by the look in her piercing eyes, Max knew you more intimately. She knew you from the stories that fell directly from Eddie’s lips. She knew details of your relationship that were kept secret from the public. Hell, she might’ve even known more than you.
You don’t get to ask her though. You don’t even get to say ‘hello’ because she glances behind her shoulder, your gaze following just as quickly. Holy shit, you think, knees now wobbling underneath you. If Eddie walks around that corner you might… Well, frankly, you don’t know how you’d react. You also didn’t really want to find out. Not now. Not here. Not like this.
So your fingers reach for the door handle and you’re just about to push it open, retreat back inside, when the person that’s with Max comes into view.
The disappointment that briefly rushes through you is unmatched. Even if you didn’t really want to see the rockstar, you still wished he was actually here. Instead, you’re now face to face with another brunette with hair just as wild as Eddie’s. Only his attire is different. The suit that’s perfectly tailored to his slender frame is also undoubtedly expensive. Armani, you notice.
“Jesus, when will you learn not to—”
He sees you then. The same exact look that Max is currently sporting spreads across his sharp features, so he must know you too. Difference being, you don’t know him.
“Oh shit. Sorry. We, eh, we were told no one was here.” He apologises, glancing between you and Hank, who’s posture is proper. Intimidating.
You step out in front of your bodyguard. An unspoken signal that says he doesn’t need to tell these people to get lost just yet.
“That’s okay,” you reply to the stranger, quickly weighing your options in terms of what the next words to spill from your lips should be. One more glance in Max’s direction solidifies your decision. If her brother is going to repeatedly break your heart and get away with it, you’re going to play dumb and pretend he didn’t really matter to you.
With a polite smile and a swift extension of your hand, you introduce yourself. First to the mystery man, then to Max. The redhead is slightly more apprehensive about the hand shake, but she takes your extended fingers in hers regardless before saying her own name, as if you didn’t already know it.
The guy you now know as Steve clears his throat.
“We’ll come back.” It’s simple. Meant to ease the awkwardness since the three of you clearly knew what — or rather, who — you had in common, but none of you seems willing to say the name aloud first.
“That’s okay,” you repeat, “Stay. We’re nearly finished anyway.”
And right on queue, Val calls your name from inside the private dressing room. You excuse yourself, leaving the two to exchange a knowing glance, and a whisper, undoubtedly about what they should do next.
Val, of course, looks breathtaking in the dress she picked out. Hand on your heart, you stare at your little sister in awe, wondering, probably for the first time ever, when the hell did she grow up so fast. And it’s an odd feeling that spreads through you. Pushing down the heartbreak momentarily, is melancholy for all the time you lost with your siblings because you were too busy being a star. It brings tears to your eyes, but you push them down quickly since you’ve been called dramatic enough for one day, and right now, it was all about Valentine.
“I think I understand why you’re always wearing skirts and dresses,” she says, spinning in front of the large mirror with the biggest smile on her face.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I feel like a fucking princess.”
A soft giggle escapes your lips. You agree with her sentiment, then add, “You look like mom.” Meaning it as the highest of compliments and her eyes twinkle at your words.
“She’s going to love this dress.”
You nod. “She’s going to love you in this dress.”
It’s decided, just like that. The dress is being bought and Val thanks you ten times over for offering to pay for it, along with a pair of Louboutins to compliment it. You tell her it’s the least you can do for finally getting you out of bed, then you tell her that you’re glad you did this together — biting your tongue when it came to the apology for missing so many key moments in her life, because again, this moment was about her, not about the guilt you suddenly felt for focusing too much on your career and too little on your family.
Using the phone inside the private dressing room, Val calls for one of the Sales Assistants to come up, and while you two wait, you leave her again to get redressed in her normal clothes.
Max and Steve are gone.
That’s the first thing you notice when stepping back into the corridor. Hank doesn’t say anything as to their departure, unsurprisingly. He does, however, hand you a receipt from a nearby coffee shop. There’s scribbles on the back of it: ‘MEET ME’, along with an address in Brooklyn.
“From the redheaded girl,” Hank admits.
-
Max Mayfield has tolerated a lot of shitty behaviour in her lifetime.
The list of people that hurt her, and the people closest to her, was quite long, especially for a twenty-something year old. But her upbringing had a lot more downs than ups, and because of that, for the longest time, Max considered herself to be the most unlucky person on the planet. So she blamed the people around her for it, because how else is a kid supposed to judge universal injustice?
To this day, she remembers every single individual that has wronged her in any way, along with the associated place, and most importantly, the how. Max was never entirely sure what she’d do with that information, but she stored it at the back of her mind regardless — hence her thick skin and inability to tolerate any sort of bullshit.
Which is why it sucks ten times more when it is the people close to her doing the hurting, with no rhyme nor reason.
If Eddie asked, that’s why she left you her address. If Eddie asked, that’s why she wanted to talk to you. He did the hurting. Then he spewed bullshit as to why he ended things with you. Max didn’t believe any of it. Anyone with half a brain wouldn’t believe it.
“I think she’s the love of my life,” Eddie announced one day, out of the blue.
He called Max every Tuesday, when it hit four in the afternoon for him. Usually, the two of them talked about Max’s adventures in New York. How she’s doing with her studies, what she’s been up to with her friends (old and new), and if Sinclair has been driving her crazy, which he usually is. The odd time, Eddie would drop in some details about his whirlwind of a life, though he never talked about dating.
That is, until her older brother met you.
Then he wouldn’t fucking shut up.
Max liked this side of Eddie. A truly happy Eddie. And the redhead knows, better than anyone, the rockstar hasn’t been truly happy in all the years he’s been in a set presence in her life.
So to say she was surprised when the news broke, NO MORE SWEETHEART FOR EDDIE MUNSON, would be a vast understatement.
“Dude, what the fuck?” Max questioned her brother.
“Nothing,” Eddie answered plainly, as if it was the simplest thing in the world, “turns out she wasn’t anything special.”
“Eddie,” Max breathed, “you’re acting like a prick.”
She heard a sigh on the other line. Defeated. A little annoyed. Maybe even… sad?
“Whatever,” he brushed the comment off. “Listen, Red, I really don’t wanna talk about this, ‘cause if I did, I would’ve told you it ended myself.”
“That’s another problem I have—”
“Let’s not, okay?” Eddie snapped. “I really don’t wanna deal with shit from you, on top of everyone else, okay? We were never a real item, so it’s not a big deal.”
Max dropped it then and she swore she’d never bring it up again, but then, she bumped into you. She imagined meeting you many times over. The girl that made her brother happy. She wanted to know that girl. She wanted to thank her.
When it all went to hell, Max thought she’d never get the chance. Especially since, seemingly, you seemed okay with the downfall of your relationship with Eddie, spotted out on dates all over New York City. For a brief moment, Max let herself hate you. Clearly, you weren’t upset, which means, clearly, you didn’t care about Eddie nearly as much as he would have believed.
But then she saw you.
Max noticed how your face twitched with recognition the second your eyes locked together, how your hands shook slightly when Max looked behind her shoulder, the brief disappointment when it wasn’t Eddie who came around the corner, and how you tried to plaster on a pristine smile when you introduced yourself.
And now that she saw you, one thing was clear. Eddie hurt your feelings. He may have even broken your heart. That sort of behaviour, Max couldn’t stand for.
“Thank you for coming.”
“Thank you for inviting me,” you say with a delicate smile.
Your moves are apprehensive when Max further pushes her apartment door open, allowing you into her home. She leads you down the long hallway and offers up the couch for you to sit, while she steps towards the kitchen cabinets to grab a couple of wine glasses.
In the time that Max opens up a bottle of Cabernet, you allow yourself to glance around the space. The furniture is all mismatched, definitely vintage, probably thrifted. There’s a fireplace, but you think it must be disconnected since instead it houses cream-coloured candles, all of different burn degrees. Otherwise, the decor is minimal, and it makes you think of Eddie and the empty walls of his Los Angeles mansion.
Though there is one prime feature. A framed Corroded Coffin poster, signed by all the members.
A faint smile circles your lips as you trail the details of the image. Though you haven’t been a fan before, having dated Eddie for a couple of months, you now knew the poster was from their first headline tour. The poor scribbles on an old photo, something that could one day be worth thousands. You’re sure though, that to Max, the value of this is priceless.
So your nerves bubble to the surface. Your leg starts to bounce, thumb back at your lips as you stare at the poster in front of you. The question of why exactly Max asked you to meet has been circling your mind ever since Hank handed you the address. It’s only intensified now that you are here. Now that you are looking at an A3 print of the brunette rockstar in his sister’s apartment. The guy that, despite your best efforts, you still cared for quite deeply.
“Here you go,” Max hails you back to reality by handing you a glass of wine. “It’s nothing fancy though, I eh, don’t usually host celebrities,” she tries to joke.
“Don’t worry about it,” you say and take the drink out of her grasp. “I-I actually prefer the cheaper stuff. Keeps me rich,” you try to joke.
Max seems to like your efforts ‘cause she huffs out a laugh while making herself comfortable on the armchair to your right.
“If only my idiotic brother carried the same principles as you,” she says. And just like that, the air is tense again. Your attempt at a joke is turned into an uncomfortable reminder of what the two of you have in common, and the reason for why you’re here tonight.
There’s a brief moment of slightly awkward silence. Then Max sighs softly.
“You’re probably wondering why I asked you to come.”
“The thought did cross my mind, yes.”
Max smiles, it’s small, yet genuine.
“Look, Eddie has never been one for chatting about feelings. That’s one of the things we actually have in common, which is probably why we’ve always gotten along so well.” She pauses.
“Full transparency, I don’t know what went down between the two of you. All I know is one day, he’s telling me how he’s crazy about you, and the next, I’m reading in the tabloids how it’s over and Eddie’s not willing to give up any reasons why.”
Your face falls momentarily. Something Max picks up on instantly.
“You thought I knew more.”
“That obvious, huh?” You smirk.
“Just a little.”
There’s another moment of silence.
“I’ll be the first to say that Eddie can be a bit of a dickhead sometimes. Especially recently, when the money started rolling in and apparently no one in Hollywood understands setting boundaries, his ego has grown for sure. But I also know what he’s been through. Hawkins wasn’t the kindest to him.”
“Why are you telling me this?” It comes out as a whisper.
“He hurt you,” she’s blunt.
You don’t mean to, but you scoff. “No offence to you, or your brother, but I’m sure I wasn’t the first person he’s hurt, and I certainly won’t be the last, so do you sit down with all his ex-flings?”
Max sucks her bottom lip between her teeth, chewing down momentarily, as she drops her gaze to the wine glass in her grasp. For a moment, you think you came off too bitchy and a little dismissive, after all, she hasn’t made her intentions known yet. Your instinct is to apologise, but then she clears her throat and looks back up at you.
“You’re the only one he’s ever talked about.”
-
“Do you wanna hurt him back?” — Max's question dings in your ears like the alarm bells you should have heard when she first asked it.
Not now. Not the next night, after you had already agreed to her plan. After the plan was already in motion, you were simply just waiting for the other person to arrive.
Waiting for Steve Harrington.
This was all honestly a little too crazy, but again, you thought so a little too late. You should have been second guessing the idea the second Max presented it to you, like a pretty little gift, wrapped in a big bow known to most as ‘revenge’. Though last night, two bottles of wine in, you would have agreed to anything the redhead said. You did agree to everything ‘cause you realised that she just needed someone to vent her own feelings to, same as you.
She said Eddie didn’t want to talk about it, and she wanted to be sympathetic towards his feelings, but seeing you reminded her, he wasn’t the only person involved in this situation. She needed to talk to you. And honestly, you were glad for the opportunity, hence why you showed up at the scribbled address. Since all you got from your close circle was judgement, it couldn’t hurt to spend time with someone who’d refrain from commenting on how foolish you were.
As the night progressed, so did the topic of conversation.
The two of you had moved on from small talk relating to the person you both knew, and to the real reason Max asked you to come over: “Do you wanna hurt him back?”.
“I-I…” Clearly, the redhead caught you off guard, “Well, I-I haven’t really—”
“If you tell me you haven’t thought about it over the last few months, then I will say you’re full of shit, because no girl of your status gets her heartbroken so publicly, only to let the other person scot free.”
She moved from the armchair and sat back down next to you, then continued, “And I’m not saying this is about your career. It’s about principle. Taking away the fact that Eddie’s my brother, he’s an entitled rockstar who thinks other people’s feelings aren’t as important! Which personally, is just so baffling considering what he went through with Chrissy—”
“Who’s Chrissy?”
Max didn’t really answer your question, though the look in her eyes gave some of it away. Chrissy was, at one point in time, someone very important to Eddie. The name slipped out, you weren’t supposed to know it, that much was definitely clear. And you were smart enough to deduct that Max wasn’t going to tell you much else about this mystery girl, but maybe, whatever she had planned, would allow you to learn it from someone else. Maybe even Eddie himself.
“Okay,” you agreed, “What do you have in mind?”
That’s how you found yourself at Minetta Tavern, fifteen minutes early than agreed with Max ‘cause you knew you’d need a glass of wine before Steve arrived. There was a pit in your stomach. This whole situation was honestly so twisted, even for your standards. But you kept repeating to yourself how it was too late to back out now. Too late to call off this whole thing since the paparazzi you asked Holly to arrange were already lurking outside.
Steve shows up about ten minutes before the agreed time.
The hostess walks him over to your table and you immediately notice how nervous he seems. He still offers you a charming smile and bends slightly to your level, greeting you with a half-hug. When he sits across from you, he’s quick to order a Jameson on ice, and only when the waiter is out of sight, Steve looks at you.
“Even if this is a fake date, I do have to say, you look really beautiful tonight.”
A timid smile circles your lips at the unexpected compliment. “Thank you, Steve. You look rather handsome too.”
“Nah,” he brushes you off with a smirk, “Not to be overly forward, but I’m all sweaty after a whole day’s work. Wanted to change shirts. Ended up running late this morning, so I didn’t take a second one with me. Then I tried to bribe one of my colleagues to give me his spare shirt, so he told me he’d bet me for it with a game of pool, which I clearly lost. It was a whole thing.” Steve dramatises, the smirk ever present.
“Bet you’re regretting calling me handsome now, huh?”
“Not at all,” you reply honestly, “Actually, surprisingly, quite the opposite.”
He raises a brow. “Oh yeah?”
And you nod. “Not to be overly forward,” you repeat his earlier sentiment, “But I’ve never been on a date with someone that had a real job.”
Steve laughs. “I just told you I played a game of pool at work to win a clean shirt. That’s a real job to you?”
It’s rather effortless how he makes you laugh too.
“Well, I’m assuming that didn’t take the whole day, so for at least six hours today, you worked, no?”
Still smiling, he bops his head in agreement. “You got me there.”
Celebrating your mini victory, you take a sip of your wine.
“So, what do you do, Steve?” You ask after the waiter brings over his drink and takes your food orders.
“Wall Street,” he answers plainly.
“Shit,” you reply with a grin, “You’re so right. That’s not a real job.”
When Steve laughs again, you forget why you’re both really here. When he laughs again, the slight shake of his head causing his hair to bounce in compliment, you forget the circumstances surrounding your date. As the night continued, with every spoken word, every little joke and giggle, you end up forgetting a lot of things actually.
You forget to ask Steve why he agreed to do this with you. Forget to ask about Eddie and what their friendship meant to him, since he’s here, acting out a revenge plot. Most importantly, you forget to ask about Chrissy, who she was, and what she really meant to the rockstar.
This fake date with Steve turned into one of the best dates of your young-adult life.
Apparently, you two had a lot in common, more than you could have ever imagined. You both came from families that always lived above the norm, which in itself was a challenge only people from similar backgrounds could understand. Steve had said how the weight of the world was always on his shoulders whenever he was around his parents, and that’s how you felt with your Nana. Nothing was ever good enough, yet you kept trying to impress them regardless. He shared the privilege you’ve always felt, so you bonded. Without ever meaning to.
It wasn’t until after dinner, which Steve paid for, by the way, you remembered the circumstances that brought you here together. He seemed to understand the apprehensive look in your eyes ‘cause he was quick to offer to leave first, before you, and not with you — just in case you had second thoughts — but you just shook your head, Max’s question humming in your ears once again: “Do you wanna hurt him back?”.
“He really hurt me, Steve.”
The brunette nods. “Let’s go then.”
The next morning, Page Six features a spread about you on a date with “a mystery brunette”. In the picture, Steve’s got his arm around you, hugging you close, as the two of you push through the paparazzi to get into his vintage car.
When Steve calls your apartment a few days later, you ask him if he regrets being put on blast like that.
“No,” he answers quickly, “Real or not, I had a really good night with you. Which honestly made me think about all the possible reasons Munson might’ve had to do what he did.”
“What did you come up with?”
“That he’s a fucking idiot. You’re incredible.”
You damn well know he can picture the smile you’re sporting right now as you wrap the cord around your wrist, like a little school girl talking to her crush. If your Nana saw, she’d tell you to snap out of it. Although, unlike Eddie, Steve was exactly the type of guy she’d want you to end up with.
Intelligent, charming, kind — and those were just the qualities you learned in a single night. The more you thought about your not-so-fake date, the more you found yourself wanting to learn even more about the handsome brunette.
There were just a couple of other questions you needed to get out of the way before you asked Steve out on a real date. Things you should’ve asked the first time around, instead of getting caught up in the moment.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Anything.”
“If Eddie’s your friend, why did you agree to Max’s plan?”
There’s a brief moment of silence. Albeit, very brief.
“I guess the same reason Red even put this in motion in the first place.”
“Chrissy?”
You can hear him sigh into the receiver, but you don’t get to actually hear him confirm it, or ask any of the follow ups you should have actually asked him during your date, because there’s a knock on your door. Then again, only louder, more intense.
“Steve, I gotta call you back,” you say, attention now focused on whoever it was that’s on the other side of your front door and the eagerness behind their knocks.
“Sure thing, darling. Everything okay?”
“Yeah, someone’s just at my door. I’ll call you in a couple minutes, okay?”
“Okay,” Steve agrees, “Speak in a few.”
The next thing you hear are three beeps, so you hurry to put the phone back before approaching your front door. You don’t really think to check who it might be through the peephole, since there’s only a limited number of people that would get past your doorman with no prior notice. That was a mistake.
On the other side of your apartment door, drenched from the September rain, stood none other than Corroded Coffin frontman himself, Mr Eddie Munson.
Your mouth parts slightly in shock as Eddie slides his hands into the back pockets of his jeans, meeting your wide gaze. He tries to smile, though the corners of his lips don’t really move that far upward.
And you’re not sure how long the two of you stand there, just looking at one another. It’s only when one of your neighbours comes out of their apartment, into the shared corridor, that you snap out of whatever spell you had found yourself under.
The panic sets in.
He’s actually here. Eddie is standing in front of you. Now, Mrs McAllister has seen him, and she’s got a big mouth, yapping to the ladies at bingo about all your activities, gossip that somehow always travels back to your Nana — the last person you needed on your case, again.
So without really thinking, you slam the door shut.
Right in Eddie’s face.
thank you for reading! really appreciate the endless & continuous support!
celebrity skin. masterlist
& tagging some cool ppl that expressed interest: @eviethetheatrefreak , @thirddeadlysin , @haylaansmi , @nope-thanks , @tlclick73 , @vintagehellfire , @ashlynnkennedy , @avalon-wolf , @sidthedollface2 , @astheni-a , @bebe07011 , @aysheashea , @papillonoirsworld , @vol2eddie
#eddie munson#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson fanfiction#eddie munson fic#eddie munson story#eddie munson angst#eddie munson smut#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson x female reader#eddie munson x fem!reader#celebrity skin.
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Ghosts from the Past (3)
Series Masterlist
Pairing: Agent! Leon Kennedy x Dancer! Informant! Fem! Reader
Summary: 7 years after leaving behind everything you’ve known, you’re suddenly thrust into facing a ghost from your past, Leon. Navigating where you stand with him brings up old memories, painful truths and countless questions. At the same time, you have to deal with a bunch of strange occurrences at your dance company. Set after Resident Evil 4 Remake.
Warnings: 18+ Swearing, Recreational Drug Use, Alcohol, Eventual Smut, No (Y/N), Canon-Typical Horror and Violence, Blood, Injury, Torture, Infection, Medical Experiments, Psychological Trauma, Nightmares
Content: Post-Resident Evil 4, Exes to Lovers, Partners to Lovers, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Lack of Communication, Romance, Fluff
Author's Note: Spoiler alert, but I want to be completely transparent here. There may be slight dubcon present: two characters were coerced into a kiss by a third party, with one of them being on ecstasy, though they consented to it before and after with check-ins.
AO3 Link
Chapter 3: Confession
“No!” Silje’s disapproval resounded against the four walls of the studio. “You’re not concentrating!”
Taking a drag of her cigarette as she walked up to you, a cloud of smoke swirled from her mouth. “What is going on with you?”
“I-” You looked down sheepishly, upset that you were performing way below her and your standards lately. Dealing with Leon coming back into your life and the impending event of betraying her coming up sooner than you expected, were distracting you from giving your best.
“I’m sorry, Silje. I don’t know what has gotten into me,” you apologized. “I’ll try again.”
With a flick of her wrist, she commanded, “Sit.” You knew better than to question her and did as she asked, planting yourself on the floor by the mirror, hugging your knees like a child who had been relegated to the quiet corner.
Pointing to one of the other principal dancers, she barked out another order, “Take her place.”
Silje turned over to you again with a harsh reminder. “The premiere is next week. If you’re not ready by then, you will not be a part of it.”
This performance was an important one for the company and you didn’t want to let your mentor down, much less miss out on the opportunity to dance the leading part to a grand hall filled with spectators, including the big-wigs of the arts world.
“I understand,” you nodded your head respectfully. “I will do better next time.”
Everyone got into position as Silje counted down to the start of the piece for the piano accompanist. The movements began like clockwork and you tried to remain attentive to the steps where you had slipped up earlier on. However, you couldn’t shake off the memory of your previous meeting with Leon, where he had almost caressed you with a tenderness you missed from back when you were both in love. You shivered at the invisible touch, like your body remembered and craved it. But maybe you were wrong and had just imagined the whole thing.
As you focused back on the choreography again, the principal dancer who had taken your part stopped abruptly, as if she was in a daze, only to start covering her ears like they were in excruciating pain.
“GET OUT! GET OUUUTTT!!!” Her screams pierced through the room as she shook her head violently, clawing at her face, leaving angry, red marks across her pale skin.
For a moment, everyone stood still in complete shock, unsure of what to do. The dancer dropped to the floor, eyes rolling all the way to the back of her head, as she convulsed and frothed white foam at the mouth.
“Someone call an ambulance!” Another dancer yelled, as people dashed around, trying to prop her up, holding her flailing arms and legs down so that she would not hurt herself.
You noticed a flash of dark veins that seemed to swim across her body, before disappearing again.
By the time the paramedics had arrived, the affected dancer had calmed down, but was in a catatonic state. The first examinations didn’t find anything particularly out of the ordinary, except for an irregular heartbeat, but they took her away on a stretcher to the nearby hospital to get her further checked out.
You eyed Silje’s concern as she tried to allay the fears of the rest of the company, passing it off as nerves and imagination. The stress of the premiere could take its toll after all.
Leon’s words about bioweapons and viruses came back to haunt you, while your hands trembled in response. Was this what Silje meant as the gift? Would you end up like the poor girl?
You felt the buttery, smooth texture of Silje’s gloves against your cheeks as she cupped your face gently. “My child,” she cooed. “Don’t worry.” Then, she stroked your hair lovingly like how a mother would. “I’ll make sure you’re prepared by then.”
Staring into the abyss of her black tinted sunglasses, you prayed silently that you would be when the time came.
━━━━━━━━━━━
After an exhausting dance practice and sending a follow-up report to Bergmann and Leon about the accident at the theater, you set off to have an early night as you would need to handle the meeting with Till at an unearthly hour the next day.
When you woke up it was still dark as night. The early morning chill greeted you as you rubbed sleep out of your eyes and prepared your makeup and outfit before heading to the club. Rounding the corner to its entrance, you saw the familiar endless queue lines which stretched out far into the distance. You wouldn’t be caught dead joining them.
At the side of the building, you spotted Leon with his trademark pout leaning against the wall. He was wrapped tightly in a longer coat, instead of his usual leather jacket, covering what you hoped would be the outfit you gave him the other day. As you came closer, you were relieved to see the leather harness peeking out from underneath it.
“Hey, you ready?” you breathed, misty vapor emanating from your mouth.
“I look ridiculous,” he complained.
“We should have a tip jar for every time you’re a Negative Nancy,” you joked, hoping to put him in a better mood.
His sour expression shifted to one you interpreted as slight amusement. “I’m always up for a challenge.”
You laughed, continuing, “Besides, I bet you’d look hot to the club patrons.”
His frown returned as he cocked an eyebrow. “And I’m supposed to find that reassuring?”
Rolling your eyes, you dragged him by the arm towards the bouncer guarding the door, ignoring the dirty looks you were given by those waiting in line. One of the benefits of being a regular was that you could skip to the front, even without your name on the guestlist, as long as you turned up the charm of course.
Throwing on the brightest smile you could muster, you let go of Leon and turned your attention towards the bouncer. He was a stout, beefy man clad in black, topped with a beanie and adorned with facial tattoos and piercings. You gave him a hug and a peck on the cheek. “Hallo, Bruno. Wie geht’s?” (Hi Bruno, how’s it going?)
Bruno was the typical tough guy bouncer you’d find at most clubs in the area, intimidating and not afraid to put up a fight when needed. Although he wasn’t one to be bribed financially, he had a weakness for beautiful women or charismatic ones like yourself.
Holding onto you in the embrace for a little longer than necessary before letting go, he sighed and shrugged in response. “Tja, viel los heute.” (Well, very busy today.)
Motioning to you and those surrounding you, he questioned, “Wie viele?” (How many?)
“Zwei.” (Two.) You pointed between yourself and Leon behind you.
Bruno’s face dropped, as he sucked his teeth and sized Leon up, obviously unimpressed. “Mit dem Amerikaner?” (With the American?) He attempted to clarify, as if hoping you would disagree.
Damn, he must have heard the last bits of the conversation you had with Leon in English before heading over to him.
“Ja.” (Yes.) The corners of your mouth were aching from maintaining the cheery smile.
The moment you saw the leery grin slowly spread across his face, you knew what he was going to ask for. You forgot how Bruno enjoyed his little power trips sometimes.
“Zeig mir, was du trägst.” (Show me what you’re wearing.) He indicated for you to open up your coat, even though he knew you always adhered to the dress code. He was merely tolerating Leon because of you.
Speaking of the devil, you saw Leon brush past you to confront Bruno. “Hey-!”
Bruno shoved him back roughly, sneering, “Was geht denn bei ihm?” (What the hell is wrong with him?)
You quickly placed yourself between the two of them, before Leon could get more aggressive and turn this into a makeshift fight club. Placing a hand on Leon’s chest and raising your other in front of Bruno as a sign to hold off, you whispered to Leon, “Come on, don’t.”
Leon caught your gaze with concern, his eyes seeking some form of acknowledgement that you were sure about this. Giving him a weak smile, you nodded. At this, he backed off grumpily, allowing the scene to unfold before him.
Bracing yourself for the cold, you unbuttoned your coat, taking in a sharp breath as you slipped it off your shoulders and bared yourself to the bouncer and those within the vicinity. Bruno’s eyes widened and he licked his lips as he took in the sight of your rope corset, intricately tied along your waist and framing your breasts, which were left open except for a sprinkle of rose gold glitter covering your nipples. Below, you wore a matching pair of nude rose, lace panties and garters holding up your thigh-high stockings.
To sweeten the deal, you gave him a 360-degree turn with a seductive smile to boot. From your peripheral vision, you saw Leon’s blazing blue eyes staring at you with an unreadable expression. You couldn’t tell if he was dumbfounded, appalled or awkward, but he couldn’t hide the redness that crept up from his neck to the sides of his face, as he swallowed thickly and bit the inside of his cheek.
Bruno shamelessly admired your outfit however, giving you a low wolf-whistle in approval. With that, you placed your coat back on, hugging yourself while trying to stop your teeth from chattering.
“Damn… Sexy Outfit.” He grinned.
Phew, fucking finally.
He pushed open the thick set of formidable-looking doors to the club, motioning for you and Leon to enter, grunting, “Viel Spaß!” (Have fun!)
Ducking in, you sensed the annoyance in Leon’s voice as he muttered under his breath, “Arschloch.” (Asshole.)
Inside, as per the house rules, you left your coats and phones in the cloakroom, though Leon took an unwarranted amount of time to remove his outerwear. It felt like coaxing a young child to eat their vegetables, but you got there in the end.
You were pleasantly surprised that he had done exactly as you asked him to. The translucent crop top and leather boxers fitted over his muscular physique like a glove, with his sculpted abs on show. As a finishing touch, the harness hung perfectly over his sinewy chest. He had managed to figure out how to wear that thing properly. Not bad.
“So, you approve?” He waved his hand up and down in front of your face, smirking.
Shit, were you staring? You blinked. “Uh-”
“Next time, take a picture, it’ll last longer.” He flipped his hair, gesticulating at you to lead the way, as you groaned at his cheesy comeback.
Pumping techno music blasted through the sound system, the heavy bass vibrating through your bones. Beckoning Leon with a curled finger to follow behind you, you waded through the swarm of practically naked bodies past the dance floor and the maze of rooms - one with filled with static TV screens in a midnight garden, another littered with confessional booths and hot pink neon lights, the dungeon area, an empty space save for a golden cage and a pole, and so on. It was like being Alice in Wonderland. In every corner, you could find all sorts of hedonistic acts in full, public display. From drug taking, to S/M play, to anonymous sex with strangers in dark rooms, people were completely unabashed, as if they wanted to lose themselves to the night and party like there was no tomorrow.
You wondered how Leon was faring with all of this, knowing it could be rather overwhelming for those new to the city’s nightlife culture - yourself included when you had first stepped into this establishment many years ago. Turning around, you noticed he attracted a lot of attention from the usual club-goers, as you had earlier predicted. He was busy trying to fend them off, growling, “Not interested,” each time through his gritted teeth.
“You ok?” you called out.
He pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger, shutting his eyes as he sighed in exasperation. “Yeah, just get me to Till already.”
“Um, I could leash you, if you want?” You offered, holding up the item in your hand and quickly explaining, “To stop them from coming on to you.”
“What?!” He sputtered.
“They’ll think you’re owned.”
Now you wished you had held your tongue, as Leon’s eyes nearly popped out of his head when you mentioned that.
“Ok, forget I said anything!” You raised your hands in surrender, but just as you were about to move off, you felt a firm grip on your shoulder.
“Wait.” He looked at you stoically, but you could tell how he was unnerved at the same time. “Do it,” he commanded.
You obliged, slowly reaching out to clip the leash on to the collar ring of his harness, giving him enough time to back out if he wanted to, but he didn’t. Gently, you tugged at it, bringing him further into the club, behind staff doors and underground, where your contact would be.
Reaching a backroom obscured by a beaded curtain and two bodyguards at the entrance, you informed them about your meeting with Till and they let you in, telling you to wait by the lounge chairs until you were called. You heard Leon clear his throat and realized you still had him by the leash, which could be taken off now that he was out of the rabid grasps of the crowd.
“Oh, yeah. Sorry.” You blushed, chewing your lip as you undid the clasp and put it away. “I wasn’t too rough, was I?”
“No.” He shook his head, as he rubbed the leather strap that was digging into his neck, unused to the sensation he felt there.
“If you’d asked me whether I saw this coming back in high school, I’d never have guessed it in a million years,” he laughed softly and for a brief moment you caught a glimpse of the same sweet-hearted boy you had grown up with.
He straightened himself, running a hand through his blonde locks, as his gaze shifted around you nervously. “So, you’re really into this sort of thing, huh?”
You puffed out a deep breath. It was a long story. To be honest, you put yourself out there as a way to adapt and survive in a city that was so different from anywhere you’d ever been to. You explored all its nooks and crannies, along with its vices, so to speak, making fast friends and taking any distraction you could get to suppress the loneliness and nightmares.
“Well… it’s alright,” you commented vaguely, avoiding any sort of eye contact with him. “I guess I just wanted to escape from the past.”
Before he had a chance to respond, you heard someone calling your name from the next room. Getting up, you made your way to a sectioned-off area laid with tatami mats. Billowy, white linen curtains draped around it, and behind them was a man sitting cross-legged with a deck of tarot cards spread out on the table in front of him.
The moment he spotted you, he leaped out and embraced you, giving you a double kiss on the cheeks. “Darling…” he greeted with an odd sing-song. “Always such a pleasure to see you.”
If there was a stereotype for how a criminal fence looked, Till wasn’t it. He wore a colorful kimono top and loose harem pants. His hair was covered in glitter and his face decorated with bold and flamboyant makeup that put yours to shame.
That said, Till could be friendly and light-hearted to a certain extent, but also incredibly shrewd and knew what things were worth. If you got too comfortable with him, he would bare his fangs. The shadows of his bodyguards always lurked nearby, never quite out of reach.
“And your friend?” He turned his attention towards Leon and winked. “Oh, he’s a handsome one.”
“Name’s Leon,” came the gruff reply. His hardened expression returned as he took a step towards Till. “Shall we get down to business?”
“Ah… so tense.” Till circled around, giving Leon a brisk massage on the shoulders which he attempted to shrug off. “Relax.”
“Come here.” Till gestured towards the mat, indicating that you should sit down, as he brought over two conspicuously red files, placing them at his side.
He then proceeded to empty out an off-white, crystalline powder from a resealable plastic bag onto a hand mirror lying on the table, using a card to cut up a thick line. Giving you a brazen grin, he extended the mirror over to you along with a straw. “It’s your favorite. Go on, you know the first one’s free.”
Just as you were about to give in to your temptations, Leon grabbed your arm and squeezed it tightly, his eyes clouded in a mixture of worry and disapproval.
“Tsk tsk, you’re no fun!” Till tutted at Leon, shifting the two red files towards him. “Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten about you.”
Leon reached out to take the files with his other hand, but Till slid them back like a cat-and-mouse game. “Uh uh. Money first, then pick one.”
“What about the other?” Leon questioned suspiciously.
“We’ll get to that when the time comes.”
At this point, Leon let go of you reluctantly, but not without giving you a warning glance, before trawling through his waist pack and dumping out a wad of notes onto the table.
“I think you and I both know that this info is worth another stack,” Till remarked testily, wearing a shark-like smile on his face.
“Fine,” Leon spat, tossing out another bundle.
Till purred in satisfaction, as he took the stacks of euro bills, giving them a huge whiff and soaking in the earthy smell of old paper.
As Leon picked up one of the red files and peered through its contents, you slinked forward, ignoring the awkwardness of getting your fix in front of him, and snorted up the line of MDMA that Till had divided for you earlier. The substance burned your nasal membranes and your eyes watered as you sniffed a couple of times for good measure, dabbing at your nose daintily with your fingers. The bitterness of it trickled down your throat, creating a foul taste in your mouth. The high would take at least half an hour to kick in. You made flimsy excuses to yourself that with all the recent happenings, you deserved to let loose just this once.
Leon observed you momentarily in silent disappointment, then went back to inspecting the fine print on the documents, his brows creasing in unease the more he went through them.
“Interesting, isn’t it?” Till’s melodic voice rang out, disrupting both of you from your reveries. “Who could imagine something as simple as mold held so much potential?”
You looked up in confusion until Leon handed you the file to review.
“Who else knows about this?” He shot Till a piercing stare.
“You’re the first client it’s passed through,” Till admitted composedly. “The contact details of the scientist who created that report is in this other file.” He waved it around in the air smugly. “Wouldn’t it be nice to acquire his access card?”
The report was about the experimentation going on in the labs and unlike what had been previously suspected, it wasn’t the Plaga. It was something entirely new, which Leon seemed not to have much of a clue about. A project named NEXBAS was underway, currently in the B-Type series, whatever that meant. You skimmed through a couple of female-sounding names given to specimens they infected with the prototype mold. It was an ambitious project that aimed to create B.O.W.s capable of mind control.
Shakily, you handed back the file to Leon. So this was the cause of all the hallucinations that the people at the theater had experienced. However, you still didn’t understand what Silje’s gift meant. Did she plan to make you a bioweapon too?
As Leon continued to take out additional cash to purchase the other file, Till giggled mischievously. “Oh no, no! I don’t want any more of that. It’s so… what’s the word? Boring.”
“How about we play a small game of truth or dare?” He suggested.
“What the hell?” Leon raised his voice in disbelief.
“Just one round.” Till looked in your direction. “Come on, darling. Entertain me. Truth or dare?”
Till definitely liked keeping people on their toes. He was a sly one. “Truth,” you replied, sealing your fate in this warped fantasy of his.
Leon sulked in the corner, awaiting what Till had in store for you.
“Have you two fucked?” He quizzed, unflinchingly.
Talk about being brutally blunt. You sucked in a quick breath as you heard Leon choke on his saliva.
“Yes,” you whispered, looking down at your feet in humiliation, unwilling to lie in fear of jeopardizing the meeting.
Till chuckled. “Aww, so shy… how cute!” He clapped his hands together in glee before facing Leon, who resorted to giving him death glares. “And you, big boy. Your turn.”
Leon pursed his lips. “Dare.”
“A man of few words,” Till rightly noted. “And so much tension!” He shook his head mockingly. “Tell you what, why don’t you go relieve some of it with her, right here?” You gasped, aware of the underlying meaning of his sentence as he pointed at you.
“You’re fucking insane!” Leon cried, getting out of his seated position immediately.
“I know, that’s what my shrink tells me!” Till roared with laughter. “Alright, since you’re my favorite customer-” He fluttered his eyelashes at you. “-I’ll make it simple. How about a hot, steamy kiss, hm?”
“And you’re just about coming up on that high, aren’t you? Delicious,” he added, smacking his lips suggestively.
You couldn’t deny how perceptive Till could be at times. The increasing waves of euphoria were clawing its way up from the pits of your stomach to your chest. You felt dizzy, but connected to every living and non-living thing in the room.
“Go direct your porno elsewhere, freak!” Leon yelled, before helping you to your feet, in an attempt to leave the place.
Till drew out his lighter, flicking it open at the remaining file in a threatening manner. “You sure about that?”
The drugs made you feel less inhibited, but the reason you favored them over alcohol was because for the most part, you still remained in control of your own actions. Tracing Leon’s jawline with your fingers, you tried to appeal to him calmly, “We need that file, Leon. It’s just a kiss anyway?”
“I-” He froze up, casting you a pained look. “I can’t do this to you. It’s not right.”
“I’m ok, if you’re ok with it,” you affirmed. “It’s not the drugs talking, I swear.”
He closed his eyes and sighed into your caress. “Let’s make this quick then.” Though his voice was still laced with doubt. “Promise you’ll stop me at any time you don’t feel comfortable. I mean it.”
“I promise,” you breathed.
Till tapped his foot impatiently. “Don’t keep me waiting.”
You nodded, stroking Leon’s cheek and encouraging him to go ahead. With that, he leaned in, taking your lips into a gentle kiss, soft as velvet like the first time he had kissed you under the starlit sky. Memories of when you had been together came rushing back, filling the emptiness that ached in your heart for years. You clung to him desperately as he pulled you closer into his arms, deepening the kiss which grew in intensity and it felt like your body was melting into his. Parting your lips, you allowed his tongue to slip inside and run it along yours, the sensation sending wild tremors through your nerves. It had been so long since you’d been kissed like this, you wondered if Leon felt the same way as you did in that very instant.
“Wow!” Till exclaimed, fanning himself with the file. “I’d say that was a 10 out of 10.”
You and Leon broke away from each other, lips wet and swollen with need, breathless and panting away heavily. You already missed the warmth of his mouth against yours.
“Wasn’t so hard now, was it?” Till held out the file to Leon, who snatched it away from him in disgust.
“By the way, in exchange for the access card, the scientist wants a guarantee of safe passage.” Till disclosed casually. “He specifically told me to reach out to someone like yourself.”
It dawned on you in horror that this whole time Till had played the game just to mess with the two of you. You actually didn’t need to ‘pay’ anything for the information, because it had already been paid for. By the scientist.
Leon was fuming, but it seemed like he knew better than to resort to physical violence with a man of connections who was well-guarded, and likely had a weapon or two hidden under his sleeve.
Till waved goodbye as you were escorted out the room. “It was a delight working with you!”
His statement was met with Leon raising his middle finger back at him.
━━━━━━━━━━━
Leon had insisted on watching over you, as you came down from your high at his place. You suspected he felt terrible about the whole ordeal with Till, but you didn’t know how else to convince him that it was fully consensual until you were sober. So you lay in a bathrobe on the living room couch, drinking plenty of water and listening to soothing music, while Leon typed up a report for HQ.
At some point, Hunnigan had gotten in contact with him about the updates she had researched. There were no Los Illuminados members involved in the current case. The remaining stragglers were disenfranchised and left in Spain. No trade routes between them and Germany had been found.
Based on the details you had given them about Silje’s ‘business partner’, they managed to capture footage of him from cameras they had planted outside the building. It turned out that he went by the name of Brandon Bailey, and was part of the crime syndicate known as The Connections. They had been building a base of operations for their bioweapon products in the surrounding regions.
Leon was given a deadline to close the base in Berlin before the upcoming shipment could take place. By the end of next week, everything had to be terminated.
A couple of hours later when you sobered up, you tried to broach the subject of the kiss with Leon. There would never be a good time to bring it up and you decided it was better to do so now than leave it to fester for later.
“I’m fine. I still feel the same as before,” you reassured him. “Do you?”
“Yeah, I do,” he murmured, yet he threw a troubled glance in your direction. “Doesn’t make it right though.”
“I mean, it was fucked up, but I-”
He cut you off, intent on following through with his line of reasoning. “You don’t deserve this.”
Don't deserve what? To be put in the firing line? You chose this life to be an informant yourself. Even so, the guilt was eating away at him. From his interactions, you were beginning to see how he wanted to protect you from getting hurt and doing things you would regret in the mission. But was that all?
Despite the countless thoughts running through your head, you carried on with the confession you never got to make when he had left for Raccoon City. “Leon… I still love you.”
It felt like all the air had been knocked out of your lungs as the words tumbled out of your mouth, so pure and unadulterated, and meanwhile, an overpowering sense of fear started to set in. Was it too soon to say such things?
He tensed up noticeably; the exact reaction you were dreading.
“What’s wrong?”
He pressed his lips together with a sullen look on his face. “There’s been someone else…” he trailed off.
Another woman. Your heart sank and you heard the sound of blood rushing into your ears. Well, at least you could move on now, right? That was your closure and consolation prize, along with feeling like such a fool.
“I see.” You tried to mask the quiver in your voice but to no avail.
“I’m sorry.” He held your hand for a fleeting moment, before he realized what he was doing. Letting it go, he excused himself and walked away, hiding the tears forming in his eyes.
From afar, a lady in red with long, black boots watched the window to the apartment closely, planning on when to make her next move.
#leon kennedy x reader#leon kennedy x you#leon kennedy#leon kennedy angst#leon kennedy smut#leon kennedy fluff#re4 leon#re4 remake#resident evil 4#resident evil#porcelainscribbles
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Yoo I have two request which I’ll send the other one separately but I am in an ANGSTY mood rn sooo yah also been binging ur headcanons and stuffs and I just love the way you write ?? It’s so entertaining lol
AnywY the actual request: can you write like a one shot or headcanons if you prefer of mc who is struggling after the belphie incident ?? Like they feel like they’ve mostly forgiven him and can act normally around him and they’re friends and take naps together but sometimes the flash back just HITS THEM and they have nightmares and panic attacks that can be so bad sometimes someone needs to get Simeon to calm them down. Maybe something of how the brothers react/treat mc and belphie? Idk I’m just thirsting for like MEGA ANGST rn bc my dad made me cry little bit lmao 😭
it comes at night
hello anon! i'm terribly sorry you're in such an angsty mood, though i thank you for all the love-- and for sending this request right as these ideas were on the front of my mind. it genuinely makes me so happy to see people enjoying my work, and it makes all the writer's block and such worth it. i cannot express enough how much i love seeing all the comments, reblogs, etc. as people engage with my work.
anyways. i'm not sure how i feel about this piece, especially with how LONG it ended up being, but maybe that's just my mushy brain talking after looking at it too long. regardless-- i hope you enjoy (well, y'know, in like a sad and angsty way).
synopsis: you thought you would be able to move on like all the others. your body was healed, your anxiety tucked neatly behind a mental wall built to keep you safe. yet something in you was stuck. you couldn't just move on. you were trapped in a battle between your friendship with belphegor and the fear gnawing at your brain as you remembered what exactly he did to you. when the dam finally breaks, your whole brain floods with terror, until you're swept away with it. nobody can save you now.
genre: angst, no happy end, just a big ol spoonful of sadness
word count: ~3.1k
content warnings: chapter 16 spoilers, graphic(?) discussions of death, depictions of panic attacks, nightmares, mc progressively getting worse from fear + lack of sleep
it's funny how time works.
you'd been around your fair share of years. you’d grown, you’d changed, you’d spent your entire life looking toward the future you had planned. then you, a mere human, were yanked into an unfamiliar world. you spent an entire year in the devildom– a year that simultaneously dragged on and flew by– and came out the other side a new person. a single year in the devildom has changed you more than the human realm has your entire life. time was a mischievous thing, always leaving you chasing behind in a fruitless pursuit of something you’ll never quite understand.
but, she also brings blessings with her. they say that time heals all wounds. you've always agreed with that sentiment. scraped knees and adolescent broken hearts are swept away with the passing days, trailing further and further behind you until one day you forget to look back and remember them. the pain scribbled down on diary pages or cried into pillow cases no longer stings like a fresh burn. these things are nothing but scars now. time has a special way of patching you up, of rubbing your back until the tears clear up and you can finally see again. that is how it's always been.
where is time when you need it?
she hasn't quite abandoned you, this much is true. cuts and bruises heal over the passing days. your hair and nails still grow. your body still changes, slowly but surely, marching onwards week after week. yet your mind is trapped in stasis. you struggle to break free, but at times the rot consumes you whole, until you’re crying under the covers and begging from respite from the memories.
on the worst nights, you find yourself in the attic again, watching the door between you and belphegor swing open. you watch yourself march towards death.
you can still feel his hands around your neck, digging his claws into your fragile human skin like you're made of sand. the scent of blood-- your own blood, on the floors, on the walls, leaking from your torso and staining your clothes a permanent maroon-- still clings to the inside of your nose. even your wildest dreams could not erase the sight of his smug grin, the way his eyes lit up looking at your battered body.
no one person should have to carry the weight of realizing they're going to die. that's what you thought about when your body hit the bottom of the stairs, when belphegor tossed you down from the attic with a harsh laugh and punted your limp body into the entrance hall. you thought about how unfair this all was. you were just trying to help. you thought you were doing the right thing.
one of the worst parts of your untimely demise was watching the others react. the voices pool together in your head, like the colors of the rainbow twisting together on the surface of an oil spill. asmo's panicked shriek blends into satan's angry shouts, desperate to understand what's going on. lucifer's yelling almost drowns out the fearful cries coming from levi, held back by a very silent beel.
but above all of that, you remember mammon. your first man, the first demon who took a chance on the defenseless little human, rushing to your side and gathering you in his arms like you were about to break. his hand on the side of your face, the tears streaming down his face, the shaky, desperate voice assuring you that you'll be okay and begging you to hang on, okay? please don't leave me. you can't remember if he was shaking or if it was your body's last ditch effort to stay conscious-- maybe both. your trembling fingers intertwined with his. words came out of your mouth, and you're not sure what exactly you said, but he only cried harder in response.
and then, as your eyes shut for the final time, you woke at the bottom of the attic stairs. you had cheated death.
your price? you had to carry the memories.
the world kept spinning. days passed in the devildom. you returned to school, kept on top of your homework, spent your days in the house of lamentation alongside the seven demon brothers. you even got to know belphegor as he navigated his return home. he quickly grew fond of you. that, in and of itself, was jarring. but you returned each and every smile with one of your own. his actions were rooted in his own grief for his sister, you knew, and for that you could not fault him. you helped him repair the severed relationships between him and his elder siblings, stitching the family back together like a prized quilt until the seams of betrayal were sufficiently hidden.
time is a traitorous bitch. why did she choose now to leave your wounds bare and bleeding?
everyone moved on but you. everyone got to wake up in the mornings without a nagging anxiety holding them back. the others could hang out with belphegor day in and day out without a growing feeling of dread popping up when you think you're safe.
he killed you. he was grieving. your blood drenched the entryway floors as he laughed. he has grown. you watched the light leave mammon's eyes as you slipped away. belphie has been nothing but kind to you since that day. you fucking died.
you wish your mind could pick a side. did you forgive him, or did you resent him? was he your friend, or your killer? these answers evaded you in the dead of night as you struggled to sleep again. it was becoming more common for you to lose hours of rest to these nagging fears. who are you? are you even you anymore? did the switch in timelines scatter your atoms across countless universes, leaving the you that looks back at you in the mirror nothing more than a hollow shell?
you thought that you could keep your mind on a tight leash, keep your cards close to your chest as you continued to live with the brothers. you were wrong.
the first meltdown came during a nap with belphie. you had grown to trust him-- you thought you trusted him-- enough to sleep around him. he'd coax you every so often into an afternoon nap. always in the light of day, always your choice. and for many afternoons, you were perfectly content with this arrangement. belphie was warm and cuddly, a perfect companion for a lazy afternoon. he had this way of making you feel safe as you slept-- the nightmares couldn't come when he was snuggled up next to you, when you were sure his actions were ones of affection and not another trick to gain your trust.
one afternoon, while the sun was beginning to set, you stirred under the warmth of the blankets. the body next to yours lingered close, steady breaths lulling you back to dreamland. you could stay like this forever, you thought.
and then you felt it. the gentle graze of a familiar cow tail against your skin.
something inside of you, a dam you didn't even know was there, snapped. a hot flash of panic rose up your throat as your whole body jerked away from the feeling. your eyes shot open and you found yourself in the last place you needed to be right now: the attic. you pulled yourself out of bed before your brain could catch up. colors flashed across your vision as a consequence. you whipped around, disoriented and upset, and spotted a sleeping belphie in the bed where you once were.
a sleeping, demon belphie.
the familiar curve of his horns made your throat spasm as you tried to breathe. the colors flashed in your vision again-- oh god, what a terrible time to be left defenseless-- as your brain tried to drag you back to that day. you could practically see his face shift from relief to malicious, insidious joy as he began to attack you.
"hehe... does it hurt? finding it hard to breathe? i'm sure it must be very unpleasant."
please. please no.
" i have to say, seeing a human face twisted in pain like this... why, it's so much fun that i can barely stand it! i... i can't contain the laughter!"
you weren't quite sure when you hit the ground, but it was loud enough to wake belphegor from his slumber. he peeled his body off the mattress, slow and dazed, as he looked for you.
"mc? what're you... what's going on?"
please don't. this can't be happening.
your lungs collapsed from the weight of your own panic. you gasped-- once, twice, as your vision went in and out. were you bleeding? your hand loosely brushed at the front of your clothes, but couldn't process whether that was blood or your vivid imagination. were you even breathing? your head felt light and heavy at the same time. the wires in your brain were all crossed, sending both resuscitation and shutdown signals to each part of your body. this feeling... this was too familiar.
were you dying?
"mc, what's going on?"
you came face to face with belphegor. your friend, your killer. the demon who had lured you up to this very attic to kill you, now gripping your shoulders as interrogated you inches from your face.
you screamed. you screamed until your brain shut off completely, leaving you in an inky pit of darkness as your consciousness slipped away.
the house was in disarray for several days. apparently, lucifer came in shortly after you passed out, mammon at his heels, to save the day. you woke up later in his bed, the room cold and empty, with a throbbing head and a tear stained pillow. you stumbled out into his office to find him at his desk, lost in some paperwork like always. the solemn look he gave you as your eyes met told you everything you needed to know.
from this day forth, your fear was now your constant companion.
nobody in the house of lamentation knew how to move forward. not you, not the brothers, not the widening gap growing between you all with each passing day spent in emotional limbo. finally, lucifer called everyone to a family meeting where, over the course of an hour or two, everyone came to an agreement to acknowledge what had happened and why, promised to be mindful of this trauma that you're carrying, and move forward like you requested.
silent days slowly but surely filled back up with laughter again. the brothers came back to your side at their own pace-- asmo first, within a matter of hours, then mammon shortly after, then the others in the following days.
belphegor was the last to come around. his silence spoke volumes about his guilt. he had no clue how to comfort you. he'd do anything to repent for his actions. yet that was the way that life worked, didn't it? some actions simply cannot be undone.
but you didn't let that stop you. despite the panic that closed your throat every time you saw him for the next month, you slowly earned his friendship again. you assured him that the attic incident was a one time thing, the remnants of a lost nightmare blending into your consciousness as you awoke.
until it wasn't a one time thing.
the nightmares crept up on you. the first one happened, of course, that same night, as you thrashed and wept into lucifer's pillows. then a week later, another. a week and a half after that, another. the frequency eventually became higher and higher, until you started planning your sleep schedule (or lack thereof) around your new insomniac tendencies. but even you couldn't manage to stay awake forever.
on a bad night, you'd wake up in tears, crying weakly to yourself as you tried to coax yourself back to bed. on worse nights, you'd shoot up out of bed, limbs tingling in fear, opting to spend the rest of the night in the common room until the others woke for the day. on the worst night, you finally broke. you shattered worse than you could have imagined.
you finally collapsed into bed, body shutting down after a three days of minimal sleep. you were starting to get shaky from the lack of rest, and your lack of appetite was upsetting the others. you crawled under the covers and let your brain slip out of your hands and off to dreamland.
what a fool you were to think you'd get by without nightmares.
visions of demonic teeth tearing at your flesh filled your head. you tried to run away, tried desperately to wake yourself up, but their claws sunk into your flesh. the pain was vivid, was real. memories of your death lived underneath your skin, ready to resurface in the dark of night when there was no escape. you fought back as best you could, kicking and screaming and trying to run, but you were no match for the supernatural strength of your demons. you eventually gave in, an act of learned helplessness, and surrendered yourself to your worst nightmares.
you woke up choking on your own tears. heaving, gasping breaths tried to save you, mixing with coughs as your body struggled to hang on. the tears finally gave way to the memories-- hot blood dripping from your torso, screaming faces begging you to stay, your head going fuzzy as your vision followed--and your screams escaped without a fight.
a mixed cacophony of voices came flooding in the room. you'd be touched by the gesture, seeking comfort in the arms of your dearest friends, if your brain hadn't reminded you that they were demons as well. nightmarish beasts with fangs and claws, predators built to rip your soft flesh from your bones and leave you to die like roadkill.
you felt a hand on your shoulder. who's was it? you could not tell. your first and only instinct was to scream for mercy, hot tears streaming down your face as mammon's hurt expression moved back out of your line of sight. your chest heaved with effort. it felt like your whole body was caving in on itself. you didn't even realize you were shaking as you curled your body into a ball. your side hit the mattress with a pathetic thud and you wept, bitter and fearful, as a panic attack kept you trapped in its grip.
you don't know how long you stayed curled up like that, wordless cries echoing from your room and into the hallway, but eventually the sound of approaching footsteps caught enough of your attention to forget the panic, even if just for a moment.
"hey, it's okay," a familiar, comforting voice approached, cutting through the fear like a moonlight on a stormy night. "mc, it's me, it's simeon. it's going to be okay."
you felt the bed shift under the weight of someone sitting down, and you blindly threw your body at the person before checking to see if it was really him. it took you a few moments to raise your head, and when you did, you saw him: simeon, your angel, blue eyes full of worry as he met your gaze.
you cried in his arms until you fell into a fitful, dreamless sleep.
the next morning was miserable, to say the least. breakfast was tense. they all watched you like a hawk, like you were a powder keg about to explode with one wrong move. you couldn't blame them. you were afraid of your own emotions, and on some level, you were afraid of them. your trauma was making you afraid of the very people you cared about the most. these brothers had welcomed you into their home, took care of you as you adjusted to life in the devildom, and yet you couldn't hold eye contact without breaking in to a cold sweat.
the only person who did not watch you was belphegor. he was nowhere to be found during breakfast, nor dinner, nor breakfast the following day. you tried to seek him out, but somehow the avatar of sloth had become a skilled sneak in his silence.
you finally caught him alone on day four of radio silence. you both had stayed home without realizing the other had also skipped school that day-- you, from the lack of sleep eating at your brain, and belphegor, with his usual routine of missing class to nap at the house of lamentation. he was curled up on the couch in the common room, basking in the warmth of the fireplace in his slumber. you decided to wait for him to wake up. you sat down on the couch opposite of the one where he rested and watched him, quietly, like he'd disappear if you dared to blink.
creepy? yes. but your brain was long ruined by sleep deprivation and gnawing anxiety to worry about such trivial things.
when he finally stirred, you gently called belphegor's name. he took a moment to finally look at the source of the voice, but when he did, his body froze as the two of you made eye contact. a few moments passed in silence. finally, he sat up and began to make a move to leave.
"wait."
he stopped, but his gaze did not meet yours. you rose from your seat and joined him on the couch. the youngest pulled his legs in, twisting his body into a defensive little ball, and countered your next sentence before you could even open your mouth.
"you shouldn't be here with me."
"i think i'm old enough to make decisions for myself."
he shifted uncomfortably in the silence. you spoke again.
"i miss you. and i'm sorry."
he scoffed to himself and stared at the fireplace. "don't know why you think you should be apologizing to me. i'm the one that's the problem."
"you're not a problem, belphie. i never meant to make you feel like one."
every hair on your body stood on end. your hands trembled against your wishes, so you sat on them to stay focused. you had to do this. you had to keep moving forward.
"i hurt you, mc. you're afraid i'm going to do it again."
you sighed-- it came out more shaky than you would have liked-- and looked down. how had it come to this? how had someone you'd grown to hold so dear become a stranger again?
"i don't want to stop being friends. i don't like when you avoid me."
"you still get nightmares, don't you?"
you pause. his icy gaze on the side of your head sent you into a cold sweat.
you smiled-- it felt more like a grimace, personally-- and prayed it didn't come across insincere. your fingers carefully intertwined with his. he met your gaze. you were thankful he couldn't see the way your chest tightened when you made eye contact.
"i'm okay, belphie," you lied.
this fear was going to be the death of you.
#i cannot tell if this is good or not i've looked at it for hours#ask answer#obey me#obey me shall we date#obey me swd#obey me writing#obey me fanfic#obey me angst#obey me brothers#obey me belphie#obey me belphegor#obey me chapter 16 spoilers#otome
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But also:
-
It’s a little funny how Penacony is intergalactically-renowned as a ‘dream world’ when everything in it is a goddamn nightmare.
The lights? Too bright, flashing, colorful: red and blue and pink and orange and colors that can only exist in the distorted subconscious that the dream realm is built upon.
The sounds? Too loud, too everywhere: cars honking and bands playing and people screaming and advertisement boards chasing you down begging for you to check out their home store because even a dimension entirely made out of dreams has fallen into the immoral clutches of capitalism.
Cellbit hates it. He hates everything about it, actually, down to the strange fluttering in his stomach every time he passes by a sentient traffic cone and the buzzing in his head when he drinks too much SoulGlad.
But the IPC has their eyes on the planet, and so Cellbit is here before Cucurucho and the rest of the IPC Census Bureau can arrive and take stock of the people they’re ready to enslave. You can’t die in a dream, but maybe Cellbit can kill Cucurucho good enough in the dream realm that she’ll wake up in the hotel and have a heart attack at the memory of their own death.
Wouldn’t that be nice?
Cellbit sips at his SoulGlad with a faint smile on his lips. Penacony is supposed to make his dreams come true, right? Maybe the Family can allow him just one little murder before sicking their Bloodhounds on him.
“This stuff sucks,” Roier complains, slumping against the bar with his still-full glass in hand. “Why don’t they just serve water here?”
More important than the IPC and Cucurucho, however, is the Fool by Cellbit’s side. It’s Roier’s birthday, and he wanted a nice vacation to get away from the whole ‘revenge quest’ thing they’ve been doing for the past couple of common galactic month cycles. He wanted his dream vacation, and so Cellbit got him just that: a vacation inside of a literal dream.
“You’re in a dream, and you just want water?” the bartender incredulously asks. She shakes her head and walks away to the other end of the bar to handle a drunk wine bottle complaining about her ex husband the whiskey.
“It’s my birthday!” Roier whines. He smushes his cheek against the sticky bar top and squeezes his eyes shut. “Even the water tastes like shit! It’s all sparkly and stuff!”
Cellbit rolls his eyes. “It’s sparkling water, pendejo. I don’t think they even have water on Penacony. Just alcohol.”
Roier groans dramatically. “I want to go home!”
‘Home’ being Cellbit’s ship, the Ordem. It’s a tiny little thing- so small that he and Roier have to share a bed in the closet pretending to be sleeping quarters- but it sure beats trying to hitchhike between planets. (Cellbit knows from experience.)
Cellbit gently pats Roier’s back. “If you aren’t having fun here, we can go somewhere else. Unlimited dream worlds, remember? There’s gotta be something you’ll like.”
Currently, they’re in Golden Hour. But Cellbit thinks there’s a dream realm that’s one big huge restaurant somewhere, Roier should like that. He likes food, and he likes the natural chaos that comes with a restaurant full of rich entitled people.
But Roier just shakes his head and cracks an eye open to look up at Cellbit.
“Can we just… go back to our room?” he asks. “Maybe we can come back later, but only if they have actual fucking water!”
He sits up and shouts that last bit at the bartender, who just sighs and continues consoling the wine bottle. (Apparently, the whiskey cheated on her with a bottle of champagne from the amusement park realm. Wow, what a piece of shit.)
Cellbit’s face softens, and he nods. “Of course. And maybe we’ll get to kill Cucurucho when we come back.”
Roier smiles at that. “Ay, don’t get my hopes up.”
Because Roier’s best friend and son have been ‘acquired’ by the Census Bureau, and Cellbit’s whole planet was destroyed by the Census Bureau’s actions. Cucurucho needs to die, simple. And they’re going to make it happen, even in their dreams.
#a.d.'s fics i suppose#a.d.'s fics i suppose.#I’m just rambling don’t mind me#it’s very niche but I love it
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𝑨𝒃𝒚𝒔𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝑴𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔
ғᴏᴜʀ ᶜᵃᵈᵉᵗ ᶜᵒʳᵖˢ
ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ʟᴇᴠɪ ᴀᴄᴋᴇʀᴍᴀɴ x ғᴇᴍᴀʟᴇ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ
sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ᴀғᴛᴇʀ ᴀ ᴘʀᴏᴘʜᴇᴛɪᴄ ɴɪɢʜᴛᴍᴀʀᴇ, ʟᴇᴠɪ ᴄᴏᴍғᴏʀᴛs ʏᴏᴜ ʜɪs ᴡᴀʏ; ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀ ғɪsᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ғᴀᴄᴇ. ᴛʜᴇ sᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴀɴᴅᴇʀ sᴇᴇᴍs ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴀ ʙɪᴛ ᴍᴏʀᴇ sᴏғᴛ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʏᴏᴜ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ʜᴀɴᴅ.
ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: suggestive, blood, violence
ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs: ↫ ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜs ɴᴇxᴛ ↬
ғᴀɴғɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ
ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴏɴ ᴀᴏ3
ᴛᴀɢɢɪɴɢ: @xiernia @ajmiila02
Dreams swallow you whole the moment you experience them. They can be quite sweet, showing you happy moments, foolish desires and moments you might have cherished from your past. But sometimes your dreams become twisted. Sometimes scenarios flash before your eyes, shameful moments you can't control. One in particular has you screaming. The dream itself began intensely, the Section Commander had you pinned against a wall, hands eagerly holding you, while his lips sucked on your neck. You can't really remember how that scene turned into a bloody and disgusting one. You've dreamed of Mike being caught between titans, his screams still haunting you and vivid images of him being torn apart and eaten won't let you go. Right now you are shivering, breathless with panic, tears streaming down your pale cheeks. The whole women's barracks has been frightened to death by your agonized cries, and it's not long before Captain Levi bursts into the barracks, closely followed by Hange.
His usually spotless shirt is half unbuttoned and hangs loosely around his heaving chest. He fell asleep on his desk an hour ago, papers under his head and nightmares haunting him. The moment he heard blood curdling screams, he knew it wasn't his demons. He was awake in seconds, grabbed his beloved knife and ran after the unbearable screams. Levi thought at first that someone had broken into the sleeping quarters of his female subordinates, but there was no stranger or fellow soldier disturbing the young women. There is only you, screaming and kicking, your back arched up, your chest rounded. Your eyes are rolled into the back of your head and there is a thin line of blood running down your face, coming from your nose. Emma gently tries to shake you awake, but it takes more than that. It's a disturbing image and Levi rushes to your side, his knife hidden in his trouser pocket.
"What happened?" He kneels at your side, the question directed at Emma, who has small tears in her eyes.
"I don't know, she just started screaming." She cries, her fists clenching your nightgown. When Levi was a child, he saw one of his mother's colleagues have a similar episode. His mother never gave it a name, but mentioned that it was a sleeping disorder. Unable to calm her down, or even wake her up, the Captain lets out a frustrated breath and pulls his arm back. With a quick movement, he swings it back and strikes your cheekbone with such force that you are instantly jolted awake.
No one seems to understand why you are crying or screaming so bitterly. Hange even suggests that you are possessed by a demon, but Levi is simply frightened by the sight of you. The plague of your lost memories must have really screwed with your head, and he still doesn't know what happened to you. Your eyes are wide open and full of pain as you stare at him with your mouth open. Confusion, shock and fear are written all over your features. Then it hits you.
You can't stop crying, muttering about Mike being torn to pieces, trying to convince Captain Levi and Section Commander Hange that Mike is dead.
"We should take her to the nurse." Levi mumbles and carefully urges you to stand up and leads you out of the barracks. Your skin is cold, but your whole body is covered in sweat, as if you've been drenched in freezing water.
"Can you hear me, Faye?" He asks, but doesn't get an answer. "This is new." He thinks bitterly and shakes his head in frustration. He has seen soldiers plagued by nightmares, after all, he himself is haunted by them. Some comrades even suffer from night terrors, their cries similar to yours, but they run around the headquarters disoriented and can't remember it the next day. Your incident is different. Eyes rolled back, stiff with fear, almost suffocating. Did you experience sleep paralysis?
Deep in thought, he barely notices that you've stopped crying and started to speak in a raspy voice that almost crushes him.
"Mike is dead." Levi lets out a sigh and grips your shoulder tighter.
"No, he's not. He's sleeping." He promises, desperately hoping to avoid an argument, but it only seems to confuse you more.
"I heard his screams, his bones breaking and saw his flesh being torn. I smelled his blood." You swallow hard and walk weakly with him, not questioning where he is leading you.
"It was a nightmare. The nurse will give you something to calm you down." He promises and, to your surprise, gently strokes the tangled hair behind your ear. He can't help but to think that you look beautiful like this, weak and in desperate need of help. Levi gulps, giving himself mentally a slap. He certainly must be experiencing sleeplessness.
"It felt too real." He doesn't know how to answer, it wouldn't do to reassure you of the delusional night attack you've suffered. So he silently leads you through the corridors, the many possible scenarios making him anxious, and after explaining the situation to your nurse, he leaves you in her care, sitting silently by your side to watch over you. He will not let this happen again.
After hearing about your incident, Mike had to go and collect you in the hospital wing. You were still asleep, due to the medication you had been given, and at your side sat Levi, fast asleep in a chair, much to his surprise. As he entered, the black-haired soldier opened his eyes and let out a deep groan as he realized where he was.
"I didn't expect to find you here." He whispers and slowly walks over to your recumbent body, a small smile on his lips at the sight and smell of you.
"I was waiting for her to have another attack." He explains simply, not bothering to speak in a hushed voice.
"What exactly happened?" The Section Commander wants to know, Hange wasn't really specific, only spoke of 'demonic possession' and Mike doubts that an angel like you would have such tendencies.
"Fuck, if I know." Levi scoffs and stretches his arms, walking past Mike to leave the hospital wing immediately.
"Make sure she doesn't fall off her horse. She's an incompetent rider."
You wake up, rub your eyes and briefly notice someone leaving as you turn your attention to the other man in your room. At the sight of him, something in your chest tightens, making you sit up immediately.
"I overslept, didn't I?" You squeak, your voice hoarse and your cheek painful. Did someone hit you? As you touch your cheek, Mike gently takes your chin between his fingers and moves your head up so he can see the bruised skin.
"Levi got you good, Hugh? You must be a fast sleeper." Confused, you lock eyes with him and then the memories of last night hit you. Stiffening at his touch, your eyes widen and your lips part.
"I- Section Commander, you..." unable to form a sentence without stuttering, Mike slowly steps back, giving you some space.
"Relax. You can tell me everything when we get to the Southern Division. Get dressed. We'll leave in ten minutes."
━━━━━━━༺ - ༻━━━━━━━
The journey has been tiring, and after what seems like a whole day, you can finally see the headquarters of the Cadet Corps from afar. You told him about the dream, obviously leaving out the first, more pleasant part. That would have been inappropriate, after all, he is a high-ranking Section Commander and you are just a cadet. However, he had been a bit flirtatious with you in the last few days, which even the Commander had noticed.
"Write down everything you can remember. Leave out no details. If you don't send a report, Erwin will probably send Levi to motivate you." He explains, smiling at the conflicted face you make at the mention of the Captain's name.
"And if I experience something similar to yesterday?" The thought of experiencing something similar, especially in front of strangers, frightens you. You're actually glad that the nightmare you experienced was the last night with the scouts, they'll surely forget about it in the next three years, right?
"Personally, I don't think it's that important, but Erwin would want to know. He's infatuated with everything you do, it seems." Mike explains, shuddering slightly at his own observation. It's true, you think, Erwin has been strangely interested in your mere existence ever since Eld found you. He is obsessed with you. Not in a romantic or sexual way, no, he rather likes the feeling of having found a mysterious thing like you. It pushes him, urges him to find out all your hidden memories, just like Levi, although the little man is not as fascinated by you as his Commander. At least you hope that's the case, as the Captain seems to have a sick fascination with making you suffer. You don't answer Section Commander Mike, instead you sink into your thoughts and let them consume you.
Would it be a stupid idea to choose a division other than the Survey Corps? It would definitely hurt the Commander's ego, pride and hostility. Besides, it would be in your own interest to find out more about your past, and you feel that the Scouts are the only ones who can help you. You don't seem to have any chance of getting into the Military Police Regiment anyway, and the garrison is your only other alternative. To be honest, you are not even sure what they do, you have only heard about them a few times from Commander Erwin. The closer you got to the southern training corps, the more nervous you became. Eren Yeager could be the key to your mind, and you really hope he can unlock that stupid dark hole in your head.
You are greeted by a bald man with an expression that challenges Levi's. He looks from you to Mike, a deep glare in his almost angry face.
"Erwin better have a good reason." He spits and watches you, making you wonder how much he has been told about you.
"What's your name, cadet?" He asks and you instantly freeze at his tone and salute him as Levi taught you. Your right hand, clenched into a fist, moves to your chest while your left automatically rests behind your back.
"Faye, sir." He looks at you suspiciously, glancing at Mike.
"What, no last name? Don't tell me she's like Levi, I don't need two of that bloody midgets." You wonder what he means by that and furrow your brow, noticing that the Captain is only referred to by his first name. Strange indeed, has he lost his memory too?
"Engel. Her name is Faye Engel." Mike makes up his mind in seconds and puts a hand on your shoulder, patting it lightly.
"Forgive her, Commander. Levi hit her pretty hard in training. You won't regret taking her on." He promises and begins to list your skills, or lack thereof.
"She showed promising talent in the ODM, is patient and obedient. Also willing to learn, you won't have much trouble with her." Shadis nods his head in silence, finally letting you relax.
"Alright. Follow me, Cadet Engel. You'll be introduced to your new comrades." Turning to Mike, you smile at him and wave goodbye.
"Thanks for everything, Section Commander! I won't let you down, I promise." His thin lips form a smile and he hums in agreement.
"Don't be afraid to write to me sometime, little angel." With that, the two of you say goodbye and you follow your new commander to a wooden building, a blush on your cheeks and your heart beating against your chest. A simple crush can't hurt, can it?"
Following Shadis into the building, you are greeted by a raucous group of teenagers who make you instantly regret your decision.
"Get down!" The Commander's voice is loud and aggressive, and it's impressive to see all the young soldiers in training stiffen under the demand, their voices shut and their eyes wide open, staring at the Commander and at you.
"This is Cadet Engel. From now on she will be part of your training. Ackerman, show her around." A girl with beautiful black hair and pale skin stands up, her face emotionless, and walks in your direction. A red scarf adorns her neck, and as you get closer you notice that her eyes and nose are slightly different. You believe that her ancestors came from the eastern world, and you look at her beautiful hair with fascination.
"I am Mikasa." Stoic, cold and rather shy, she introduces herself to you, hiding her face in her scarf.
"Faye." You introduce yourself, feeling like a liar for using the made-up name.
"You can join us for lunch." She offers quietly, turning quickly to one of the tables. You follow her without a word, feeling like a puppy on a list with all eyes on you. At first you thought you were the oldest here, but as you approach the row of tables where Mikasa sat just seconds ago, you notice two young men who seem to be closer to your age. The black-haired man introduces them to you as Reiner and Bertolt. Across from them are Jean and Connie. A girl with a great appetite for potatoes waves to you. "This is Sasha." Mikasa adds with a roll of the eyes. At the same table, but at a considerable distance from the others, are two girls; one with a rude expression, the other with a warm smile. Her name is Krista, while the brown-haired older girl's name, to your surprise, is Ymir.
“Armin.” She points at a young, blonde haired boy with blue eyes and rosy cheeks. He appears too innocent to be enlisted in the military, much like the Krista girl. You then turn your head, meeting a pair of green eyes. Breath hitching in your throat, the boy's eyes widen at you. You recognize him from your dreams, though that joyful youthfulness in his face is gone.
"Eren?" You ask in awe as he nods his head.
"I'm sorry, I can't remember your name, but I know you." He says, seemingly deep in thought.
"I'm from Shiganshina." You speak, a sinking feeling in your stomach.
"Maybe we lived in the same neighborhood?" He offers, looking at Armin and Mikasa.
"Right guys?" The blonde just shakes his head in confusion, wondering if he might have seen you before. Mikasa on the other hand just shrugs.
"Your- ugh father. He was my mothers doctor." You explain and take the seat Reiner offers you. It feels so easy for you to spread these beliefs, and yet you don't even know how many of the scenarios you've dreamed are actually true. You figured now would be the best idea to challenge them. He eagerly nods his head, agreeing that he might have met you that way before. If they were not to be true, Eren would ask whatever you ment. While dreams are the door to your memories, they can also inundate you with twisted images of your past. After the hour-long journey, Eren offers you a roll, insisting that you need something to eat. Finally agreeing, you reach your hand across the table, ready to gratefully take it from him. As your fingers touch, something strange happens, something that makes electricity shoot through your body and for a moment you see a strange image before your eyes. Eren, a little older than he is now, is standing on a wall, looking into the distance. Directly behind him a monstrous titan, glowing with heat, flesh burned from his body, leaving nothing but muscles. The colossal titan.
Eren lets go of the roll and gulps at you, as if he had been struck by lightning. At that moment you realise that he must have seen and felt that too, whatever it was.
"Sorry." He breathes and picks up the bread as an awkward silence consumes both of you.
"It slipped." The boy tries to rush an apology and quickly puts it in your hand, grinning uncomfortably. While Connie jokes about Eren being stupidly in love, you feel someone's eyes on you, but the moment you turn your head, that feeling is gone. You had that strange feeling twice before, once with Captain Levi, the other time for a brief moment when Section Commander Hange ruffled your hair. Both times you saw images flash past your mind's eye, but the strange images you saw with Levi have stayed with you the most. It was the day he checked your legs for marks, and whatever he did to you, you didn't like it at all. Intimidating scenarios, situations over which you had no control. It was shameful, unspeakable things you saw, much worse than what you had dreamed about Mike.
You used to think it was the way he dared to touch you, but now you are sure it was something else. And it certainly wasn't lost memories.
#fanfiction#attack on titan#levi ackerman#aot#levi ackerman x reader#shingeki no kyojin#levi#levi x reader#captain levi#levi ackerman fanfiction
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I’m the one who asked about the flashback for Ran! Just sending it back as you asked :) I’m so excited to see what you came up with, I was racking my brain for something and I couldn’t come up with an exact scenario. I just love the way you write his raw emotions and how much he loves the reader, and is tortured by what happened to her, and them suffering through the aftermath even though Mikey’s gone.
I actually found a plot point I missed when reviewing the old parts of the story! FLASHBACK FLASH BACK (you'll get another "flashback" after this one that rounds them out. I'm taking this concept and running with it.)
Hand Her Over (Part 7 - A FLASHBACK): Ran Haitani x Fem!Reader
wc: calculating...
tw: flashback, angst, drinking
masterlis
Hand Her Over Megapost
The cap to the wine bottle comes undone with a loud pop. Ran tilts the glass just so, intent on catching every single drop left in the almost empty bottle. He's not sure when he started drinking again, but on nights like these, he doesn't give a shit.
No, he knows when he started drinking again. He remembers the exact moment the bottle reappeared in the fridge. That morning, he found you standing in the front yard, letting the freezing breeze and snow into the foyer.
"Sleepwalking," Ran had said at the time, excusing your behavior as a machination of your nightmares. He wasn't sure how long you'd been out there or how many times you'd done something like this. But it startled the shit out of him so bad he had to drink to ease his nerves.
Ran waits for some semblance of the dulling effect to take over. He needed to forget how you stood there, feet covered in snow, cheeks flushed bright red, and shivering. You'd been so cold and--
Ran's grip on the bottle falters. He watches in slow motion as the bottle crashes to the floor, resulting in shards of glass skittering about the wine-slicked tile. Ran feels his head loll, and he stares at the mess, wondering how he'd pick it up now. His feet are bare, too.
You come ambling toward the kitchen moments later, your eyes taking in the scene with alarm. But you don't say anything. Well, save a soft "ow".
"Shit," Ran bites out, finally reacting to the scene, spurred into action due to your injury.
And that's how things started, isn't it?
He knew Mikey was no good. He knew things had gone too far. He knew... he fucking knew and yet... He hadn't done shit about it until you'd gotten hurt.
"Piece of glass in your foot?" Ran wonders, still stuck to his stance in the middle of it. You nod. Ran picks his way around the mess, narrowly avoiding a shard himself, and scoops you into his arms. His senses are slowly dulling, but he had enough time to get you some help before he crashed.
The trip to the bedroom is short, and Ran sits you on the bed, whispering, "Don't move." You don't, and he pads toward the bathroom where the first aid kit awaits him. As he rifles through the box, memories come back to him of you doing the same thing: patching up his scrapes, putting ice packs on his bruises, disinfecting the scabs and gross knife cuts...
When had he ever done that for you?
Never.
He reappears with tweezers and a few large band aids, placing them on the floor before sitting down. He spots the offender almost instantly, though it's not large. Ran takes the tweezers and gently pulls the shard free without much difficulty. You whimper in pain, but it's momentary. Fingers work at patching your wound up with two band-aids and then Ran pats your leg with as much affection as he can muster.
"All better." The statement is punctuated with a gentle kiss against your ankle, and when he rises, he sees the fat tears that have rolled down your face. You wipe them away just as Ran feels the effects of the wine take hold. Things are a little hazy, but he has just enough strength to put you back in bed comfortably.
"I'm going to pay for this for the rest of my life, aren't I?" he whispers to no one, his mind rolling with scenarios as he stumbles into the recliner nearby.
The world is swimming but Ran grips the edges of the recliner before easing himself into it while gritting his teeth. All of his life he'd been the one to watch as someone else handled the messes, handled the delinquents, handled the repercussions of his own actions. Hell, until he raised his gun and fired six bullets into Mikey's chest, he hadn't handled shit for himself. Not really.
Bonten's undoing came as quickly as Ran had told Mikey to fuck himself, to which Mikey's haunted face replied, "You wife would know something about that, wouldn't she?"
The squeezing in Ran's chest started just as soon as he pulled the trigger, clickclickclickclick-ing until the gun itself was empty, and then some more for good measure. By the time Rindou had found him slumped against the desk beside a very dead Mikey, Ran had fired seven blanks and sixteen shots.
Money had changed hands, faces disappeared, people forgot who they were and where they lived and who Ran was, the news ran only one cycle talking about Mikey's death. The rest had been lost to time. And yet, here he is, sitting and stuck in that same spiral he'd allowed himself to get stuck in.
All for you.
Ran's eyes slide to his prize, your face turned towards him and eyes blinking in the dim light of the bedroom. "Hey," he whispers softly, trying for a gentle smile. "I'm alright. Get some sleep." You continue to stare at him and Ran knows instinctively that he's drunker than he ought to be.
"I'll get off the bottle soon," he murmurs, looking away in shame. "Promise."
You turn over to the other side and sigh but Ran can't bring himself to promise you anything else. He'd already brought so much pain into your life, and here he was, doing it again.
The image of you standing in front yard catches him off guard again. Maybe you were trying to get away from him. You'd walked so far--
Ran looks back over at you and feels the black hole in his chest yawn. It stings. The thought of you trying to escape from him burns like hell and he can't--
Ran stifles a gasp for air.
He can't bear the thought of you trying to leave. You had every right - you really did - to run away and find someone who would make you happy. He wouldn't blame you if you did want a divorce and wanted to leave his name. He killed for you, but that meant nothing in the face of your happiness.
It meant--
Ran's mind slips.
He'd count it all up to his payment for so many years of shit and terror and chaos. Surely--
The black hole opens a little wider and the world tilts.
You would be happy.
Ran grips the chair with both of his arms, hearing Mikey's voice in his ears.
"But you don't really love her, do you?"
I do, he wants to shout back at the ghost, challenging it.
The wine... it's the wine that's addling his mind. He's not normally like this - not so insecure, not so needy, but--
She'd be better off without you.
Ran jolts up and hurries out of the bedroom, running his hands through his hair and feeling the panic rush through his veins. There's only one way, one way to alleviate this.
This crushing guilt, the shame, the damn agony he feels at having to do all of this over and over and over again. Reliving his worst nightmare is like driving a stake through his skull, and he can't fucking take it anymore.
The front door swings wide and Ran bursts through it, his body propelling him to run. The urge rages through him, and his breath comes out in bursts of white air. If he had asthma like Rindou, he'd already be winded, but he's got tears freezing against his cheeks, the wind biting at his skin, and--
Ran comes to a stop at the end of the street.
What the hell is he doing?
He bends over, trying to catch his breath, and sees himself through his neighbor's eyes. Here is Ran Haitani, in boxer shorts and a t-shirt, running in the dead of winter with no shoes on. And he laughs.
Ran laughs and laughs and laughs.
He laughs so hard he has to sit down in the snow and hold his sides like a maniac.
Suddenly, he understands Sanzu. He understands the way he copes with things. He can't run; not now. Not when you're at home, needing protection. Ran ambles back up the driveway, still chuckling to himself out of disappointment more than humor.
He couldn't even outrun his own problems. A shame, he thinks, shutting the front door and latching it. What a shame I've turned out to be.
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I Forgive You
Draco Malfoy x Male Reader (Part 2)
A/N: I haven't watched Harry Potter in a while, like I said in Part 1 of this, I’m not aware of everything in the HP universe so let me know if I’ve messed something up and I’ll try to fix it. I haven't written in first-person POV in a while so I hope it’s alright 😭
Part 1: I’m Sorry
Y/N’s POV:
The last couple of months felt like something out of a nightmare, never in a hundred years did I think Death-Eaters would storm into our school. Though I was in danger, I couldn’t help but watch as Draco stood on their side, I still think about it now. How he looked so terrified, so worried as Hagrid brought Harry’s limp body to the crowd. I shake my head. I can’t continue to overthink that evening, I’m in safe hands now, I just hope Draco is too.
I walk into the kitchen, deciding to finally grab something to eat. My eyes fall on the leftovers from last night’s dinner. As I grab the container, I hear a ‘swoosh’ as an envelope falls beside me on the counter. The food now left my mind as I reached for the envelope, something about it seemed familiar. I slowly pull the letter out, quickly scanning the writing, I feel my heart sink at the realization. Why would he be writing to me? I prepared myself before properly reading the words.
Y/N L/N,
I’m aware that I’m, no doubt, the last person you would’ve wished this letter was from, but I urgently need to speak to you.
I don’t wish for your forgiveness; just for you to let me explain everything to you. I feel terrible for leaving you with no reason.
I’ll be at The Three Broomsticks tomorrow evening, if you feel comfortable, please come and see me.
Draco Malfoy.
I felt my heart skip a few beats, no matter the pain that boy had put me through, I still missed him dearly. Now I have a chance to see him again, to talk to him again. My mind wanders back to our previous year, I can’t help but smile at the bittersweet memories, flashes of sharing laughs in the halls to quiet cuddles in our dormitory.
I couldn’t help but toss and turn that night, thinking about talking to the blond boy after what felt like so long.
Timeskip
The day had surprisingly gone by fast, 5pm only an hour away now. I decided to start getting ready, I didn't want it to seem like I dressed up for him, but I still wanted to look presentable. I started with a pair of black dress pants, then slipped on a vest over a white button-up and completed the look with a (Colour) tie.
I walk over to the full-length mirror in the corner of my room, flattening the wrinkled pieces of cloth before taking a few minutes to fix my hair. I glance down at my wrist, only 10 minutes left, I let out a deep breath.
Draco’s POV:
This was a stupid idea, I doubt he’ll show up. My eyes look up at the darkening sky, if he were to show up, he’d be here very soon. I look back at the crowding tavern before taking a second to take a breath. I was ready to talk to him, I had to. I look at the (f/c) rose in my hand, it’s not much, but I hope he’ll like it.
Y/N’s POV:
I can’t help but stare at all the colorful lights and buildings, it had been a while since I walked the Hogsmeade streets. Often coming here with Draco for a butterbeer in the colder months. I sadly smile at that, it feels like a lifetime ago.
I take a longer route to The Three Broomsticks, wanting to soak in the views before seeing the blond boy. A wide grin found place on my lips as I looked at all the parts of Hogsmeade I used to hang out with friends in, small memories passing through my mind at the sights.
I stopped my ogling and checked my watch, I didn’t mean to take as long as I was, time seemed to just fly as I walked around. I shake my head, in the back of my head, I knew that I was just trying to prolong seeing him again, I couldn’t bear the thought of falling back in love with him just as I was starting to move on.
I rushed over to the tavern, not wanting him to wait any longer than he already had. I sigh as The Three Broomsticks make its way into my view, my eyes search around the entrance, stopping on a well-known head of blond hair. I take a second to look over him, his shaking hands holding a (f/c) rose. I feel my heart beat a little faster and my lips tugging up as I start to approach him, his pale eyes lighting up as they see me. Merlin, he was beautiful.
Draco’s POV:
The sound of a familiar pair of footsteps starts to grow louder, I gaze up at the sound, my eyes locking with his. ‘Wow’ The grin on his face making my cheeks flush. He was somehow even more handsome than I remember him being.
Y/N’s POV:
“Good evening, Draco'' I nodded my head towards him, his face reddening. He looks me up and down before opening his mouth, a mix of incomprehensible words tumbling out. “Pardon?” I quietly chuckled. “I-I’msosorrythatIleftyouthewayIdid-” “Woah, woah, slow down.” I smile at the nervous boy in front of me, taking his hand and rubbing my thumb over his fingers like I used to when we were together. “Take it slow, alright?” His body starts to loosen. “I’m here to listen.”
The color on his cheeks starts to deepen as he nods, quickly looking away as he takes a few breaths. He turns back towards me and starts.
Draco’s POV:
I feel my stomach flutter and my knees weaken at his touch, Merlin, I can't focus on anything but his trailing fingers. My head shoots to the side. How am I supposed to talk to him when I can feel my heart beating in my throat? My lungs let out shaky breaths before I ready myself to talk to him.
“I know I should’ve told you back then, and it was foolish of me not to,” I start. “I just didn’t know how to tell you everything and how you would’ve reacted to hearing it. I trusted you dearly, but I was still afraid you’d hate me and see me as a monster for what I had been forced into.” I feel my voice waver and pause for a second, continuing after I collect myself. My eyes quickly glanced into his own, watching as they pinched in understanding.
“I knew that if we were close, you wouldn’t be safe. Not with everything going on, not with all the eyes on me. I meant it when I said I did it for your safety, I couldn’t stand the thought of losing you forever because I was too selfish to let you go first.” A long sigh leaves my lungs. “I- I just wanted to keep you out of everything, avoid putting you through the terrors I had seen.”
“I’m so sorry I hadn’t told you back then, I truly wanted to, I hope you can forgive me.”
I stop, a deep breath bringing my speech to an end. I yelped as I was pulled into an embrace, Y/N’s coarse hands rubbing circles against my back. My eyes start to water ‘Merlin, how I missed this, him.’ I dug my head into his shoulder, the cloth soaking up my tears as his cologne filled my mind.
Y/N’s POV:
I couldn’t stand to see him like that, so conflicted, like he was last year. His eyes started to well with tears, and I just couldn’t resist pulling him into me, holding him like I always used to. My hands rubbed along his back as his face fell onto my shoulder, I loved holding him like this. My hand reaches for his cheek, pulling it up to see his face, his eyes hazily glancing back up at me.
“Of course I forgive you, Draco; there’s nothing you could ever do to make me feel even the slightest bit of hatred for you.”
“I- Really? You forgive me after all that happened.”
“Yes, if I’m being honest, there is not a waking moment when you are not on my mind; you haunt my every thought and dream. I couldn’t stand the idea of losing you now that I have you again.”
“Y/N”
“Yes, Draco?”
“Do you think we could try this again? Us? I won’t let anything come between us now.”
“I’d love to, Dear.”
Draco’s POV:
I can’t help but swoon at the name, I’m so lucky to have him back. All those months of planning and fear were worth it in the end; I was in his arms, and he had no intent on letting go. As I now become more aware of my surroundings, I feel the rose I had paid so little attention to in my hands, the couple stray thorns pricking me.
I carefully back away from his chest, instead standing half-an-arm's length apart from him. His hands now resting on my lower as I bring the rose up to his view. His smile widens impossibly larger at the flower, freeing his hand and grabbing the (f/c) rose before placing a small kiss against my forehead “You remembered” I meekly nod “You haven't left my mind either.”
“Since we’re already here, what do you say we make the most of it and hang out like we used to?” My eyes light up as I look up at that. “You asking me out on a date?” I giggle. “You said it, not me.” I accept the offer, and he takes my hand and brings me into the tavern we were standing in front of. “Butterbeers on me.” He grins before opening the doors.
Y/N’s POV:
It had been a couple hours, but it felt so much longer. Being able to talk to him like this again, treat him like my lover again, I couldn’t stop the smile that forced its way onto my face. My eyes wandered his frame, I took in everything I had been missing for the past few months. His silky blond locks to his inviting grey eyes, to the dust of red on his pale cheeks, to the unique marks littered amongst his skin, and finally landing on his plump lips. He was truly gorgeous.
He must’ve noticed me staring, because his ears also start to blush, I place a hand on his thigh, moving my face towards his. His eyes flutter closed as we share a long awaited kiss.
Draco’s POV:
My heart nearly beats out of my chest at the connection; it was everything I hoped for, the kiss just as loving as it used to be. I snaked my arms around his neck, pulling him closer. His hands grabbed my waist before breaking away. “It’s getting late; would you like to come home with me?” His hand reaches for my own, fingers dancing upon my palms.
“I’d love to.”
A/N: This somehow ended up being 3x the length of Part 1, idk how I did it. I hope it’s comprehensible, I haven't proof-read it. Thank you to @sotvs-luv for requesting the part 2 to this. (I’m unsure if you wanted to be tagged so if not, let me know and I’ll take it out!)
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- Written by Owner 1
#draco x reader#dracoxreader#dracomalfoyxreader#dracomalfoy x reader#dracomalfoyxmalereader#draco malfoy x reader#draco malfoy x male reader#malexmale#male reader#malereader#xmalereader#hpxreader#hpxmalereader#harrypotterxreader#harrypotterxmalereader#dracoxmalereader#draco x male reader#male x male reader#male characters x male reader#male character x male reader#male reader x male character#x male reader#malexmalereader#male x male#harry potter x reader#harry potter x male reader#hp x male reader#hp x reader#biggestxsimps
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Let The Light In
Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader
Summary: "It waits and then you remember again. Then again. Then again. Then again. Linear time is a gift given to those with better luck." - Itzá by Ríos de la Luz
Warnings: nightmares, discussions of SLC, PTSD symptoms, talks of Jane and Adam, learning to live again
You jolt awake, pushing up on your elbows as your chest heaves. You swing your legs off the side of the bed and ground yourself in the cold floor of your bedroom as uncontrollable gasps hiccup in your throat. Thunder shakes the house, but it sounds more like a bomb. Bill's tripwire bombs. The smoke bomb the Fireflies tossed under your feet before they ripped Ellie away from you. The bomb that killed Jane. You press a trembling hand to your chest, and tears sting your eyes. It was so real.
It's been a month since you returned from Salt Lake City, and you're still putting the pieces together. They took her while you were unconscious, probably because they realized you couldn't be trusted to let her go while you could fight back. You reasoned that's why you and Joel ended up with concussions. A wounded dog is easier to kill. You woke up without Joel for the first time in a year. You couldn't see or hear him. You didn't even know if he was alive until a Firefly came and escorted you to his hospital room on the opposite side of the abandoned wing.
"Honey," he murmured into your hair as he hugged you. You could get ten more concussions and never forget how he sounded when he said the pet name. When you pulled away from him, he looked behind you as if Ellie would be standing right there. "Where's Ellie?"
"What?" You asked. "I thought she was with you."
"I thought she was with you." This is where things get blurry. You remember panic and rage making your head swim. You remember Marlene talking to you and telling you about the procedure. You remember Joel being pushed to the floor before dejectedly begging for her life. You and Joel were forced out of the wing at some point, a Firefly pressing a rifle into the base of your neck as you walked down the stairs. Joel stopped, and you felt his muscles twitching before he actually turned. A shot was fired, and your memory ends like a tape being recorded over.
It comes back in flashes, if at all. Pulling ammunition and weapons from the bodies of Fireflies. You and Joel going shot for shot, not hesitating to shoot when you saw a flicker of movement. The dingy murals in the children's ward depicting animals and sunshine as you walked past with blood soaking the soles of your boots. Ellie. Her unconscious body burdened with wires and IVs. The nurses handled her like a science experiment instead of a child. Someone shot the doctor. Was it you or Joel? Was it both?
"Please." Marlene.
You jump and turn around like she'll be right behind you, bleeding out on the floor, but there's nothing. Just the rumpled sheets and the empty space where Joel should be. You wipe your tears, suddenly all too aware of how alone you are, and walk down the hallway to search for him. Lightning streaks through the sky, and the rain pounds harder against your windows, but you ignore it. You fight the hammering in your chest and the blood you imagine soaking the carpet with every step until you’re in front of Ellie's door.
You calm down enough to quietly turn the doorknob and peek your head in her room. She's safe and tucked into bed just as she was when you last checked on her. Her lamp casts a dim glow across her features, and you're able to count her breaths as she sleeps. She twitches every so often as she battles her own nightmares, and it takes everything in you to not cross the threshold and smooth her hair and tell her she's okay. She's safe. You'd never let anything happen to her. That's why you're here, right? Sobbing in the dark after a few claps of thunder because you refuse to let anything or anyone touch her. You count twenty of her inhales and exhales before you can peel away from the sight of her and move downstairs.
Joel's right where you expect him to be, sitting on the couch, facing the front door, with a gun in his hand. Watch schedule's been hard to break. You fall asleep before Joel and often wake up in the middle of the night, around the time he'd wake you for second watch. Even if you somehow sleep longer than usual, nightmares force you awake until you have no choice but to be conscious. Ellie would also never admit it, but she sleeps through the night when she knows someone is up keeping watch. More than once, you've noticed her resting peacefully after Joel mentions something about staying awake as she climbs the stairs to go to bed.
"Hey," Joel mumbles once he catches sight of you, adjusting his grip on his gun like he's trying to hide it. "You okay?"
"Nightmare." You admit as you settle on the opposite side of the couch. He flips the safety and glances at the door and through the windows again before facing you. His eyes are heavy with fatigue, and his left leg is elevated on the coffee table in front of him. The rain must be hurting his knee, you think.
"How bad?"
"'S a miracle I didn't wake up screaming." You say, and he grimaces. He ejects the magazine from the gun and sets it on the table, disarming himself and reaching for you all in one motion. He pulls you into his side, his warm arm welcomes your cold body, and kisses your temple once you rest against him. It's been weird learning how to be out in the open with Joel. You're so used to rushed kisses and sworn secrets. It's nice to lean into him in public or kiss him goodbye before patrol, but it also feels like you're two baby deer oblivious to whatever rifle is pointed in your direction. Even in private, you catch yourself looking over your shoulder before relaxing into his touch.
"D'you wanna talk bout it?" Joel asks gently, and you shake your head.
"It's always the same."
"Jane?" He asks, and your first instinct is to say no because you're not sure. It's been fifteen years since you lost Jane, sixteen since Adam. Every night for sixteen years, you've been plagued with memories of a misplaced bite, a single gunshot, a shallow, small grave outside the QZ. You scan what you remember of your nightmare, and, of course, you catch glimpses of them. You see Adam's kind eyes and hear Jane's voice, but there's overlap: all from the hospital, all surrounding Ellie.
"Hey," Joel snaps you out of your thoughts, shifting you in his arms so he can look at your face. You blink and look around like you forgot where you were before settling on Joel's worried eyes again. "Talk to me."
"We need to be more honest with each other if we're gonna keep doing... whatever it is we're doing," the memory of Adam mumbling into your hair rings in your ears. "No more secrets."
No more secrets.
"I, uh... I had a nightmare about the Fireflies," you say. "About Ellie." He takes a deep breath, and his lips press into a thin line. For half a second, you wonder if he regrets pushing you to talk.
"Yeah, I get 'em too." He says with alarming honesty, and you nod. The pitter-patter of rain fills the silence between you as you think about what to say to the only person in the world who knows the horrors you committed that day.
"They're not... It's not," you struggle. "The memories aren't altogether like they're out of order or something. And I've been trying to figure them out, but I just can't."
"What d'you remember?" He asks, and you freeze because you know what you remember. You know you remember ruthlessly unloading round after round like it would be enough to pierce the earth and bring your daughter back. You know you remember taking Ellie from Joel as the car idled in the garage and flinching because you swore her weight was Jane's instead. You know you remember the dead look in his eyes after he shot a wounded Marlene. She wasn't a threat then. She wasn't holding a knife to his throat or even capable of raising her weapon. She wasn't a threat, but then again, how many of the Fireflies weren't, and you still killed them? Joel grabs your hand and squeezes. "I can take it."
The weight of remembrance is heavy on your shoulders. You think maybe it always will be. But now, you don't have to carry it alone because here is this man, this terrifying mountain of a man, who's asking you to give him some of the weight. Who's pleading with you to let him handle some of the burden. Who's willing to take it not because he doesn't trust you to handle it but because he can see how it drags you down. So, you give it to him. You hand him memories worthy of another sixteen years of screaming through the night, and he takes them with grace, holding your hand the whole time.
He fills in the gaps for you with his memories, some brutal enough to make your stomach turn and others make you want to cry. He says you wouldn't put Ellie down once you got in the car, that you crawled into the backseat with her head in your lap, and wouldn't let him touch either of you. Your hands shook as you smoothed her hair down and checked that her arm wasn't still bleeding even though the prick from the IV wouldn't end up scarring her. Even though he'd watched you stab a man three times your size with the hands of a surgeon. He says you talk about her in your sleep as he drove back to Jackson.
"I didn't know what to do. I still don't," he shakes his head, disappointed in himself. "Figured I'd just... leave you alone till you were ready to talk bout it."
"Is that part of the reason why you don't come up to bed with me?" You ask, and a muscle in his jaw jumps.
"I'm not good at stuff like this, but I'm good at this. I'm good at keepin' y'all safe."
"Joel, I don't want a guard dog," you lean in to make sure he sees the truth of your words spelled out on your face. "I want you." The wrinkle between his brows deepens, and you have to resist the urge to smooth it away with your thumb. He swallows hard and looks at you, lost.
"I don't know how to be anythin' else." He confesses quietly. Your heart aches, and your throat feels raw as you push up on your knees and take his face in your hands. He doesn't flinch.
"I don't think I do either," you say. "But maybe we can learn. If not for each other, then, at least, for her." He nods in your hands and rests his forehead against yours.
"For her."
The habits will take months, maybe even years, to break. You'll have to remind yourself to stop reaching for a weapon every time a voice gets too loud. Joel will have to learn to stop keeping things to himself. You'll go through growing pains and arguments and long nights. But, eventually, you'll learn how to be a civilian again. You’ll learn to be something other than a weapon. You’ll learn to be a mom again.
For her.
Tag list (she’s back baby): @abbyhaslongshorts @moonandseatgr-yngf @kiwiharrykiwi @sumsworldz @myloveistoolittle
#when you’re lost in the darkness#look for the light#joel miller#joel miller series#joel miller the last of us#joel tlou#the last of us series#the last of us x reader#joel miller x reader#joel miller x fem!reader#joel miller x f!reader#joel and ellie#platonic ellie williams
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The Emperor of Magic | Part 4
Summary: The emperor manages to get inside one of the crow’s minds, but he isn't able to hold off against her for very long. It begins to compromise the rest of them.
Warning: +18 Warning, swearing, crows forced to succumb to past traumatic memories/nightmares, eyes of crows turning black as well as fingertips
Pairing: Kaz Brekker x Fem!Reader
Type: Series
Word Count: 2.3k (sorry it’s short)
Series Masterlist
Author’s Note: The reader’s dialogue is italicized because she actually doesn’t verbally speak to the crows, only through their thoughts. Also, past memories are written in italicized for better distinction between what is past and what is present.
Upon hearing that name, Kaz Brekker felt a familiar cord being struck in the deep and dark crevice of his heart. As that name was a painful reminder of who he once was and what he was forced to leave behind. He often reminds himself that that person is dead and he is all that remains.
With his head hanging low, Kay’s gaze shifted upwards to glare at the prisoner with hooded eyes. His jaw was locked and his hands clenched together into tight fists at his sides. He was seething with anger.
“How...” Kaz stopped himself in order to regain his composure. “How do you know that name?”
He said this out loud, which only caused slight confusion amongst the crows. They didn’t seem to understand what he was asking, but they recognized that he was staring directly at the fugitive. They didn’t quite understand what was happening.
His question went completely unanswered. The emperor of magic simply stood there facing his general direction. He seemed to narrow his eyes at her, mentally wondering if there was a smirk plastered on her face underneath the bag over her head. He wouldn’t brush it off.
And so he repeated himself. “I said...how do you know that name?”
More silence.
Without thinking, Kaz went to grab the gun at his side. He raised it up and instantly fired a shot, which caused a short bout of mayhem between his crows at his recklessness. They called out his name in utter shock, having been taken away by his action.
The gun did exactly what you’d expect a gun to do rightly; it fired a bullet that should have lodged itself between her eyes. However, the bullet stopped directly in front of her face and dropped to the ground. He carelessly threw the gun away.
“Fuck,” Kaz cursed under his breathe. He walked away momentarily as if trying to find a way to vent his anger.
“What the hell is happening?” Jesper demanded an explanation.
“She’s messing with my head,” Kaz said slowly. He tried to shake the feeling he felt of her looming presence, but she wouldn’t leave him alone. She had infiltrated his memories having just discovered his name. “I can feel it,” Kaz explained further.
“But how?” Inej questioned.
“I don't know!” Kaz almost lost his temper with how loud those words came out. “I don’t know how she got into my head, but she knows my name.”
All of the sudden, Kaz saw brief flashes of his memories from the past. He was hunched over his desk, looking over the plans nearly three years ago. He watched his former self take hold of the plans and crumple them up. He discarded them.
Out of instinct, Kaz squeezed his eyes shut tightly in hopes of blocking her out of his mind. He quickly shook the memory out of his line of vision. It didn’t take long for him to realize that she had been the one to activate that memory.
He began pacing back and forth. He could feel the strong sense of fear taking over his demeanor, feeling at a total loss of control over his thoughts and memories. He was shown another memory of himself in his office. He heard the familiar voice of Jesper and Inej talking to him, but his former self didn’t look up.
Upon being shown that particular memory, Kaz was able to put the pieces together. When he turned his body to face the prisoner, he saw that she was no longer looking towards him, but rather, with her head slightly lowered. He narrowed his eyes at her odd demeanor.
“Boss,” Jesper watched Kaz carefully. “What you doing?”
“She’s looking for something,” Kaz spoke mostly to himself.
“What?” Wylan perked up. “I-In your head?”
“Yes,” Kaz nodded.
“How do you know for that she’s looking for something?” Nina added.
“Because she’s silent,” Kaz examined. He only knew this because he too also grew silent when he was thinking hard about something. “She’s focusing,” Kaz noted.
For a brief moment, Kaz wondered if it was a coincidence that he saw himself in her mannerism. He studied her carefully as if she was a newfound species he had just discovered. He wondered what she could possibly be after.
“What is she looking for?” Matthias asked him.
A beat of silence was all that followed. One particular memory came flooding back to Kaz’s mind; the one where he finally chose to present his grand scheme to the rest of the crows. In the memory, the voices of the crows were quick muffled as if they were struggling to become clear. His former self hadn’t looked up at them just yet as they filed into the room.
Finally, a wave of realization overcame his features. His shoulders dropped in defeat and his face went blank. He could practically hear the gears turning in her head as she tried to make out who belonged to those voices. Now Kaz realized what she was searching for.
“It’s you,” Kaz breathed in realization. “She’s looking for all of you in my memories.”
And that instantly became his biggest mistake. For this job, he recruited his most trusted companions; the ones he had worked with in the past and the ones he knew he could rely on to get any job done that was thrown their way. Now he had put them in harms way.
He tried so hard to block that memory out of his mind for the pure sake of his crew. It felt like he was pushing his shoulder against a solid door in attempts to keep an intruder out. He was using all his mental strength to keep her out, but it wasn't going to be enough. The door cracked open.
The blurry images of the memory came into his line of vision. He saw the heist’s plans laid out in front of him. Those distant voices that had once sounded rather foggy had now grown into something clearer. Much to his surprise, Kaz’s memory of himself was the first to speak in a normal voice that could be understood.
“The person we are breaking out of the court isn’t just an ordinary scientist this time,” Kaz’s former self placed his hands on the table to lean forward in his place. “They aren't Grisha, but they are more powerful than them.”
“More powerful than Grisha?” Wylan wondered out loud. He furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. “Is that even possible?” Wylan almost scoffed in the memory.
In that exact moment, Kaz was ripped out of that particular memory. His eyes snapped open. He quickly redirected his attention towards the youngest member of the crew who stood not too far away from. He was compromised at this point.
“Wylan Van Eck,” the emperor of magic’s demonic voice sounded. “The demolitions expert.”
Both Wylan and Kaz heard that demonic voice speaking in the back of their minds. And it frightened them both terribly.
“G-Guys,” Wylan stuttered. He had just glanced down at his hands to see that his fingertips had begun to grow black “W-What’s happening to me?” Wylan’s voice quivered in fear.
“Wylan,” Jesper called out desperately.
But there wasn’t enough time to save him. His eyes were overcome with a wave of darkness that turned them pitch black. His body succumbed to the darkness taking over which resulted in him collapsing to the ground. His mind began to wander through the abyss of his worst nightmares. And there was no telling when he’d come out.
From there, it all came shattering down around them. It was a chain reaction. For the crows had grown to be somewhat like a spiderweb; each of them were connected to one another in some way or another. Returning to the memory only showed Wylan turning to face Jesper who stood directly beside him.
“So remind me why we are breaking them out?” Jesper from the past asked almost sarcastically because it didn’t seem like a very appealing heist to him.
“Because she is worth nearly 100 million kruge,” Kaz shut him down in the memory.
By this point, Jesper had abandoned his post to hurry towards Wylan’s body. He dropped down to his knees, gathering the boy into his arms for comfort. He tried to wake him up by desperate tapping his cheek and calling out his name. But nothing changed.
“Wake up, please.” Jesper begged. He felt tears pricking the corners of his eyes. “Please Wylan. Wake up.”
“Jesper Fahey,” the demonic voice resounded once again. He perked up upon hearing his own name in the depths of his mind. He was slow to turn towards the prisoner. “The sharpshooter,” the voice added.
“What the hell do you want with us?!” Jesper was seething with anger. He quickly rose to his feet and proceeded to reach for the guns at his sides. He pointed one of his guns directly at her face.
Though, in reality, Jesper knew that his precious guns would be no match against the emperor of magic. He had seen firsthand his boss fire a single round at her and she completely deflected it without flinching. So his eyes shifted towards the only person they all believed could take her down.
Without much warning, Jesper’s eyes grew black just like Wylan’s had done not two minutes earlier. His mind became clouded with memories from his past. He flinched at the pain it brought him. His arm eventually fell at his side and his body dropped to the ground.
The familiar voices from the memory came flooding back into Kaz’s head. He had to watch Jesper turn his attention to Nina who stood beside him. She spoke up next.
“Where is she contained?” Nina asked, glancing back down at the map.
In the background, Nina’s eyes had only widened in horror upon seeing two crows collapse to the ground. She raised her hands to stop whatever madness was ensuring since she was always reminded that she was the only one who might come close to stopping her. All she needed to do was stop her heart.
“Nina Zenik,” the deep voice spoke to her. Nina’s own heart dropped. “The heartrender.”
Out of instinct, Nina looked towards the one person who always kept her grounded. She knew what was going to happen next. She reached out for him only to see the tips of her fingers growing black in color. Her once beautiful green eyes changed to this pitch black shade of horror.
The strong heartrender stumbled forward for she was unable to keep herself standing up anymore. Before Nina was able to fall to the ground, Matthias was able to catch her in his strong arms. He lowered her to the ground slowly just as she slipped past the darkness.
The memory returned once again.
“She’d be kept here,” Matthias pointed to the center of the map where the White Island stood. “In the dungeons to be specific,” Matthias added.
In the memory, Nina’s former self had shifted her attention to the great fjerdan who stood beside her. He knew the court better than anyone in the room. The change shifted to compromise the next victim.
“Matthias Helvar,” the demon breathed. “The druskelle.”
Upon hearing his name, Matthias lifted his head to look directly at the emperor standing before him. He felt his own jaw lock into place. His blood began to boil in anger. His hands clenched into tight fists as he held the body of the woman he loved dearly.
“Demon,” Matthias hissed. “Go back to hell.”
Out of pure anger and resentment, Matthias stood to his feet with every intention of putting one final stop to the emperor. But he too fell under fatigue. He began to loose his footing, dropping one knee to the ground. He glanced towards one of the last two crows remaining. He tried to hold himself up and be strong for as long as possible. His eyes became black and his body tumbled to the ground.
In utter shock and horror, Kaz was forced to watch his four closest friends succumb to the darkness. He glanced at each of their unconscious bodies, feeling the panic and fear growing stronger with each passing second. He didn’t know what to do; he wasn’t in control anymore.
His heart stopped for a second as he heard a sweet familiar voice from that same memory resound in the back of his mind.
“But that means...” Inej’s voice trailed off in the memory. She was one of the few who knew exactly who he was talking about. “The Emperor is real?” Inej asked horrified.
“Yes, Inej Ghafa.” She turned to face the voice who spoke to her in her mind. “I am very much real.”
Instinctively, Inej had to shifted her body to face towards Kaz. She held onto the last sliver of hope that he’d be able to save her and save them all. She had this panicked look on her face that he will never forget as he had never seen her look more terrified in her life.
This was the final straw for him.
“Wait!” Kaz begged for the first time in his life.
Without hesitation, Kaz broke into a full run towards the emperor. He had every intention of putting a stop to her schemes because she had passed a line by messing with his crows. Unbeknownst to him, Inej had just fallen to the ground behind him. She slipped past the veil. He raised his cane above his head, fully intending to bash her head in.
But right as Kaz brought his cane towering down, his body fell through black clouds. The darkness had taken hold of his senses, which rendered his body completely useless in reality. When Kaz lifted his head to get a feel of his unknown surroundings, he was met with his worst nightmare staring directly at him.
OOOH!!!! Only one more chapter to go! What are everyone’s thoughts? What do you think is gonna happen in the last chapter???
TAGLIST:
@d34drapunzel @adorawritesalot @vixythepixie @theghostofshadows @lonelywitchv2 @arcadialine @zeeader @cleverzonkwombatsludge @shara-ne @iloveinej @ireallydontcareanymorebrooo @mystic-mara @missymisha @tremendoushearttaco @home-of-disaster @gh0stgirl333 @harrydimples @marina468 @phoenix666stuff @grippleback-galaxy @mariar31
#Kaz Brekker#kaz brekker angst#kaz brekker x you#kaz brekker x reader#kaz brekker x inej ghafa#kaz brekker series#six of crows#nina zenik#inej ghafa#matthias helvar#jesper fahey#wylan van eck
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broken pieces fit together
[2.7k words] [rated: teen+] [post-6x10 coda that also scraps 6x11 spoilers for parts, sorry] [hurt/comfort cuddling getting together fic]
[read on ao3]
It’s the middle of the night - the kind of late where it might actually be early, and some of the light bleeding in through the kitchen window has more to do with the sun creeping up towards the horizon than it does with just light pollution in the city.
Eddie had stopped seeing this time of the night for a while. He got lucky. He still remembers, though, and it settles in his body like a kind of muscle memory. He’s well-acquainted with the ache in his skull that spreads out from his eyes, the way fatigue spreads through every one of his limbs. He’s got a glass of water sitting on the counter, and he keeps thinking about trying to make hot cocoa, but he can barely manage to make his fingers twitch to try and grab a pan. Instead, the images from his nightmares keep flashing behind his eyelids every time he manages to squeeze them shut, and it’s all he can do to stay upright.
He’s so, so tired, but so tense he can barely move, and he feels like there’s gravel in his throat that he can’t seem to swallow.
“Eddie?” A tired, familiar voice calls out behind him.
For two very separate reasons, Eddie startles. He shakes off his fatigue enough to turn around and cross the room, and he only stops once he’s within arm’s reach of Buck, just in case. He reaches out as if he might steady him, but hesitates with his palms hovering over the bare skin of Buck’s biceps.
“What are you doing up?” Eddie asks him quietly, eyes checking over Buck’s body for any unfamiliar signs of further damage - catching only briefly on the new scar that spreads over his chest.
“Woke up and you were gone,” Buck mumbles, scrubbing at one of his eyes with the heel of his hand. “I got - I don’t know, just- I don’t wanna say nervous.”
Eddie shakes his head just slightly, and finally reaches out to wrap his fingers around Buck’s right elbow, far away from the scar. “You shouldn’t be out of bed. You should be resting.”
“I can walk, Eddie,” Buck grumbles - but as Eddie steers him back towards the bedroom, he follows the touch easily.
“I know that, but you still shouldn’t be straining yourself.”
“Don’t really think stumbling into your kitchen counts as straining myself.”
They make it back to the bed, and Buck sits down, as slowly and gently as he’s able. Eddie puts an arm behind him and supports him as he lays back against the pillows. Then he goes around to the other side of the bed to climb in.
It’s a new arrangement, and one they haven’t actually talked about out loud. Obviously Buck couldn’t sleep on the couch right now - and Buck couldn’t seem to stand the idea of Eddie doing it either, so sharing the bed had been the unspoken compromise.
Buck hasn’t really said much about it, but it’s starting to become clear that he had some kind of dream in the coma that he hasn’t managed to shake off completely. Every time he wakes up now, Eddie can see the way his eyes seek out whoever else is in the room, the way they look for familiar landmarks that he can use to ground himself.
Sometimes Eddie wonders if that’s why Buck hadn’t ended up at Chim and Maddie’s new place, and had instead ended up here, at the Diaz house. The loft’s stairs had made it out of the question until Buck was further along in his recovery, but otherwise Eddie had less space than Bobby and Athena or Chim and Maddie - but here Buck is, all the same, sharing Eddie’s bedroom.
All Eddie really knows is that he’s grateful. It soothes him more than he can put into words to have Buck here and close. Even if sometimes the nightmares do still push Eddie out of bed, it still helps to be able to wake up, roll onto his side, and to see Buck lying there next to him, breathing deeply.
Right now, as Eddie does that very thing, he finds Buck looking back at him.
“You don’t have to get out of bed when you have a nightmare, you know,” Buck whispers.
Eddie huffs out through his nose and turns properly onto his side, tucking a hand under his pillow. “I was trying not to wake you up.”
Buck huffs out a little breath through his nose. “That’s sweet and all, Eds, but I’ve been sleeping like shit anyways. I’d rather-” Pausing, Buck flicks his eyes up to the ceiling. He opens his mouth, though, and closes it again, and shakes his head.
“You’d rather me wake you up than you wake up alone?” Eddie finishes softly - as gently as he can make his mouth take shape around the words, trying to sand off any edges that might cut or puncture.
Sighing, Buck nods, just one simple move that tucks his chin down towards his chest. “Yeah. Sorry.”
Reaching over with his free hand, Eddie hooks two of his fingers over Buck’s palm, right where it’s resting open on the blankets. “I don’t know what it is that’s - you don’t have to tell me, you know. Not until you want to. But I don’t really want you out of my sight right now either, Buck.”
Another little huff - the closest thing to a laugh that Buck seems able to manage for now. “Think you and Bobby and everybody else would be happiest if you could just set me up in a glass case and keep an eye on me for a little bit.” Buck’s hand twitches a little, then he shifts so he can tangle his fingers with Eddie’s properly, and squeeze tight. “The worst part right now is, I don’t know if I’d mind.”
Nudging closer on the bed, as close as he can get without touching, Eddie pulls Buck’s hand up and wraps his other hand around it, too, curling up around it, fighting against the desperation he feels in every cell of his body to press his lips to Buck’s knuckles or the point of his shoulder. “I’m right here. And I’m not going anywhere. We’re all in this with you.”
He tilts his head back up and finds that Buck is looking down at him, right down at his face rather than the awkward curve of his spine or even where their hands are interlocked.
“Eddie, what was your nightmare about?” Buck asks quietly.
Unable to stop it, Eddie laughs, dark and a little strangled. “What do you think? You- I don’t have to say it, Buck, we both know.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t do that,” Eddie urges, shifting around so he can move one hand up to Buck’s chin, nudging it towards him with just one press of his index finger. “Don’t apologize. You weren’t being reckless, we both took all the precautions, it just- happened. You got struck by lightning.” His tone edges into something desperate, and he squeezes at Buck’s hand like it’ll help emphasize his point. “I saw you dangling there - and I don’t think I can ever unsee it. I felt responsible, and I couldn’t help you, and then I couldn’t even do compressions until we got to the hospital, but - please don’t blame yourself. I’m just-”
But there, Eddie stops, because any single word he could say falls short.
He isn’t just happy or relieved or grateful or glad. He can’t make a single one of those words come out. Instead, finally, he manages to edge out, through the grip his own emotions have on his windpipe, “I don’t even know what I would have done, if you weren’t- If anything had happened to you.”
“You-” Buck pauses, and blinks at Eddie. “You sound like how I felt, when you got shot.”
“If you felt like this, I don’t know how you did it,” Eddie admits.
This time when Buck laughs, it’s a little more like a wheeze - a little more sound than the huff. “I still don’t know how I did it. I didn’t even feel like I was - functioning. But I had to be.”
Those days in the hospital, haunting the waiting room waiting for news and feeling like a hollowed out shell - Eddie remembers them well. If Buck really felt like that-
“I’m sorry I couldn’t talk about it,” Eddie says, and he sounds like he’s choking back tears, probably because he is.
“I’m sorry I made you feel like that, too.”
Eddie shakes his head. “Still isn’t your fault.”
“Still wish I could do something about it.”
“You’re here,” And that - now, out of sheer relief, and the way it’s sweeping through his body all over again, Eddie does pick Buck’s hand up, and he avoids kissing his knuckles only by pressing them against his cheek instead - by feeling the warmth of Buck’s skin pressed just there against his face, just by the corner of his mouth. “You’re alive , Buck. You’re doing plenty.”
“I felt like-” Buck can’t shift much, on the bed, but he turns his hand and brushes his knuckles more deliberately against Eddie’s cheek, down towards the line of his jaw. “Just the fact that you let me take care of you helped me so much. And you couldn’t even - you kept apologizing for not being able to do things on your own, and every single thing you let me do for you, every thing I got to help with, felt like a gift, because you were still here to ask me for it.”
Eddie nods, just once, and swallows. “I know the feeling.”
“Eddie…” But Buck trails off there, and he doesn’t say anything else.
Silence stretches out between them, but their eyes stay locked, and Buck’s fingers are brushing restlessly over the shape of Eddie’s ear.
“I love you,” Eddie says finally, shifting his grip down to Buck’s wrist, thumb pressed against his pulse. “I don’t know that I’ve ever - said it in those exact words, but I should have. When I was telling you about the will or thanking you for helping me out or just - any time you’re over here, I should have said it. I’ve said it fifty different ways without ever telling you that, and it was all I could think about when we didn’t know if you were gonna wake up.”
“I love you, too,” Buck says - and now that his hand is free, he presses his fingers gently against the mole just below Eddie’s eye. “No matter what, Eddie. I love you, and I love Chris, and I’m so - I’m so glad that I have you in my life, and I’m sorry if any of my stupid - soul searching happiness bullshit made you feel like that wasn’t true.”
That actually makes Eddie smile, a real genuine smile for the first time since he sent Buck up that ladder. “Buck, c’mon. I knew it wasn’t about that.”
“I’m not-” Buck shakes his head, and moves both his hands, reaching them over towards Eddie. “Can you help me turn, please? I need to be facing you for this, I have to do it right.”
He doesn’t even try to ask exactly what it is that Buck’s doing, or trying to do. Instead, he nudges an arm under Buck’s waist and grabs onto one of his hands, and pulls him up onto his side, holding his breath as he tries to make the movement as smooth as possible. Buck exhales with him, once they’re both settled - but suddenly, they’re almost nose to nose. Eddie’s arm is still tucked under Buck’s side, and Buck doesn’t startle or pull away, he just settles there, his hand still holding tightly onto Eddie’s, keeping him close.
“Hi,” Buck says softly.
“Hi,” Eddie says back, just a little bit breathless.
“What I realized isn’t just that I was already happy in general or that I was implying something by saying that I wasn’t, that some nebulous thing was missing. It was-” Buck pauses, and bites at his lip for a moment. “I had this dream where everything in my life was different. And I had never been a firefighter, so we were never partners. I never worked at the 118. And in some ways it was this - picture perfect postcard life, but I felt sick to my stomach, because it was wrong - it was so wrong, and I woke up and realized that I don’t want any of that. I don’t want what I thought life would be like or might be like - I want to feel secure where I already am. I’m not gonna be happy unless it’s here - with you, and Chris - and with the rest of the 118, too, because they’re my family, but my whole - the thing that was missing wasn’t a person, or some outside thing. It was just you. It was the rest of what I didn’t think I could have, with you. Some other couch and some other family isn’t gonna cut it. Someone else’s kid-” Buck finally cuts off, and he tips his head down, breaking eye contact. “I would do anything to get back to you.”
“And you did,” Eddie reminds him quietly, so awestruck it feels like he’s been staring into the sun. The room is actually almost light now, and he can hear birds chirping somewhere down the street. “You came back. And you’re here - in this house, in my bed, instead of with anybody else. And every time you let me help you with anything, since you moved in here, I want to tell you thank you for it. Because it’s proof that you’re alive, and you’re here, and you’re breathing, and I still have a chance.”
“A chance to do what?” Buck asks, tipping his head back up.
“To tell you that I have never loved anyone the way I love you,” Eddie murmurs. “Maybe even, if I got really lucky, to kiss you.”
Buck’s face lights up, and it puts any ray of sunlight to shame. “Eddie.”
“Can I?”
“Please.”
So Eddie does. He shifts just enough to close the centimeter or so that’s left between their mouths, and he brushes his lips against Buck’s. Buck’s mouth is still damp, from the way he’s been biting his lips all throughout their talk, and it means that their lips catch for just a moment, stick in a way that’s somehow both a little uncomfortable and a little perfect all at once. Eddie pulls back just to feel the drag of it, but Buck follows him forward and Eddie gives up, pushing closer again instead, pressing in harder to kiss Buck properly.
It still isn’t rough - there’s no teeth, no biting or tugging, because Eddie is probably being overly cautious in light of Buck’s recovery. The kisses are thorough, though. Slow and lush and lingering - Eddie turns his head to literally brush his mouth against Buck’s, back and forth, a kind of nuzzle. Then he ducks in and kisses Buck’s top lip and his bottom lip in turn, truly trying to feel out the lines in Buck’s lips, the texture, the feel and the warmth of his mouth. Then he opens his own mouth to taste, to lick over the salt of Buck’s skin and to press their tongue together as gently as he can.
They kiss until Buck starts to shiver, and Eddie pulls back out of concern only to find his pupils wide and dark, and they snap right to Eddie’s face as soon as he can focus.
“Eddie,” Buck says out loud, his voice still rough.
“6 out of 10?” Eddie asks, knowing full well that it was the best kiss he’s ever given in his life.
“When I’m feeling better I’m gonna hit you for that,” Buck says - and then he tips forward again, pressing his mouth against Eddie’s, kissing him again, and again, and again, a series of damp little smudges to each corner of Eddie’s mouth and then right in the center. “10 out of 10. 100 out of 10. Keep kissing me like that and it might actually cure me, I’m - 70% sure.”
“Only 70%?” Eddie repeats, wrapping a hand around the back of Buck’s neck. “I think we can do better than that.”
So Eddie tugs him close again, and slides his tongue back between Buck’s lips, and he feels the hum against his tongue, and he shivers with it.
Outside - the sun climbs into the sky, and the birds start to sing in earnest, and any lingering signs of the storm are cleared away.
#buddie fic#911 spoilers#911 on fox#buddie#sorry i went crazy and wrote myself a comfort fic before bed!#goodnight aksmdf
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