#ive never seen him want to be somewhere less | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kianely · 4 months

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”LORD KNOWS, IT WOULD BE THE FIRST TIME”

i. PAIRING — Leon Kennedy x GN!Reader

ii. SYNOPSIS — Leon saves you from the unlucky predicament you found yourself in when you decided to take a rewarding vacation overseas. He ends up liking you a little too much though, and not just in a platonic way. And naturally, you’re pretty love struck by him too.

iii. CONTENT — Mostly fluff, mentions of trauma (from what the reader saw while being rescued), mentions of Leon’s survival guilt, Leon’s smitten with you, fluff, tension and kissing at end, banter, he gives you a flip phone, work gathering, motorcycle ride, he finally gets a vacation, inaccurate depictions of the government, coercion to work for the government, RE4 Leon

iv. WC — 7.2k

You knew a lot. Too much. All because you decided to go abroad as a reward for finally getting a white-collar job. Your countless years spent in post-secondary education whilst having a part-time job paid off, and before you started your new job, you decided to indulge in a trip overseas.

You never expected to get lost during one of the tours, much less to find yourself stumbling across what seemed to be a ghost town that had a few…peculiar citizens. They told you to get lost when you asked for directions, and the one time you found a map plastered on a wall, it was an outdated one that didn’t even show the modern roads, no use in that.

That’s what led to your current situation. Somehow, you were lucky enough to make it out of there with the help of a particular someone. You never expected to board a helicopter in your life, you felt your stomach churn as you glanced out the window and reflected on what you had just been through.

All the thoughts revolving in that mind of yours were the freakish events and sights you had been an unwilling witness to. Ones that would undoubtedly throw you right into therapy, and have you tossing and turning in your bed at night like a scared child with a night light thinking a monster would seep out from their closet or underneath their bed. You would never set foot into a movie theater to watch a well-done horror movie ever again, all the things you had seen in the last couple of days topped all of that.

You wished you could wash and reset your eyes after all the mutated and downright monstrous creatures that flashed through your brain now and again. Hell, you now believed that every single urban myth or legend was a complete possibility, probably lurking out there somewhere. Every moving object just made your heart drop like from when limbs had reached out to try and grab or swing at you. You wanted to curl up into a little ball and be cradled by a parental figure, to be coddled and rocked back and forth until you fell asleep with no worries on your mind.

The murky fluids carried by the bodies of water in underground tunnels that were potent with diseases and infections were the same ones that had dried up on your once damp and soaked pants. You were damn lucky you hadn’t gotten an open wound anywhere under your upper thighs, how horrible would it be for you to escape and end up dying a day later from an infection?

The heavy gunfire and explosives left your ears physically hurting, you hoped the lingering buzzing noise would eventually leave. The only soothing sound you would hear throughout your utterly traumatic experience was the voice of a certain strong agent urging you to “hurry up” and “stay close behind him.” The same one that reassured you and checked up on you whenever the two of you got a chance to relax and take a breath, he would look you in the eyes and tell you that it was all going to be okay. And you believed him.

“You doing alright?” Ah, there was that familiar voice.

Your internal response? Absolutely not. But then again, you didn’t have the heart to tell the source of the question the truth. After all, Leon had been protecting you and had even taught you the basics of self-defense and combat moves for extra measure. All out of his own generosity, too. You had picked up on why he was sent to the site. You weren’t a priority to his job, not at all. Yet, he had gone through hell just to make sure you got out alive.

So, you resorted to masking your response with some sarcasm, by now, you knew he’d appreciate it. It felt like you had known him forever. “Peachy. I don’t think I’ve ever been better, you?”

You were still in denial, accepting everything would be too hard right now and you’d crumble on the spot. You were trying to think of anything else: your first meal after all this, maybe you’d need to buy new clothes now so a fun shopping trip was in order, Leon’s perfect face — no, not that.

Leon scoffed — the corner of his lips tugged up in response to your sarcasm. “It’s okay to tell the truth, y’know. You went through a hell of a lot more than you should’ve had to. Give yourself some credit.”

“But I’m fine,” you insisted, slumping against your seat and scratching the nape of your neck. Your mind was all over the place, you wouldn’t even be able to articulate all your worries without stumbling over your words. “I made it out without any major injuries, thanks to you.”

The only injury you had gotten were some cuts on the palms of your hands from all the times you had toppled down onto the earthy ground or wooden floors and had to use your hands to catch yourself and dodge…whatever the hell was chasing after you. The damn bastard didn’t even have a name. Your back wasn’t doing so well either, you definitely wouldn’t be able to reach your toes or stretch properly for a good while.

Leon sighed at your stubbornness, finding himself in you, he understood you better than most people could. He reached over and placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder, and he smiled. “Don’t thank me for that. You did good and made it out alive. Plus…you did well at defending yourself, that leg strength of yours is no joke.”

His dazzling toothy smile stirred butterflies in your stomach. It felt genuine, a far cry from the close-mouthed smiles he had cast your way before. You wondered how he could muster up such a smile with that job of his.

You couldn’t offer anything more than an appreciative smile of your own as you looked down towards your lap, murmuring a small, “Guess so.” His praise made you feel a little light-headed, or maybe it was the gentleness within his gaze that had that effect.

He would’ve liked to hear those same words he just told you back during the incident of 1998, maybe even a small pat on the back accompanied by a “you did well, rookie.”

His missions involved so many casualties that it pained him, he had never grown desensitized to it despite his long years in the field. He’s too human for that, the angel perked on his shoulder wouldn’t allow him to be numb to it.

But you.

He managed to save you. And that was a couple fewer pounds that could’ve been slumped onto his shoulders — the ones that threatened to snap and give out on him from the years of massive and overwhelming guilt of everyone he had watched die. It didn’t matter that the two of you were essentially strangers, it would’ve crushed him if you had died on his watch. Through the short time you guys had been together, he had learned a lot about you.

Plus, he liked you. Romantically, he wasn’t the biggest fan of the meek and weak type. No. He liked mature people, those who could challenge his witty banter, who wouldn’t be clingy, and who could understand his baggage. You. You had spunk, the same kind he found himself yearning for in a companion when he went back to an empty home. He was fond of you, it made him wonder if he would be able to have you in his life.

Maybe, just maybe, whatever God was out there would grant him some mercy and give him what he wanted for once.

The helicopter had landed, and your leg was bouncing up and down out of anxiousness. Where the hell were you even at? You had nothing, not an ounce of technology or identification on you aside from your DNA and fingerprints.

Leon was feeling tense too, not for the unknowns but because he knew. He’d been forced to kiss the government’s ass and he was familiar with their way of thinking, they’d likely interrogate you, and if you had some use for them then they’d find a way to keep you around. He felt some solace in knowing that you didn’t display the same physical capabilities that he did, otherwise, they would snatch you up, train you into a machine, and send you out into the field in a couple of years if you made the cut.

Leon was the first to get out of the helicopter, extending his arm and offering his hand to help you. He knew you were feeling uneasy, he didn’t plan on leaving you alone to your thoughts. “Was this your first time on a helicopter?”

“Yeah, first time.” You gladly accepted his assistance, feeling the calluses on his skin as you cautiously got out. “Not how I imagined it to be like, but…”

“Well,” he shrugged, “you took it like a champ, no motion sickness or anything.”

“You must be used to flying all the time, right?”

Leon nodded, letting out a sigh before sharing his thoughts on the topic. He figured some honesty could go a long way. “I’m actually kind of sick of flying — planes, helicopters, everything. But if I ever get a vacation? I’m leaving behind a cloud of dust and making a beeline for Italy.”

“Italy, huh?” You made a mental note of that, for future reference. You just hoped there would be a way to keep in contact with him after everything was said and done.

“Yeah, I’ve always wanted to go. Never have the time though.”

There was only so much conversation that could be held until you curiously took a look at your surroundings. You took a breath, feeling a bit daunted by some of the important-looking personnel whose eyes were boring into you.

“This place looks…pretty intimidating.”

Leon’s hand hovered over the small of your back so he could keep you close and guide you inside. “You’ll be okay.”

After that, the two of you pretty much got separated. He had to give a full report about the mission, and also explain how he had strung you along. The higher-ups had to run a background check on you and were going to monitor you. But he made you a promise, he’d come to see you when he was allowed to.

Leon always told himself he’d start minding his own damn business. You were well and alive, that should be more than enough for him. He didn’t deserve to indulge in someone who could make his life brighter, that was selfish. But, he so desperately wanted to have you in his life.

Whenever he got attached to someone, it all went south. But, he knew you were alone. He’d been in your situation — alone and with unimaginable baggage, a deadly mix. He needed to do something.

On the other hand, you were taken into questioning about what you had seen, and how the state of the town you had been visiting before everything went to shit. You hated having to talk about it, stammering over your words, and taking long pauses because it was too much. Broke down sobbing after one session. The denial phase progressively diminished, it was painful. They then transferred you to a more isolated area to monitor your physical health. They didn’t give a damn about your actual well-being, even if you had been injured they wouldn’t have tended to you.

You lost track of time, a couple of weeks had gone by.

You were a pitiful sight, all alone in a room with high-quality technology surrounding you — machines monitoring you just in case anything irregular popped up in your health that was connected to the bioweapons you had been exposed to.

But alas, the day finally came, and you could leave. You relished the clean clothes they gave you in place of the gown you had been required to wear for the monitoring. You sat on the twin-sized bed, gaze cast to the floor as you thought about what the future held.

Some gentle knocks on the door made you jump a little, your eyes immediately darting over to see who it was through the glass on the door. Leon. God, he was a sight for sore eyes. He looked concerned, the knit of his brows made that clear.

Mustering up a small and weak smile, you beckoned him to come in. If there was one person that could bring you some solace, it was him. He would’ve come sooner, hell, he would’ve visited you every damn day you were stuck here. But he wasn’t allowed to under strict orders, not until the day you were to be released.

Leon entered the room, closing the door behind him. He was carrying a bag of takeout in his free hand, holding it up for you to see. “The food here is pretty bland, figured you could use this.”

The sight almost made you groan, anything sounded more appetizing than the soup and packaged food you had been given the past few weeks. “God. Yes. Please.”

He chuckled at your reaction, setting the medium sized drink by your bedside before sitting down next to you. He opened up the bag and then handed you the plastic utensils, napkins, and the container.

“I’m glad you came, I was getting lonely.”

“Yeah, I bet.” Leon knew how deafening the silence could be, nothing good came out of being left to your thoughts.

“I owe you a meal someday,” you told him as you began eating. “You have to pick though, I don’t know any of the restaurants around here.”

“I’ll be sure to make a list then. I’m paying though.”

“What? That’s hardly fair.”

“Shh, eat your food.”

You rolled your eyes and grumbled something under your breath, but you knew he meant well based on the lightheartedness of his voice. So, you complied.

Meanwhile, Leon was mentally brainstorming places he thinks you would like in the area — somewhere pretty, he wanted you to have a good time.

After you had finished, Leon let out a sigh and pulled something out of his pocket. A flip phone. He gave it to you. He wordlessly handed it to you.

Woah. What?

You cast him a curious glance before reaching out for it. “Uh, what’s this?” You knew what it was, but why?

“Well, your phone broke.” He placed a hand on your shoulder. “I saved my number on it already, so just give me a call if you ever need anything.”

Could a man be more perfect? A flip phone was simple, easy to call and all. He knew that you’d likely get an actual smartphone in a couple of days, but he was worried. He just wanted you to be able to contact him whenever and wherever.

You laughed a little, taking a minute to toy around with the buttons on the flip phone. “Thanks, I appreciate it.”

“It’s nothing.”

“How much did it cost?”

“Not much, they’re pretty cheap these days.”

With the topic of technology brought up, you had the chance to ask something you had been mulling over. “So, how come I’ve never seen you on the news before? You’re like a knight or something.”

Leon was mildly amused by the sudden inquiry, humming softly to himself as he stirred up a response.

“Well, I’m not too sure people would believe a headline about half of the things I deal with. It’s pretty much kept undercover.” There was a lot more to it than that, but he kept it simple. “Plus, I’m just doing my job — it’s no biggie.”

“Bummer,” you sighed out, “you’d have tons of fans.” It wasn’t even a stretch. A man as attractive and heroic as him? With the size of his biceps? He’d be trending every other week, and some portion of the population would definitely have posters of him. A bit unfitting considering the contents of his job, but not unlikely.

“Would I? Why’s that?” The concept was foreign to him. Sure, he’d gotten compliments on his looks, but that was about it…nobody actively tried to pursue him. And the couple of times he had tried to ask someone on a dinner date, he got a no. He wasn’t insecure about it, though — the only people he had tried to ask out were people in his line of work, all the baggage made relationships and dating tricky.

His question caught you off guard, you knew the answer but you couldn’t say it out loud. “Well…” you trailed off, meeting his gaze before immediately darting your eyes away. “You know, just…”

“No, I don’t think I do.” His voice was one of humor, spoken through a chuckle — he wanted to know.

You let out a long exhale before recomposing yourself. “You look like you could be the heartthrob of the decade. And your personality isn’t half bad either.”

He was quiet for a moment. Now it was his turn to look away, attention now on his hands as he pretended to pick at some of the calluses. Eventually, he voiced his next question. “Would you be one of my fans?”

You snorted, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Oh yeah. With pom poms and all, maybe I’d even come up with a cheer or something.”

His lips tugged into a small smirk at that, one that was barely visible — he really liked you. “I’d be sure to take a picture to make it last longer.”

“You wish.”

“A guy can dream.”

The government could have very well sent you on your way out into the world when you essentially had absolutely nothing. But, you had some close ones back in your hometown, so, if you just suddenly vanished and your family panicked when they thought you were returning from a vacation…then that would make some things more difficult. The mystery of how you ended up in DC without any of your belongings would be concerning.

Plus, they looked into your file backgrounds. Intelligent, you had the brains, and now the knowledge of bioweapons. Surely, there’d be good use in keeping you around. Possible training to become a field operations support was in your future. They could kill two birds with one stone: gain another worker, and keep you close to the headquarters just in case you tried to expose what you had seen.

It was easy for them to do through blackmail and threats to hurt your loved ones if you didn’t comply with their orders of living in DC. They made you record some bullshit lie to your family as to why you were here.

They printed out all your personal documents that you had lost so you could get a job nearby and get back on your feet, helped get your credit card replaced, and that was it. Any physical cash you had was gone, but at the very least you did have enough money in your bank account to crash at a motel while you sorted things out.

Bastards, really. Yeah, at least you had necessities now, but it was purely for their own benefit.

The prices for even renting a place in DC were just… jaw-dropping. You’d have to search for a small place, and honestly, a car was the last thing on your mind. Having a roof over your head was the most important part. The good news is that with your resume and educational background, you bagged a job fairly soon — though it was nothing compared to the job you were supposed to have.

It had been months since the whole fiasco. You managed to find a small apartment, nothing fancy of course. That was for the better, having a spacious place all to yourself would drive you to the brink of insanity.

You were still very jittery: jumping whenever there was a knock on your door even when you were anticipating a delivery, needing the television on just for the sake of not being left in silence with your thoughts, and sleeping with all the lights on even if your electricity bill suffered as a result.

You thought you would be able to muster up the courage to go to therapy, but would that even be possible? It’s not like you could truthfully talk about your experiences. Even if you did, there’s no way anyone would believe you. And again, it was too much money.

By now, you had gotten a smartphone. But you never discarded the flip phone that Leon had gifted you. You used it to give him a call on a couple of occasions, but you never kept him for over five minutes, not wanting to disturb him for too long, you knew he was busy. Sometimes he didn’t pick up, but after a couple of days, he would return the call and tell you what had kept him from doing so: another assignment, long meetings, all that jazz. Even so, those calls always left you smiling for hours afterward.

Unbeknownst to you, the man on the other side of the phone was equally as thrilled. His pearly whites were always on display whenever you called him. Whenever he got back from work, the first thing he did was check to see if he had any missed calls or voicemails. No matter how battered and sore his body was, your voice alone managed to make him feel all better.

The days blended in together, and oftentimes you found yourself asking what or who was your motivation to keep up with this routine. The only answer that immediately came to mind aside from your loved ones was him. Leon.

Washing the dishes? Hm, you wonder what kind of food Leon eats. Watching TV? Leon mentioned he liked watching movies when he had free time. Struggling with opening a stubborn jar? Leon could definitely open this. Typing a text message? Would Leon use emojis? Abbreviations? Maybe he was one of those people who texted slow as hell and only used their index finger for each individual letter. You should know by now, but the two of you only ever called, and never texted.

The point is, he was flooding your thoughts.

In your mind, you justified it by thinking the only reason you wanted him in your life was to repay him for all the help he had been. But, that was far from the truth. Not when the memory of him flashing you a smile was enough to make your heart do tiny flips or the way his voice was so deeply engraved in your brain that you longed to hear it all the time. And the way you started spending more time on your appearance, just in case you happened to bump into him somewhere — slim chances, but you’d take them.

And naturally, you knew you would feel safe and content with him keeping you company. What you would give to roll your eyes and scoff at one of his puns or lame movie references, or to maybe catch the glimmer of endearment in his gaze whenever it shifted to you.

Would you ever be able to love a man who didn’t understand what you had gone through to a degree?

The sensation of your smartphone suddenly vibrating in your pocket made you flinch and snap out of your thoughts — a frown tugging on your lips as you scrambled to pull it out and answer.

Oh boy, your time at the headquarters wasn't short-lived. And that job of yours? You’d have to resign soon. Seems like the plan to train you to become a field operations support was coming up. Your presence had been requested at a work gathering, collaboration and teamwork skills were essential. So with this event, trainees and recruits could converse with those who were more experienced, to break the ice a little bit. So you convinced yourself you had to go.

Here you were a week later — sitting inside a fancy looking room, moving your now empty cup around. You had been here for thirty minutes and you weren’t sure how much more small talk you could handle. If you were asked the question, ‘So, how’d you land this position?’ one more time, you’d feel physically ill.

Getting ready for the gathering had driven you insane, you took an entire two hours to get ready, mostly because you kept pacing in front of your closet, indecisive about what to wear. Assuming Leon was going to be there, this would be his first time seeing you in actual clothing that aligned with your fashion style, enough said.

You stood up, ready to go outside for a couple of minutes to get some fresh air from this otherwise suffocating environment. But as you looked towards the door, a certain man caught your attention.

There he was. Leon Kennedy in all his glory. When was the last time you saw him in person? A few months. So, why did it feel like you were seeing him for the first time again? You were blown away by his beauty.

He was talking to a taller man who was pretty hunky and had the body of an agent. You assumed they were good buds, seeing the way they patted each other and seemed to be having an interesting conversation rather than a forced one.

You had no idea how long you stood there, but it felt like only a couple of seconds since you were busy admiring him. Maybe he felt your eyes on him, because he eventually looked over directly at you and then dismissed himself from his friend.

Leon almost looked like a puppy as he made his way over to you, his eye-lit gaze set on you despite the plethora of other people he knew in the room. With a couple excuse me’s, he finally reached you.

You had a lot of time to think of a way to greet him, and yet your mind turned to mush the second he was near you. A simple hi, hey, what’s up? No, that wouldn’t suffice. It would feel forced.

“No offense, but this doesn’t strike me as your kind of scene.” You eventually told him, a sly smile forming on your face.

He placed a hand over his chest and scoffed, pretending to be offended. “Like a dagger to my heart.” After a shared chuckle between the two of you, he gave you a genuine answer. “It’s nice sometimes, gives me a chance to catch up with some people and nurse a drink. But generally? No, not really my scene.”

Before you could say anything in response, he gestured towards you with his hand. “You look stunning.”

“I’d hope so. Though, I think anything is a step up from what I was wearing when you met me.”

“Oh c’mon. You pulled off the look.”

How? He had witnessed you wearing dirty and muddy clothes with scrapes all over. You had definitely not been in the most presentable state. Though to be fair, he had been in the same boat — he did all the combat, so he ended up with ruined clothes and blood all over. Then again, his pretty face and killer body blinded you from those details.

“Well, what can I say? Guess I’m just that charming,” You tried to come across as confident, but the giddy grin on your face in response to his compliment gave away just how much his words affected you.

Cute. Did he make you happy? Years of unsuccessful romance led him to believe that it’s not a big deal, it’s just a natural response to being complimented. But…there was a hopeful voice in his head that said otherwise. No no no, he was being silly. He saved you, he shouldn’t even be thinking about asking you to dinner. Shouldn’t be thinking about how you’d look sitting across the table from him, with a glass of champagne in your hand and that perfect smile plastered on your face from the conversation at hand. He wanted to know you. And he knew he was a goner when he woke up one morning upset because he felt like something was missing — you in his arms, curled up against him.

“So, you’re a trainee now?” Leon knew you were going to be here, it was the reason he had unconsciously put more effort into his appearance.

“Yeah, it’s surreal to think about…it sounds stressful.”

“I’m sorry you got dragged into all this.”

“It’s not your fault. Things could be worse, I’m just glad I’m back on my feet.”

“You’re pretty optimistic.”

“Mhm. Who knows, maybe I’ll be able to talk to you over your earpiece one day.”

Leon almost froze at that. The thought was appealing. Maybe he should feel selfish for thinking of this in a positive manner when the government had been responsible for the switch up in your life. Even so, he knew that his spirit would be boosted if he heard your voice giving him intel and instructions. Plus, how come you didn’t seem so upset over that?

“In that case, I’m looking forward to that.”

“Yeah? I’m surprised you haven’t gotten sick of my voice after all those voicemails I’ve left you.”

Ah, the same ones he replayed over and over when he couldn’t sleep. The same ones that managed to keep his post-mission loneliness at bay. The same ones that prevented him from getting a bottle of beer from his fridge and spiraling.

“I could never.” The nearly whispered answer gave away just how sincere he was. Not a quip, not even a tug of his lips.

It made your breath hitch, those three words made you melt like an ice cream left out on a hot summer day. How was it that everything blurred out except for him? The nearby chit-chatter, the blur of people moving around in the background, the clinking of plates and glasses — nothing mattered, nothing took your attention from him.

“You sound pretty confident in your answer.”

“I am.”

“How come?”

Would it scare you if he chose to be sincere? “It’s just nice hearing your voice, y’know, I don’t get many phone calls.”

No, he had to give you more, that sounded too casual. “And uh, they help me…make me feel like I’m not completely alone or lost in this world.”

“I’ll be sure to keep calling you, then.” You were being honest.

He became aware of the semi awkward conversation he had caused, Leon cleared his throat and gestured to the table with drinks. “Shall we?”

Mostly everyone had left after two hours, the only vehicle left in the parking lot was Leon’s bike. You got here through public transportation, you really had to get a car eventually. But, it was hard with your financial situation.

You let out a low whistle when you caught sight of his bike, it suited him, honestly. He took good care of it. “Sweet ride.”

It was his pride and joy, one of his only belongings that gave him a thrill and an escape. And he really wouldn’t mind letting you into that part of his life.

“Yeah, she’s a beauty.” He could give you a ride if you were willing. He kept two helmets anyway, an older one just for nostalgia, and then a newer one. “Ever ridden one?”

“No way,” you laugh, you’re intrigued though. You meet his gaze and see that he’s smiling — and you manage to piece together what he’s offering. “No way.” You repeat incredulously as if asking: Seriously!? You’d let me?

“Way.”

He walked over to his bike and patted one of the helmets. “C’mon, it’ll be fun. Promise.”

“What if I fall off?”

“I won’t let you fall off.”

Oh, what the hell? After all Leon has done for you, you trusted him with your life. You approached him, catching onto the subtle flame in his eyes. “Fine, I’m up for it.”

He knew the nearby layout of the area pretty well, so when you told him your address, he knew what route to take.

“Hold still.” Lifting the helmet, he made sure to put it snugly onto you, buckling the chin strap so it wouldn’t fly off or be loose. It made you feel some kind of way. He was so close. If you didn’t have the helmet as a barrier, you’d be tempted to kiss him.

He took a step back to look at you, unable to resist from mumbling out a small ‘cute’ under his breath. Somehow, you hadn’t heard.

“Comfortable?” He asked. You nodded. Why did his voice sound raspy all of a sudden? Leon then worked on putting a helmet on himself. Your throat felt dry as you idly stood by and watched, he always looked good…but the sight of him with a helmet on was something you could get used to. With his handsome face now hidden, your attention was drawn more to his body, you tried to not stare at the way his shirt fit tightly against his muscles. Then you realized your eyes weren’t all that visible due to the helmet and dark night. So…you stared.

He taught you how to mount and dismount the bike, he prefers to get on first and for passengers to get on afterward, and for you to dismount the bike before he did. Naturally, he also went over some of the rules for passengers, when to lean, to be cautious of stops, etc. He just wanted both of you to be on the same page. With some trial, error, and a couple of laughs over it, you eventually managed to get the hang of it. So here you were now, all ready to go.

“Hold on tight, I wouldn't want you to fall off or anything.” By now, he knows you’re used to his joking.

“Thanks.” You deadpanned, though you couldn’t help the sliver of amusement that slipped into your voice. “Very reassuring, Kennedy.” You wrapped your arms around his waist, you could feel all the muscle he had gained throughout his years of nonstop physical activity.

Leon was smiling underneath his helmet, feeling your body warmth against him. He never really thought he’d be able to have someone else on his motorcycle, especially not someone he had grown to adore so much. The feeling of your arms around him put his heart at ease. “Okay, here goes. Remember, if anything happens just tap me twice.”

At first, it was pretty steady — merely navigating out of the parking space and into the streets, stopping at some red lights, getting a kick out of the way Leon purposely revved the engine for you to hear, and the way you could feel the rise and fall of his muscles as he breathed. It was a soothing pattern, one you’d like to feel more often, perhaps with your head resting comfortably against his stomach.

Entering the ramp to the freeway was an entirely different experience, the breeze suddenly increased tenfold as Leon sped up now that the speed limit was higher.

It felt exhilarating — a stark contrast to how you had felt when you were cooped up all alone in your apartment with nothing but silence. The loud engine of the bike roaring through the freeway drowned out any doubts or worries before they even had the chance to surface to your consciousness. It was so fast that the lights of the cars almost turned into a blur, but the nighttime made it seem so pretty. It felt good.

Honestly, it felt like you were there for hours when that was far from the true reality of a short five minute ride, your heartbeat slowed back down along with the speed of the bike as Leon cautiously drove in the lonely and dimly lit streets of your neighborhood, relying on your input to reach the specific building that had your apartment in it.

Once he finally parked, you got the chance to exhale properly — having been so caught up in the pretty night scenery and the fact you had just gotten a ride from none other than Leon S. Kennedy. You were reluctant to unwrap yourself from him but did so anyway. “Woah,” was all you could say.

“Pretty cool, huh?”

“Much better than the bus I take, that’s for sure. Life changing.”

With the short lessons you had gone over, you managed to dismount his bike, maybe checking him out a little as he then followed to do the same. He took his gloves off before making his way to you and working on taking your helmet off. The entirety of the situation felt oddly intimate, like a daily interaction a couple would partake in.

“You have a lot of trust in me,” he muttered that comment under his breath as if it was meant for the breeze to sweep away like a leaf. But you heard it anyway.

“That’s pretty funny coming from the guy who quite literally saved my life.”

He merely chuckled, now taking off his helmet. Leon didn’t want to delve into that topic. In his mind, he didn’t necessarily ‘save’ you, he didn’t want to take credit for your own mental and physical strength. The way you were so happy despite everything that had occurred…he admired you for it. He didn’t want you to spiral into the same loneliness and self-guilt that he had, he swore he wouldn’t let you. God, how he wishes he had met you sooner. Late was better than never, though.

“C’mon, I’ll walk you to your door.” Dork. He didn’t even know which door was yours. It was sweet though, you led the way inside and up an elevator to your floor. Leon committed the way to memory, just in case he ever swung by in the future. He took a look around, making sure everything looked clean and safe, just a habit of his after his years in the force. It looked pretty cozy though, the halls were illuminated well, and everything was in great condition. Some of his worries were eased.

“Thanks for the ride, I had a lot of fun.” Honestly, you had a lot of things you could thank him for, but that would take you more than just a couple of minutes and you didn’t want to keep him since you knew he had to get home too. Internally, you hoped maybe the two of you could meet up — you liked being in his presence.

He brushed it off with a brief wave of his hand, “No worries.” He didn’t feel like you needed to thank him for anything. He felt a pit in his stomach as he watched you open up your door. It was too soon. He didn’t even hide the fact he was staring at you, you turned around back around to face him, ready to say bye, and awkwardly get inside.

This was his cue to leave. In any other situation, he’d say, ‘I’ll see ya around’. But he hesitated.

You felt like you were burning up under his pensive gaze, wanting to know what thoughts were occupying that mind of his. Whatever it was, he clearly had something to say. You felt your hopes lift. “Leon?”

The fact is, he had something to ask you. Some higher entity had listened to his pleas and he had gotten a week off, his godsent vacation was finally here.

Like he had mentioned to you once, he wasn’t a huge fan of planes. Vacation or not, he tried to avoid them, there was nothing more reliable than his gorgeous motorcycle. But, he made an exception, and maybe he’d feel more at ease with you on the plane with him. Truth be told, if you said no to his offer, he wouldn’t even go on a vacation abroad, he’d probably just stay at his place.

He was feeling a tad bit doubtful. He knew that your life had been flipped since you had gone abroad for a vacation, so maybe you’d say no. Regardless, he had to ask now. He could be given another assignment at a moment’s notice despite being granted a break, and your training was going to start in a while. He couldn’t afford to not make his feelings known, not with the kind of life he led.

“Hey, listen.” Leon broke the silence that he caused — taking a deep inhale before he continued to voice his thoughts. “I’ve been due for a vacation for a while, and I finally got some time off. I’m planning on taking a short trip.”

“Ah,” you remember a similar conversation, how could you not? You practically memorized every bit of information he told you. You closed your door and leaned against it, not wanting to seem like you were in some hurry to get in. “Italy, right?”

“Yeah.” He confirmed, smiling over the fact that you remembered that detail. “So, here’s the thing. I bought two flight tickets and booked a room for two. If you’re not busy or anything and if it’s not crazy for you to consider then—“

“Yes,” you responded immediately, like it was pure instinct, the word slipped through your mouth before your mind even had time to process it. Maybe it was the lingering adrenaline you still felt from the ride.

He grinned, letting out a huff of amusement. “I didn’t even finish—“

He cut himself off when he felt you cup his face with your hands, you could feel the heat radiating off his skin — like warm and cozy laundry straight out of the drying machine. His Adams apple bobbed up and down when he swallowed thickly, feeling the tension rise when your lips inched towards his.

You were taking the opportunity, afraid it would slip from your fingers like sand if you hesitated for even a second.

“Yes,” you repeated, your voice dropping to a whisper as your eyes searched his. After a few seconds of keeping his arms by his side, he lifted his hands to place them on your hips, coaxing you closer to him.

Leon felt weak to the knees, crumbling at the eye contact before his eyes flitted towards your lips longingly. Closer. He could feel your lips brushing against his, not a kiss just yet, but the contact was there and served as a complete tease.

“Okay,” he murmured out, warm breath fanning against your lips. He tried to keep his voice stable, but the close proximity was killing him. His hands gave your hips a gentle squeeze. “Consider a first-class window seat all yours then.”

“With gourmet meals and all?”

“Mhm,” he couldn’t think—he parted his lips in anticipation for yours. His gaze returned to your eyes, his own were half-lidded, looking like they might shut at any minute in preparation for the kiss.

“I thought you didn’t like being in planes?”

“I don’t,” he replied briefly, this felt like torture. His voice was low and rugged, eyes now closing and head tilting to the side slightly. “But with you by my side, it wouldn’t matter.”

God, he was perfect. You pressed your lips against his and he responded immediately, one of his hands snaked up to gently hold the back of your head and keep you in place. He felt an influx of dopamine hit him right away, losing himself in your suave kiss — he was hooked on your taste, it felt like a drug. Like he’d go through withdrawals if he ever had to go without this sensation again.

One of your hands slid to the back of his neck, your fingers curling around the ends of his hair. It was soft, feeling like silk. Your nails brushed against his skin on the nape of his neck and he shuddered, feeling the remaining air in his lungs vanish. He could keep going though, he’d drown in your kisses and suffocate by the sweet taste and press of your lips without a single complaint.

If love was possible just by a single kiss, then Leon had just gotten struck by an arrow. It continued, kiss after kiss. It felt right. The final piece to a puzzle — the perfect fit.

Not having a death wish, you eventually pulled back for breath. His lips chased yours, drawn to them like a moth to a flame, only pausing when he heard your soft laughter, one that made his heart leap and his eyes open to meet your own. He pressed his forehead against yours, a smile ghosting his lips as he took the moment in. “We’re uh, pretty good at that.”

“Mm, I dunno.” You shrugged out, running your thumb against his bottom lip. “I think we could use some more practice, don’t you?”

It was a clear ploy to continue on with the kissing. He took the bait with a chuckle. “Hey, I’m game. Just do a countdown and I’m ready whenever.”

“Someone’s eager, here goes. One, two, three…”

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy x gn!reader #leon kennedy oneshot #leon kennedy fluff #resident evil x reader #resident evil one shot #re4 x reader

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grandlinedreams · 6 months

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Hello, I've been reading Ur fics lately (esp with law) and I love them

I was wondering if you could make angst? Like... Let's say there's this big battle, like the one in wano, where reader and law gets separated, but after the battle Law finds reader unconscious and being treated by chopper who then explains they had severe wounds and might need blood transfusion.

It also just happens that he was gonna confess to them after all of the chaos so that they'd be safe in his arms. And that might not even happen since now they have each foot on both worlds.

I'd imagine Law going along with talking to them even if they're unconscious just to keep them here in the living. (If they're alone ofc)

I hope that's alright

OUGH some angst my beloved,,,i can absolutely do that, I hope I do this justice for you!!

[Heads up!: angst, serious injuries, some brief medical talk, hurt/very little comfort, keeping in line w Law literally calling none of the Strawhats by their names, open-ended]

Truth be told, Law doesn't keep much of an eye on you during battles. It's hard enough keeping an eye on what the enemy is doing ㅡ especially if the Strawhats are involved. They ㅡ especially their captain ㅡ have a knack for blowing careful plans out of the water and he's forced to play damage control until it's over.

You're also fully capable of looking after yourself, and he trusts you and your skillset. So when he doesn't immediately find you once things have started settling down, he doesn't think much of it.

When five minutes turns to ten, then to fifteen, then half an hour, however, alarm bells start going off in his head. You've never taken this long to check in with him. Has something happened? Have you beenㅡ

No, he won't let himself think of that option. Not now, not ever. So he keeps as optimistic as reality will allow him ㅡ until he hears his name being called.

"Oi, Law!"

It's Sanji. "What is it, Blackleg?"

The blond's expression is his first warning that whatever it is, it isn't pleasant. "Chopper told me to come get you."

That's his second warning. Eyes narrowing and trying to rifle through potential scenarios from best case to worst, he follows Sanji silently until they reach where Chopper is ㅡ and Law stares at who the little reindeer is desperately trying to patch up.

It's you.

Part of him whispers harshly that this is par for the course, that he's worn out his luck in terms of keeping you safe ㅡ another notes that he's never seen you look more fragile.

"What happened." It's a demand as he takes in the bandages all over you, trying not to think about how most of them are already soaked with blood. Your blood.

He barely hears the explanation above the rising ringing in his ears, but he gathers enough to find it in himself to mentally curse your perchance for heroics. He's told you time and time again that your self-sacrificing attitude will get you into trouble, and now it has. (As if he isn't guilty of it too from time to time, but that's neither here nor there.)

"They need a transfusion," he says, kneels to gather you into his arms, trying not to focus on how limp you are. "I'll take it from here."

If Chopper protests, he doesn't stick around long enough to hear it. From the second he sets foot back on the Polar Tang, it's a blur.

Bandages are stripped from you and replaced, an IV of fluid in one arm, blood in the other. One of the defaults to joining the crew is letting him know blood type so he has it on hand, and he's never been more grateful to have it and less so that he needs to use it.

For the next few hours, Law hardly blinks, barely lets himself breathe ㅡ afraid that somewhere between, you'll slip from him. He can feel the cold circle of death around you, measuring, evaluating. Deciding if you go, or if you stay.

He wants you to stay. If there were ever a way to guarantee that you do, he'd do it now ㅡ but there isn't. So he sits, counts your breath (in, out. Up, down.), and waits.

And he talks.

He tells you that you're a pain, that you need to stop thinking so much of others before yourself, that a quality like that is only admirable until it means a grave instead of life. That you shouldn't be so cavalier with your time, that there are people who care about you, and what are they supposed to do if you die?

He means himself in that too. He's gotten accustomed to your presence, the way you've slotted your way into his routines and habits like you belong, and perhaps, were he a romantic, he'd say you always have. But he hardly has time for that, barely lets himself entertain it ㅡ too soft, too ideal, too good to be true. Always too much of something.

But he wants it, wants you ㅡ wonders if he'll even get the slimmest chance to tell you now. Law could tell you now, but he doesn't. He's afraid if he does, it'll tip the scales further from his favor and he'll undoubtedly lose you.

He can't do that.

It isn't fair ㅡ but when has the world ever felt fit to treat him in a way that could ever be seen as kind enough to be called fair?

#ㅡmine.#one piece scenario #one piece x reader #trafalgar law x reader #law x reader #ㅡanswered.#anonymous #–ml: law.#one of these days i'll go into medical jargon detail

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rafeandonlyrafe · 2 months

Text

country club bathroom part two

words: 800

warnings: mentions of hooking up, no actual smut in this part, angst/fighting

part one / part two / part three / part four

“holy shit.” your eyes take in the grand entryway, the wealth of the cameron family on clear display.

“shit, almost forgot you were a pogue for a second there.” rafe laughs gently. he places his hands on your waist, hauling your body against his, lips meeting yours in a kiss.

you wrap your arms around his shoulders, expecting him to lift you up, to grip your ass and carry you up the stairs, to immediately take you to his bedroom, but after a few minutes of kissing, rafe pulls away.

“god, im starving.” rafe groans. you think it's a euphemism at first, especially considering how intensely he eats you out when you have enough time and privacy at the country club.

“yeah?” you smirk, but rafe doesn't smile.

“you're probably hungry after your shift, right? what do you want? ramen, pizza?”

“ramen?” you let out a giggle. “are you sure you're not the pogue?”

“alright, alright.” rafe laughs. “i would take you somewhere fancy but…” you get the implication. you may have been hooking up for months now, but that doesn't make it any less complicated to be seen in public together.

“pizza is fine.” you pat rafes chest, leaving him to call and order while you explore more of the house, unashamed of checking out every decadent piece of furniture.

rafe catches up to you in the living room, coming up to wrap his arms around your waist as you stare out the window towards the ocean, the waves gently lapping the shore.

“it looks just like my view of the water.” you mumble. ignoring the dock stretching out into the water, yours not extending nearly as far and certainly not boasting as many boats.

“yeah?” rafe questions, ducking his head to kiss your neck, knowing better than to suck a bruise on the sensitive skin, as much as he badly wants to.

“not that different afterall.” you hum. you mean it sarcastically, but it does have your mind whirling. these percieved small differences that divide the island, all based on nothing more than the numbers in your bank account.

“don't tell me my favorite pogue is sympathizing with the kooks now.” rafe scoffs.

you turn around suddenly, out of his arms. “as if you haven't been on your knees for me.”

“hey, hey.” rafe says softly, seeing you're actually angry. “i like you y/n. i know i tease you but you give good head. i wouldn't invite you back here if i didn't want you.”

“can't you see i have more qualities than just good head?” you question, not sure why you're suddenly so angry, why the feelings are building up in your gut. you just want to be recognized, recognized by rafe, by the kooks, want the divide to heal, or at least lessen.

“yeah, of course, baby.” rafe tries to reach out for you, but you take a step back, backing into the sliding glass door.

“what did i do wrong, baby?” he asks softly. “tell me so i can make it up to you. if i said something im sorry. i just like to tease you when i say that dirty pogue shit.”

“no, you mean it.” you shake your head. “i know how you treat the other pogues on the island.” you have never seen rafe fight anyone else, but you've seen the cuts and bruises and heard stories from maybank and pope when you visit heywards.

“you're different.” rafe doesn't let your backing away stop him this time, wrapping his arms around your waist, tugging you into his body. “yeah, you give good fucking head but you're also funny, and sassy. and have a backbone. everything ive done to the other pogues is because they're not like you. they're pieces of shit. probably not every single one of them, yeah. but i don't touch the ones that don't give me a reason to.”

“yet you still refuse to be seen in public with me.” you know you're asking a lot of rafe, and it's not like you can be seen together at the country club anyways. you knew he was only asking you to hook up when he invited you over, but the comment about taking you to a fancy restaurant struck you harder than you thought it would.

you pull away suddenly. “what are we doing here? i mean really. just hooking up? fucking? and we don't even really like each other? im sorry rafe, i don't think i can do that anymore.” you start to head through the maze of a house, needing to find your way out, needing to take a deep breath of air.

“what do you mean?” rafe follows your footsteps.

“if this is going nowhere… if we can't even go out on a single date, i… i can't do this.” you feel yourself starting to hyperventilate, chest suddenly getting tight, restricting your breathing.

“baby-” rafe tries to talk, but you find the front door and flee, running across his yard until you're outside of his fence, taking gulps of air.

you look back and tanneyhill, and rafe doesn't follow you.

taglist: @drewstarkeyslut @forstarkey @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @drudyslut @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl @michelleisheres-blog @outerbankspov @drewstarkeyswifehoe @cutielando @kamninaries @buckyswhxre @rafeinterlude @bellbottombaby @deeaardiary @rubixgsworld @wearemadeofstardust0 @leighbronk @starkeysheart @pradabambie @tobesolovelysstuff @alexiskirkland @rafestar @brioffthegrid

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darling-i-read-it · 10 months

Text

Not Fun Dreams

Dalton Lambert x fem!prophet(esc)!reader

Word Count: 6.1k

Warnings: insidious 5 spoilers, some angst, canon level events/violence (descriptions of the readers visions as violence and never being good), shared trauma, a lot of unedited fic lol

Author’s Note: This ended up a LITTLE LONG good lord lol. I just kept going! I hope you enjoy love, it ended up being a little less angst then I wanted to have some sort of preunderstood relationship. ALSO i made up the art school dalton goes too because I couldnt’ find the name or remember if it was mentioned. When will this movie be available to watch whenever i want smh. Anyway, enjoy!

Requested: by anon, your dalton fics were amazing and if you’re still in the mood to write for him i got an idea! dalton with a prophet esque reader. maybe not full out but maybe they have dreams or in certain places they can see what will happen there but doesn’t get the full event ( mostly negative/horrific things because this is the insidious universe and nobody can have nothing). id imagine they’d be more reclusive than dalton because even though they’re both obviously very traumatized reader constantly has to see these horrific things and not know how to stop them. knowing possibly from a young age where you and the people you love will die. the trauma bonding. the protectiveness. imagine the drama if she knew the whole time he could astral project and didn’t tell him, like being childhood friends and going to the same college as you saw something in a dream (one of the dorm scenes) and are trying to prevent it. i’m an angst girlie through and through and this movie made me worst. please don’t feel pressured to write at all, and i hope you have a great day/night!

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director/creator

(not my gif)

When you were a kid it was much more simple. It made far more sense to you when your imagination was stretched as far as it could go. It was clouded by the guise of childhood, never knowing what was supposed to happen and what wasn’t. You figured that when you went to sleep and pictures flipped in your head piercing like a migraine, everything was normal. Your parents told you it was just dreams, even when the dreams started to get darker. You saw flashes of people’s faces, drenched in fear as they faced something unknown. The nightmares got worse. You insisted they weren’t nightmares. Children dealt with weird things all the time.

It helped when the boy next door flew away in his sleep.

Everyone must have these little gifts then right? All the children had a perk that slightly scared them, one they told their friends about that their parents didn’t pay much attention to.

You’ll never forget the day Dalton moved. He left the house he had grown up in so that his parents could move somewhere bigger, somewhere to raise the new baby. You remember his little face, matching yours. You had never had a friend you cared for so much. It felt like the world could be taken on when you were with Dalton.

“Are you sure you have to go?” you asked, quietly. You knew the answer to the question, even then. You had had an awful nightmare the night before. You had seen flashes of Dalton in bed, tubes surrounding him, IV’s in his arm.

“My mom says so,” he muttered. You were hunched together in the corner of his house. Now empty, it seemed much larger. You didn’t like being in places that seemed to be experiencing change. You saw enough change.

“But I’m worried,” you whispered. “Something might happen to you in the new house.” Your voice was hushed. Even then, you knew it was no use in telling his parents. No one would believe you. But you had to warn him because if anyone trusted you, it was Dalton.

“Maybe it’s just another one of your not fun dreams,” he said quietly. He had gotten used to protecting you from them. You were often shaky when you woke up. He had seen it after a sleepover, cold sweats dripping down your petrified face. “Not one that would come true.”

You had known the lady down the street would trip down the stairs and die three weeks prior. But no one cared to check with the little girl who had silly prophetic dreams.

“But what if it isn’t.” You pouted, a genuine pout. Dalton put his hand on yours, in a way only children could do. The most innocent of gestures. A sign of good faith.

“I’ll be okay.” Even then he didn’t believe his words. He had been wandering further and further out in his dreams. You told him to stop, that it scared you. He insisted they were nothing like your dreams. His weren’t real.

“You ready to go guys?” Josh Lambert asked. He walked up behind you, carrying a book at his side.

“You’ll call right?” you asked quickly, suddenly overcome by emotion. Dalton nodded eagerly.

“We’ve got your number, don’t worry,” Josh assured you. “We won’t be that far, right Dalton? Just down the road.” Dalton wanted to disagree but he didn’t. He just nodded, not ready for you to leave his house. Not ready to leave it himself.

“I’ll call everyday,” Dalton promised.

After a couple weeks he stopped calling. Your parents wouldn’t tell you why. Just that he couldn’t come to the phone. You could see him in your dreams, desperately lost and you had no way of helping him.

You woke up with a start.

As you grew up the dreams started to become less violent. They were always violent in nature but sometimes you could wake up and not feel panicked. You looked at your bedside table, the orange bottles staring back at you. Some were for panic attacks, some were for general anxiety, some to help you sleep. You debated taking one, wondering if you could stick it out for the day. The thought was quickly dismissed.

You had dreamt of Dalton.

You hadn’t dreamt of Dalton since you were a kid, since you lost touch. The memory of it became so blurry over time. There was no way you could have blamed him for it. In hindsight you blame your parents and the cycle of time. You went to different schools and there was no reason to stay in touch because you couldn’t ever see each other.

You grabbed your phone off the side of your bed. You hadn’t seen much.

Dalton. Older, taller, handsomer. A full man now, though you weren’t sure why you were surprised. A school, the name of the school just barely on the tip of your tongue. You wrote down everything you remembered furiously. The feeling of dread. A familiar creeping of darkness that you couldn’t quite place. Your dreams were sporadic. Whatever you had dreamt of could still be months out.

You got out of bed and walked down the hallway. You were packing for school yourself, eager to leave by the end of the week. The car was almost packed with most of your things.

You reached for your parents phone book. They kept it beside the fridge, even though it was ancient and most of the numbers were outdated. You had given them grief about it before. Everyone had numbers saved to their phones now, what was the point of a phone book?

You ate your words as you flipped through the pages, looking for Lambert. Sure enough, both Renai and Josh were separately listed. You reached for your phone, trying Renai first.

It rang for a while, leading you to believe the number might’ve been wrong. Then there was an answer and a kind voice spoke on the other end.

“Hello?”

“Hi! Is this Renai Lambert?”

“This is her. Who is this?”

“Hi Mrs. Lambert! This is kind of weird but my name is Y/N. I used to be friends with Dalton when we were kids?” There was a beat of silence and then a laugh, one you remembered well. You had always liked Renai. She was endlessly kind, always offering you lemonade when you came around. You could still hear her playing songs on the piano while you and Dalton ran around their house.

“Y/N! Oh goodness, it’s been a while hasn’t it? Why are you calling now?” You smiled, happy she remembered you.

“I just randomly dreamt of Dalton last night and hadn’t seen him in years. I was wondering if he still lived with you or if I could talk to him?”

“For sure! Gimme one second.” She moved away. You could hear a muffled call for Dalton. The phone returned to her ear. “How have you been?”

“I’ve been good! I’m going to art school at the end of the month,” you offered.

“Really? So is Dalton! Oh, here he is!” There was a moment as the phone was passed along. You cleared your throat.

“Hello?”

“Dalton?” There was another beat of silence. You thought maybe he didn’t remember you, which would be slightly awkward. You would have to re-explain everything before he would even believe a word that came out of your mouth. Then he spoke.

“Y/N?” You let out a breath of relief.

“Yeah.” He scoffed and you could picture him shaking his head in disbelief.

“What’s up? Are you okay?” Still the same protective boy he had been when you were kids.

“I had a dream about you last night and I wanted to call, see if you were okay.” Another moment of silence. You wondered if Renai had left the room.

“A not fun dream?” he asked quietly. You nodded, looking down.

“Yeah.” You could hear Renai in the background.

“She’s going to art school too.”

“Really? Where are you going?”

“Western. Not far from home, at least, where home used to be.”

“Me too,” he breathed. “Who would’ve thought?” You bit the inside of your cheek, wondering what it would be like to be back with Dalton again. You had never felt so understood like when you were with him.

“When do you leave? We should meet up for lunch.”

Dalton Lambert had gotten tall. You noticed that first when you saw him. He stepped right out of your dreams and onto his dorm room flooring. You had just missed Josh who had eagerly scurried away. Your parents had left you too. Now you and Dalton were finally in a place where you could hang out away from adults, which was a weird feeling when you were together.

He had texted you his room number and you knocked on the door. When it opened, he hugged you. It wasn’t awkward or weird. In fact, it felt like you had finally come home.

“How are you?” you asked.

“I’m okay,” he promised. He ushered you in. “I’d be better if you told me what your dream was about.” You shook your head.

“It was just you being here.”

“You have good dreams now?” You shook your head.

“That’s the whole thing.” He gestured for you to sit at his desk or at the empty bed beside his. You sat down on his bed anyway, putting your feet up to your chest like you were a child. “I don’t. But I remember feeling bad when I woke up, like something was coming.” You looked over at him. “How are you? How are your dreams?”

He paused for a moment, like he was glitching or buffering. You tilted your head.

“Dalton?”

“My dreams are fine,” he answered finally. “Not nearly as interesting as yours.” You nodded slowly. That wasn’t exactly the answer you were expecting to get but you trusted him to open up when he was ready. “So do you think somethings gonna happen?”

“I don’t know. I think I’ll know more later,” you promised, though you only half believed it.

“The last time you dreamt about me I went into my coma,” he said quietly, cautiously. He opened up to you quickly, knowing what it was like to be friends with you when you were a kid. There was something so special about being known before you even knew yourself.

“I know. That’s why I found my parents' phonebook and called your mom.”

“At least you’ll be closer this time around,” he suggested. “You’re welcome to hit me in the head if I start drifting off when I’m not supposed to.” You laughed gently.

“Good to know.” You looked up at his wall. He had started to put drawings up. His mom was in the one above his pillow, at her piano. She looked just like you remembered her. “How is she?” you asked. Your eyes scanned the room. “Oh man, how is Foster? Cali?”

“Good, good, they’re all good,” he promised, laughing a bit. “My parents got divorced a couple years ago. My dad is slightly losing it.”

“As all dads do.” Your eyes scanned the wall. There was a picture of his brother. Another of his grandmother, who you only met every once in a while. Above her was a picture you recognized. It was you. You when you were a kid, in a room you no longer remembered. “Is that me?” He cleared his throat.

“Your call had me looking through pictures.” You glanced at him, smiling a bit.

“I loved your house so much. It was like a second home to me.”

“It was a first home to me.” You rolled your eyes.

“We have so much to catch up on. Tell me everything. I have nowhere to be.”

Dalton’s room became a second one to you. It was serendipitous, moving from swapping houses to swapping dorm rooms. The transition felt comfortable and seamless. His roommate Chris moved out because she was a girl so you mostly got the room to yourselves.

A couple weeks in, he started to have nightmares. Nights where you recognized the look on his face when he woke up. It was the same look he had after he had wandered too far, daring you to go with him. When he woke up he looked just like a kid still. Big wide eyes, confused.

You sat on the spare bed. Dalton had fallen asleep half an hour before but you couldn’t bring yourself to leave. There was nothing wrong with just falling asleep there. You had done it before and you would do it again, waking up to his alarm for his early class.

You laid your head down on the pillow, scrolling on your phone. The night had fallen, indicating that you should let yourself drift off into sleep. You raised your head a bit, wondering if you could easily find one of Dalton’s shirts to wear to sleep instead of your uncomfortable day one. You should’ve asked him before he fell asleep. You stood up lazily, rubbing your eyes. The room was only illuminated by the nightlight at Dalton’s side. He had fallen asleep with a pencil still in his hand, his sketchbook still out on his side.

You groggily slipped the pencil out of his fingers, putting it on the desk. You grabbed his sketchbook, looking at what he was looking at. It was still just lines on a paper, soon to be something beautiful. You put it aside. You were about to turn around when he woke up with a start.

He lifted his head completely, almost ramming into you. You jumped, startled.

“Woah!” you exclaimed. He was breathing heavily. He looked up at you, eyes wide. You met his gaze, almost positive what had just happened. “Did you wander off?”

“What?”

“In your sleep. Did you project?” He was silent for a moment, still trying to catch up on whatever it was going on in his head. He didn’t say anything for a second, staring at you with bewildered eyes. “Dalton?”

He finally opened his eyes up to speak but was cut off by a loud screeching. You put your hands over your ears, wincing. The fire alarm was going off. Dalton scrambled out of bed, looking at the door. He rushed forward, pushing it open.

Down the hall, all the other students were leaving their beds. Most were still muddled with sleep, wearing nothing but their pajamas. You peeked your head out behind him. He grabbed your arm and started to bring you down the hallway to the stairs. It was too tight for everyone so his grip was iron tight, weaving through the confusion. You pushed through the door to the stairs, moving with the herd down. You glanced back, trying to find the source of the confusion.

You emerged outside into the night. It was freezing. The group dispersed into the courtyard, everyone looking back to the building you had just left. You brushed against Dalton behind you, who had finally let go of your arm. You couldn’t see anything in the building, nothing to indicate a reason everyone was leaving.

“Do you see anything?” you asked him. He shook his head.

“No.” You shivered, suddenly very aware of how cold it was.

“Maybe it was a drill,” you suggested. He nodded slowly, not wanting to argue as his eyes scanned the building.

Someone was yelling something in a megaphone you couldn’t make out. You tried to find the source of the voice to no avail.

“What are they saying?”

“False alarm,” he said, like it wasn’t a question. You furrowed your brows.

“How can you hear that?”

“I pulled it,” he said, finally. You turned around to look at him.

“How? You were right there with me the whole time.”

“I did it in my sleep.”

“If you knew it was a false alarm, why did we come out here?”

“Because I wasn’t sure.” His voice sounded far away. You looked back at the building, completely safe in the backdrop of the night. You turned back to him. His look was dreary and unreadable. “You should probably go back to your room,” he said, voice still far away. You tried not to take that badly. It just seemed random.

“Okay,” you said quietly. “Are you okay Dalton?”

“Yeah, yeah I’m good.” You nodded slowly. People started to pass you, going back inside.

“Want me to walk you back up?” “I’m okay,” he assured you, some of the life returning to his voice.

“Alright…I’ll see you tomorrow?” He nodded quickly and started to walk into the crowd.

The next morning you woke up in a daze. You couldn’t quite remember what happened the night before, all of it glossing over your memory like a blur. You grabbed your phone off the side table, your roommate still snoozing away. You had a text from Dalton and a text from Chris, his old roommate.

Taking Dalton to that frat party tonight. Wanna come?

You opened that one up first. Dalton at a frat party? You almost snorted. You hadn’t been back in his life for very long but it didn’t seem like his vibe. You opened Dalton’s text next.

Sorry about last night. Had a weird dream and woke up weird.

You texted him back immediately.

No worries. Are you really going to the frat party tonight?

Almost immediately a little bubble showed up in the white box. You laid your head back down on the pillow. It felt like you had only taken a nap because of the weird in between moments. A text came from Dalton.

Supposedly. Chris wants me to go. Do you wanna come?

You glanced at your calendar.

I have a test in the morning, I think I’ll pass. Thanks for the invite tho :) Try not to get too drunk!

You opened Chris’s texts back up too to answer her as well. As you were typing out your response, Dalton texted you again.

Are you sure??? I could get lost, drunk and suggestive. Who would protect me from the onslaught of potential girls?

You rolled your eyes harder.

Chris will!

You turned off your phone to get ready for the day.

You sat on your bed in your dorm room. Your eyes were dropping off to sleep, phone down on your comforter, computer open as you looked at reference pictures. Your sketch book was open, though it didn’t have anything except the bare bones of some sort of idea. You hummed to the music coming from your phone, mind wandering from your work.

Your roommate had gone to the same frat party as Dalton. You were by yourself tonight as the sun dropped. It was becoming more clear that you just wanted to go to sleep tonight to wake up rested for the test. You picked up your phone, pursing your lips as you tried to decide if giving up homework was worth it for the night. You had no new texts from Dalton or Chris except a picture from Chris’s phone of the two of them there. You smiled a bit. Dalton looked awkward and out of place. It was good that he was branching out.

Finally you set your things aside. There was no use in trying to do any more work when you were still catching up on sleep from the night before.

As you placed your head on the pillow a simultaneous pierce through your skull erupted. You grabbed your head at the familiar feeling. Usually you only got visions when you were asleep, waking up to some sort of horrific memory.

A bathroom. It felt cold, like ice, like the ground hadn’t been stepped on by humans in years. A boy was there, his face shrouded by the toilet. He gripped the sides but his hands didn’t look real. Something was wrong with him. You couldn’t tell what it was. The sound of the door opening, a creek, a sudden stop.

You dug your nails into the skin on your forehead, willing it to stop. It had been so long since you were awake when this happened.

Before it subsided you could see Dalton in the doorway. The dread returned, the same dread you had when you were a kid and he was moving away where you couldn’t protect him. You let out a breath that you had been holding. Your hands were shaking.

Usually you wrote down what you saw, quickly jotting down things you could remember. Typically nothing would stand out for you to take immediate action. This time you jumped out of bed, quickly putting on slip on shoes. You were wearing shorts and a hoodie, clothes to sleep in, when you ran down the stairs. You had never been to the frat the party was at tonight but there were still fliers everywhere and you assured yourself you would find one.

Thankfully, right on the pole outside of the building was a green poster with the address. You knew where Greek Row was, not more than a five minute walk from your dorm. You turned towards it and started to run.

By the time you got there you were already exhausted. You crashed through the door, entering a chaotic scene. There were people everywhere, ramming into each other, sloshing drinks on people’s clothes, too drunk to care. You scanned the crowd. You pushed through people, to the staircase. There were people hanging out there, leaning against the railing, leaning against each other. You walked upstairs, searching for a bathroom. The doors were mostly locked.

You ran right into Chris, leaving the bathroom. You peeked inside but it wasn’t the one from your vision.

“Woah! You decided to come after all! What are you wearing?”

“Where’s Dalton?” She gestured to a door down the hall. You rushed towards it, almost tripping over yourself. You swung the door open. Dalton was on the ground, half under the bed, face filled with fear. “Dalton!” He snapped his head back up at you and then back in the air. There was nothing there. “Did you..did you see that?”

“No.”

“There was something-” You fell to your knees beside him, helping him out from under the bed.

“What did you see?”

“A kid in the bathroom. There was someone in the bathroom and he was-”

“Dead.” Chris emerged at the door frame.

“What are you guys talking about?”

“Have you been astral projecting lately?” you asked him, voice low and serious. His eyebrows furrowed.

“Have I been what?” You stared at him for a long time, unsure what he meant. Maybe he just didn’t want to say anything in front of Chris.

“Dalton come on.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said and he felt honest. He grabbed your hand, willing you to believe him.

“When we were kids you could walk around in your sleep. Your soul left your body or whatever.” You paused, trying to read his face. “You don’t remember?”

‘No,” he said, honestly.

“What are you guys talking about?” Chris repeated.

“We should go,” you said quickly. “We’ll talk back at the dorms.” You helped Dalton up.

Though she protested, Chris left the two of you alone in Dalton’s dorm. The explanations coming out of his mouth weren’t something she trusted and she trusted you to make sure he went to bed alright. Though she did feel bad for dragging him along, unsure if the drinking had something to do with his abnormal reaction.

“We have to call your parents,” you said as he sat down at his desk. He shook his head.

“I can’t.”

“Yes you can. They know what happened here and why you don’t remember it.” You hadn’t known everything about Dalton being in a coma but you didn’t expect him to remember nothing of it completely. He detailed not even remembering being sick. They moved into the new house and then the rest of the year was nothing but a blur.

“I wouldn’t believe you if I hadn’t just seen it,” he breathed. You grabbed his phone off the table, opening it up. “Wait-”

“No wait. We have to call your mom. She’ll know what to do.”

“But this could just be something completely normal. You said I could do it before I went into my coma.”

“And then you went too far, Dalton. I don’t actually know how far too far is but I know you’re already too close to it.” You held up the phone for him. “Call her.” He looked at you, eyebrows knitted. He looked at the canvas at his desk, completely covered in black, a red door created at the edges. There was something at that door he couldn’t remember anymore. He set his jaw and grabbed his phone.

“I don’t think this is gonna help.”

“Put it on speaker.”

The phone rang for a moment but no longer than that. Renai answered quickly.

“Hello? Dalton?”

“Hey mom.”

“It’s nice of you to call,” she said, half jokingly. “How are things there? Are you settling in nicely?”

“Yeah mom, that’s not really why I called.” He gave you a look as you sat beside him eagerly. “I’ve been having these dreams and Y/N said you might know something about that.”

The line was silent for a moment.

“What kind of dreams?”

“I can see my body when I leave it. Like I’m walking around in this other world.”

“Is Y/N there?”

“Right here Mrs. Lambert.” She paused again. The tension seeped from the phone. You met Dalton’s eyes.

“Mom?”

“Maybe I should just come up there and talk to you in person. Can Y/N stay with you until I get there?”

“What? Mom, you don’t need to come all the way up here.” Shuffling came from the other line.

“It’s too hard to explain over the phone. I’ll be there in the morning.”

“No, mom.” He took a deep breath. “What happened? Tell me now.” His hands were wrapped tightly around the phone. He had grabbed your hand. You couldn’t remember when.

“You and your father don’t know,” she said quietly. “We made it so that those memories were suppressed. I don’t know how it came back.” She shuddered. “When you were in the coma you went somewhere Dalton. For three months, we lost you.”

“Where?”

“A place called The Further.” Her voice was gravely serious. He stared at the ground. The name sent shivers down his spine, like all that repressed childhood fear came back. “You got lost there and things tried to take your body. Your dad went back to find you and…something else came back instead of him.” Dalton looked at the door painting on his desk.

“How do I stop it?”

“I don’t know honey. I’m coming down.”

“What about dad? What if he’s going through this too?”

“I’ll get your father. We’ll come together.” Dalton had nothing to say to that. It must be serious if they were going to stay together for a long period of time like the drive up to school. “Stay with Y/N.” There was a beat. “I love you Dalton.”

“I love you too mom.”

She hung up the phone. For a long time you just sat there in silence. You hadn’t ever gotten those answers before, the ones you had only gotten glimpses of when you were a kid trying to sleep.

“I remember the demon trying to get you,” you whispered. “He was dark…with red,” you said. “I had nightmares about him for months. I kept seeing him get closer and closer but no one believed me.”

Dalton looked over at you, his look unreadable.

“He’s trying to get me again,” Dalton muttered. “I can feel him.”

You shook your head. That was the last thing you wanted to hear. You stood up, letting go of his hand.

“This is bigger than us. There’s this whole other world and you’re going to it and it’s so close-”

“But if I don’t go to it then-”

“Are you gonna stay awake? Forever?” Dalton shut his mouth. “Repressing the ability didn’t work so what else is there to do but enter the place?” You shivered. Just the memory of your visions sent chills down your spine. “I haven’t seen the demon recently. I’ve just seen you.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing.” You nodded. You paced, unsure what to do with all the fear in your body. “We just have to wait till the morning, then my mom will be here.” You both knew that might not solve anything. Still, you nodded. There was nothing else to do but wait.

“I’m staying here with you.”

“I don’t wanna be alone anyway.” He shook his head, voice far away. This dorm had started to become a safe haven, despite the places your brain went when you were asleep. It felt much better than your own dorm with the roommate you hardly knew. You’d likely be getting a text from her in the morning, wondering where you were again.

You sat back down on Dalton’s bed.

“Are we gonna try and stay awake all night?” He shook his head.

“If I wake up I’ll just stay right where I am.”

“That sounds easier than it will be.” It was already late, nearly midnight. You were tired and your heart was starting to slow down now that the problem didn’t seem as pressing. You rubbed the sleep out of your eyes but it didn’t do much.

“Are you ready to sleep now?” he asked. You nodded.

“I really thought I was gonna go to bed early tonight. Looks like I’ll be skipping the test in the morning.”

“I don’t want you to do that. I’ll be fine by myself.” You shook your head.

“No way. I’m staying here until your parents show.” You yawned. “But I should probably go to sleep soon.” He glanced at the bed on the other side of the room. He knew you would go there automatically if he didn’t say otherwise. He couldn’t exactly explain it but he would just feel safer if you were closer to him.

He could explain it but suddenly that feeling was scarier then wandering off into The Further.

“I’ll take that b-”

“You could sleep with me.” You raised an eyebrow at the suggestion. Without so much as a beat you answered.

“Okay.” He let out a breath. You got up. “Scoot over then.” He looked up at you and your willingness to be so close to him.

“I’ve gotta change.”

“Then change.” He stood up, walking to his drawer. He shuffled around in there for something acceptable to wear. Usually he just wore his boxers and a shirt but suddenly that felt so revealing. He could see you in the corner of his eye, getting under the covers and getting comfortable.

You tried to pretend it wasn’t a big deal to you that he asked even though your heart was in your throat.

“Don’t look,” he said. You made a dramatic gesture of covering your eyes. He took his shirt, facing away from you. You peaked between your fingers, admiring his back as he quickly slipped the other shirt back on. When he undid his belt you covered your eyes again.

“You can stay awake,” you offered. He turned off the lamp on the desk, leaving only the nightlight. He moved the blankets aside so he could sit beside you.

“I’m exhausted from finding out my memory was erased.”

“It sounds so dramatic that way.”

“What would you say?”

“Hypnotism.” He put his head against the pillow, facing you. It was rare you were at eye level.

“That’s dramatic too.”

You sat there in silence for a moment. You hadn’t seen his face so close to you since you were kids. It was just like the sleepovers you had when you were a kid, just a little less innocent.

“Are you scared to fall asleep?” he asked, voice a whisper now.

“Sometimes. Tonight I am. I don’t wanna dream about you.” He should be feeling awkward, being so close to you. Instead he felt more comfortable than ever.

“Then don’t.”

“I’ll give it my best effort.” Your eyes were so heavy. They closed without you even thinking about it.

“I’m gonna be awake a little longer. I think I’m gonna sketch.”

“Okay Dalton,” you whispered and it sounded so incredibly childlike. He sat up a bit, leaning against the headboard. He grabbed his sketchpad off the table. You nuzzled your head into the pillow. “Do you mind if I use you as a pillow?” you asked quietly.

“No. Not at all.”

You moved forward a bit and then your head was on his lower chest, arm over him. He put his hand over your back and suddenly sketching seemed much less important than making you comfortable.

“Goodnight Y/N.”

Neither of you had set an alarm.

Renai and Josh showed up early at 7 the next morning, the sun still slowly coming up. Renai knocked on the door, antsy to see her son. She had explained everything to Josh on the way over. He was pleased to find he wasn’t crazy.

The knock went unanswered. She took a deep breath and knocked again.

“You don’t think it’s unlocked do you?” she questioned. Josh tried the doorknob. It opened with ease. They shared a look.

The other bed was still unused. Laying in the other bed was you and Dalton. You were on his chest, a pencil lazily in his fingers. He was hugging you with both arms, cheek pressed against your head.

Renai couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief.

“They’re okay,” she whispered. Josh nodded. He wanted to smile at the sight. It felt right.

“Should we wait for them to wake up?”

Renai couldn’t help but feel unhappy when Dalton slept. Even years later, whenever he slept in, she was checking on him constantly.

“They’ll understand.” She approached him, sitting at the edge and nudging his shoulder. He groaned. He was okay. He was there. You nosed your face further into his chest.

Neither of you had any nightmares that night. Your sleep was as black as it should be, consumed by each other's arms.

#dalton lambert x fem!reader #dalton lambert imagines #insidious the red door spoilers #insidious imagines #dalton lambert fanfiction

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blood-orange-juice · 4 months

Note

ok so ive never properly played genshin and don’t plan to but i know a bit about it’s lore and characters and i think it’s really neat. however i have thousands of hours on ffxiv. on that note please explain why graha and childe are similar. i only have very basic knowledge on childe and i gotta know

Fellow ffxiv enjoyer. <3

(anyone asking me about G'raha has a 100% chance of getting a wall of text and I'm not apologising for that. enjoy your wall of text)

I'm not entirely sure I'm not a case of a person with a hammer to whom everything resembles a nail, but I do think they are the same archetype.

Sweet characters who could have been perfect sidekicks (who still are perfect sidekicks) but listened to too many epic tales as kids and found themselves in a wrong place at a wrong time and now have to play a key role in some universe-changing story.

Both are defined mostly by their stubborness, they are not very suitable for the roles they've chosen and fail over and over again until they do it somewhat right (barely).

No matter how badass they look, their power is not their own, G'raha is a glorified technician of someone else's miracle and little else than a living key, Childe wields an art of old Khaenri'ah without fully understanding it. It's all borrowed from someone else who needed them to achieve a goal.

They do look badass, but mostly because they larp. I'm honestly not sure which one enjoys theatrics more.

Civilisations that created the magic they use specialised in perversion of the natural order of things. They try to use it in relatively noble ways and mostly hurt themselves but the flavour is there.

Both are unbelievably tragic and both somehow make their stories seem almost lighthearted. Complete absense of self-pity. I think that's what makes them both so charming, it's a rare trait.

Both have an incredible capacity for loyalty and love and an incredibly twisted view of what relationships look like. "I'll cross time and space for you, I'll die for you, I'll build a city for you, I'll live for you but please don't ask me to share my plans." "I'll sacrfice my own health and respect of my subordinates to keep my brother's happyness, probably my humanity too, but don't expect me to actually interact with him."

Both have something that looks like self-sacrificial tendencies bordering on suicidality while being, if we are honest, a self-serving trait (partially born out of low self-esteem but still self-serving). They want to live in an old myth and sacrificing oneself is a perfectly reasonable price for that.

Huge egos. And I mean Huge Egos. It's a bit less obvious in Graha's case but I know the type, you see guys like that in PhD programs a lot.

Huge dorks. Both of them.

Both are stuck somewhere between human and non-human and, hmm... their ability to remain human is the most astonishing quality of both. By all accounts, neither should have. They somehow did.

Both are incapable of lying to the point where a third of each fandom headcanons them as autistic. Both are somewhat all right with tricking people without technically lying (although Childe had more practice).

Both are secretive because no one would understand anyway.

FF XIV is a kinder story, so it's easy to overlook, but technically G'raha is a case of body horror, accepts the role of a villain for a while and hides from the player way too much. Hmmm... Where else have I seen it. Hmm. Oh right. That ginger guy from Genshin.

Minor things:

Both are little shits and enjoy annoying the hell out of people they dislike.

Abysmally bad fashion sense. There should be a name for this particular type and level of bad. I don't think I've seen this anywhere else.

And then there's the colour scheme. Red+black+white+blue and red+black+light grey+blue (it's an "anime magician" color profile, I think. black-red-white as alchemy colours + blue as pure magic/something elemental). Childe doesn't quite fit but still the combination is rare.

They way they talk. Dear gods. Who the hell talks like that.

Here's where the similarities end.

One is morally grey but ultimately a good guy (technically. I think the point of ShB was that Emet and G'raha are almost the same), another is a morally grey but still (kind of) a bad buy.

At every step of his story Graha is surrounded by people who love or at least appreciate him, Childe is pretty much on his own and surrounded by people who are either shitty or clueless.

G'raha is kind. Truly and astonishingly kind, in a doomed world he chooses to love everything he touches. Silly little priest of hope. Of all the things he has done this is the most wondrous, I think. Not the time travel, not the city he founded, just being able to remain kind after everything that happened to him.

Childe is... well, Childe. I think he is a deeply decent person (to the point of having a visceral distaste for any kind of unfairness) and he's idealistic but he's indifferent more than he is kind. Empathy usually develops only when someone has shown the person empathy first and, as far as we know, he didn't have much of that in his life.

Also G'raha builds things. Childe breaks things. Childe breaks pretty much everything he touches.

One is an archeologist and a mage and another is a warrior.

I think these differences are caused mostly by the settings they were put into. Childe raised in Sharlayan would have been a very different person. G'raha trained by a voidsent and shipped off to Garlean military would look very much like Childe.

G'raha also has a beautiful character development arc. I love his ShB role. He has this huge ego in the raids and is insufferable and then we see an older and wiser him with a bunch of actual achievements and a bad case of impostor syndrome (trying to do anything real always humbles a person, we all know that real world is held together by sticks and scotch tape. honestly, this change alone is beautiful). And he gets to be an actual hero when he abandons all hope to be Important and resigns to die as a nameless villain if it saves everyone and spares his loved ones from heartbreak.

Childe's character development is yet to happen and I'm not hoping for much but we'll see.

The only difference that definitely isn't created by setting is that G'raha is naturally manipulative. In a kind-hearted way and mostly for the sake of better larp but he isn't that straightforward. Childe is spectacularly blunt for all his mysteriousness.

As a bonus, they both compare main characters to stars, but in completely different ways.

"No doubt your heroism will be the star by which I chart my course," says G'raha to the WoL.

Childe mentions the morning star, which is, of course, pretty and a good companion to a lonely traveler, but also it's not a celestial body you can chart your course by.

It's a guy whose signature weapon is called "Polar Star" and his first artifact set was full of nautical themes, so I think he fully understands what he's saying. "You are my friend but I won't change anything in my life for you."

So I don't think his story will be anything like G'raha's, his life took a different turn very long ago. I do think they used to be similar as kids, bookish boys who dreamed of adventure and being special. So it's fun to compare.

Thank you for coming to my TED talk. <3

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larkspyrr · 6 months

Text

chapter iv — i'll use you as a focal point (wc. 5k)

prev — masterlist / ao3 — next

reblogs are appreciated!

You groaned, a noise that you were fairly certain rose from the very depths of hell itself to give life to your marrow-deep exhaustion.

From somewhere to your right, you could hear the duke laugh, a sound distinctly shit-eating. He then leaned over you and into your line of sight, causing you to squint to try and make out his face against the backdrop of the obnoxiously bright golden skylight far above.

"How you doing down there?" he asked, a smug, gleeful grin to match his laughter tugging at each corner of his mouth.

You grimaced by way of an answer.

Wriothesley reached his hand down to you, looking more chipper than he had any right to. You fought back the urge to slap it away in a petty display of childishness which the only remaining functional portion of your brain recognized was undeserved, no matter how many spars he had won in the last two hours. However, it turns out the majority of your muscles no longer quite wanted to respond to your mental commands, so you accepted the lift, letting your palm fall heavily into his grip. He pulled you up roughly; his warm, calloused hand tight around yours as you stumbled back onto your feet. He took a second to make sure your balance had fully returned before he released you.

"That was invigorating," he said, breathless and windswept in an infuriatingly charming sort of way. The man was not nearly as affected by exertion as he should have been — according to you, anyway. You were certain you hadn't been that much of a pushover. "Well done."

You grunted, surely the very picture of nobility, silently preening at the praise you hadn't known you'd been hoping for. Every fiber of your body felt like frayed thread — but your mind was buzzy and alive.

Everything about the ring was as exciting as it was new. You'd been taken to the limits of your abilities and then ushered past the threshold, again and again, but you'd loved every moment of it; every loss, every clip you weren't able to dodge in time, every rare instance where you were able to clip Wriothesley right back.

There was something electrifying about exchanging blows, trying to anticipate your partner's next move whilst planning your own. About testing the boundaries of your abilities, your strength and dexterity, about making decisions in less time than it took to blink. It dug its fingers into you, created a hunger that you'd never experienced before, something primal and unfiltered and thrilling.

Suddenly, you were in perfect understanding as to how the Pankration Ring had become such a staple for the residents of the Fortress. You were fairly certain you now had a better understanding of the duke himself, too, having seen how he teaches — thorough and patient and kind — and, maybe more importantly, having seen how he fights — with power and grace and dignity and a ferocity that might have frightened you if you'd never seen the warmth he kept safely hidden behind his cool facade.

Boxing went against everything you'd ever learned at every ball and in every etiquette class and at every overstated, vacuous dining table — it was brutal and untamed and utterly lacking the propriety you'd learned to wear like armor, as though your composure was all you'd need in order to weather a world that wanted only to see you fail. It awakened an instinct that you had never been allowed to even acknowledge, let alone encouraged to follow. It stripped you down, scrubbed you raw, and then built you back up again, shiny and new.

You couldn't wait to come back.

Instead of giving voice to any of that — you had a reputation to uphold, after all — you opted to exhale roughly, shaking out a foot. "I can't feel my legs."

"Good," Wriothesley chirped merrily, slapping you on the shoulder. You gasped, pitching forward. The duke's eyes wrinkled at the corners, watching you straighten and shoot him the dirtiest look you could muster. "And don't try to fool me — I can tell you loved it. Now go shower and get your fancy stuff back on. I'm starving. To death, in fact."

You sighed but obeyed, your soul answering to the promise of a cool shower and hot food. Stretching your overtaxed limbs, you made your way back to the locker room, Molly trailing swiftly behind, chattering away at a mile a minute, seemingly almost as energized as the duke after your series of bouts. She was carrying your dress in her hands, freshly laundered and folded and smelling far too lovely for it to belong anywhere near a prison, let alone a boxing ring.

"And you were just wonderful," Molly was saying, smiling widely. "Frankly, I know you're no stranger to sparring with Miss Clorinde, but that was always with swords so I didn't have high expectations for you when it came to boxing."

You huffed. "Wow. Thanks," you drawled.

"Oh, don't be that way, miss, you know what I meant," she said easily, a lazy wave of one of her hands. She nearly dropped your dress onto the locker room floor but saved it with a wobbly oof, slapping her free hand back under the neat pile. She trotted on, unaffected. "I can't be blamed for having doubts! Besides, you blew me away."

You breathed a laugh. "I didn't win even once, Molly," you told her, untying your boots.

"Not today!" she gushed, nearly bouncing on her feet. "But His Grace has been doing this for years and you still managed to keep up, even if you didn't win! I wager it's only a matter of time before your training sessions are more evenly matched."

You smiled, a hopeful little flicker of pride settling in your chest.

A quick shower, a rote redressing, and a tidal wave of chatter later, you reemerged from the locker room, looking and smelling fresh, hoping that the stiffness in your limbs wouldn't betray your secret training session from behind the haze of lavender-scented detergent. You'd had Molly's help putting yourself back together and she had given her seal of approval, so you couldn't have looked too worse for wear.

The duke turned away from the ring, fastening the usual gloves back onto his scarred hands, eyes meeting yours. He grinned, wide and wolfish. He had changed into a fresh suit, dark and grayscale like his usual, burgundy tie once more secured around his neck, dangling pointlessly and crookedly in front of an indecently undone series of buttons. An unprofessional and deliberate stylistic choice for sure, dishevelment juxtaposed by all the accoutrements you'd associate with a man in his position, in a way which was clearly meant to illustrate his status while still embodying the spirit of rebellion. You had respect for that. So much that was familiar to you, reimagined to suit his own desires. You were positive it must piss Thibeault off to no end. You were jealous of the debonair audacity. Maybe even a little appreciative.

From an aesthetic standpoint, at least, you were certainly... appreciative.

You shook your head, banishing that particular train of thought.

"You two hungry?" he asked, offering his arm to you. Woefully, it was once again concealed behind his shirt sleeves.

You shook your head again for good measure. Clearly the first had not been powerful enough.

"Naturally," you said, twining your arm with his. "You also promised me tea."

"A woman after my own heart," he said in a conspiratorial undertone to Molly. She giggled. "Let's all depart then. I know just the place. Even if it is the only place. You remember the Coupon Cafeteria, don't you?"

"Victory has put you in a good mood."

"I'm always in a good mood."

Side by side, you made your way back through the halls surrounding the Pankration Ring to the elevator, ascending from the deepest depths back to the main level. Once on the administrative floor, the familiar hustle and bustle continued on, the heart of the underwater city beating as strongly as ever. Weaving between the milling crowds of people, arm-in-arm, you couldn't help but notice the number of surreptitious glances and hushed words exchanged as you passed. Wriothesley had been right about the gossiping, that much was clear. You wondered if it would make its way to the surface as quickly as he seemed to think it would. You hoped it got up to Thibeault and soured the milk in his tea.

There was a pause in the clamor of the cafeteria as you entered, bread and drinks frozen halfway up to agape mouths, eyes wide and watchful. You saw a tomato slide out of someone's sandwich and onto the brass of their bench. He seemed not to even notice himself.

"Wolsey?" Wriothesley called, leaning forward into the kiosk to search for the man in question, either oblivious to the scrutiny, unaffected by it, or very good at appearing unaffected. You could hear the distant clanging of metal and raucous laughter from somewhere deep in the kitchen. After a moment, Wolsey ducked beneath the row of hanging pots and pans separating the kitchen and kiosk to stand behind the counter, a harried smile on his kindly, weathered face.

"Ah, Your Grace," he said, dipping his head in greeting. "I received your request this morning for the meals — I've prepared something I think you'll all like. Should only take a few minutes to finish up."

"Wonderful," said the duke with a gracious nod. "Thanks, Wolsey."

Wolsey disappeared back into the depths of the kitchen, the clanging picking up twofold. Wriothesley guided you away to a table at the edge of the cafe seating area, pulling out one of the rickety iron chairs with a theatrical flourish.

"My lady," he said in an imperious tone, bending into a deep bow, peering at you from beneath a dark, raised brow. His lips quirked at the corner.

You rolled your eyes at his display, but took the offered seat, settling in and fanning out your dress around you. You shot him a look. "You're enjoying this far too much." Wriothesley winked at you and pulled out a chair for Molly as well, who flustered at his courtesy, waving her hands.

"Oh, thank you, Your Grace, but I was just about to go summon the aquabus back for my lady and me," she said apologetically. This was news to you. You raised a scrutinizing eyebrow which she pointedly ignored.

Wriothesley, oblivious to her shenanigans, smiled warmly at her. "Ah, I see. Thank you, Molly."

"Of course, Your Grace," she said with a tiny curtsy and a wicked little smile in your direction. Traitor. "Enjoy your meal, you two!"

"Dinner for two?" he said as she scurried away into the crowd. "How utterly scandalous."

"And specially requested meals, at that," you quipped. "I'm flattered. You spoil me."

"Anything for my intended. This is one of the many perks of the job," he responded easily, gesturing at the liveliness of the cafeteria. "No dental, though. And as for the food, I... uh..." His face scrunched. "I make a point of preparing my own meals unless I'm able to tell Wolsey in advance that I'm coming."

You couldn't help but snicker. "That bad, huh?"

"Oh, you have no idea," he replied wearily, dropping into the seat across from you.

"They're happy to do anything for the darling of the Fortress, though, I'm sure," you said innocently, leaning back and letting your eyes scan over the massive room and its vibrant array of occupants. "I've seen no fewer than two dozen people looking at you with stars in their eyes since we left the elevator. And that's just since the elevator. We've only made it about, oh, a hundred yards or so."

He scoffed. "Please," he said. "That's rich, coming from the belle of the ball. I'm frankly surprised anyone would believe that you'd ever choose a delinquent like me. Even I didn't think you'd give me the time of day," he said, a playful smile on his face as his eyes flicked from where your hands folded in front of you to your face. "No matter how handsome and charming I am. You could have anyone you want when you're finally ready to settle down and start a family."

You shook your head. "No, I told you I'm not concerned with anything like that," you said quickly. "Starting a family is not in my plans. Now or ever."

His eyebrows narrowed. "You're serious?" he asked. "Ever? Even after you've become a Champion Duelist?"

After, you noted, a sharp pang resonating behind your ribs. Not if.

You cleared your throat. "Nah," you said, trying your best to sound casual and not at all touched. You cringed inwardly at the unnatural way the word sounded, grating like a tin can down a gutter. "My aspirations would conflict with familial responsibilities and I need to be able to focus all my efforts on my work," you explained. "I just... it wouldn't be fair to anyone to ask them to sacrifice their future for me. I will take care of my family now so that I won't have to feel guilty for focusing on my future afterwards."

He frowned, deep in thought. "Well, I don't know if that's strictly true," he argued. "You should never feel guilty for having dreams or for pursuing them. A future can be shared, you know?"

Your swallowed, your stomach in a knot. "Well, what about you?" you asked lightly, intent on turning the conversation away from you. Evidently it worked, as Wriothesley looked briefly startled by the abrupt pivot. "Does the illustrious Duke of Meropide ever plan on settling down?"

Wriothesley looked like he was seeing something far away, carefully swirling his drink while he thought. "Maybe," he said finally. "Not in the immediate future, but someday, yeah. I'd like to."

You sat back against your chair once you realized how far forward you had been leaning. The extra space made it easier to think. "Really?" you asked. "You didn't strike me as the type."

Wriothesley laughed but the sound was brittle and half-hearted. "What 'type' did I strike you as then?" He shrugged. "I guess I'd just like to have the family I never had. With the right person, of course," he amended quickly. "I don't want to be rushed into the decision, as the court would like me to be."

You look at him for a long moment. Understanding... recognition flared inside you. "I know what you mean," you said softly

He scratched at the back of his neck uncomfortably. "Sorry, didn't mean to get too heavy on you there. Go ahead. You can call me a romantic fool."

Your brows knitted together and you shook your head. "I don't think wanting to have a family makes you a fool, Wriothesley. Not at all. I'm confident you're a fool for other reasons," you teased with a gentle smile, "but not this one. I think it's a nice desire to have. I hope you find the right person one day."

"I... thank you," he said haltingly. The tips of his ears looked faintly tinted. He cleared his throat with a noncommittal wave of his hand, and he might as well have been dispersing any hint of vulnerability in the air as though it were a wisp of smoke. "Sadly, here my options are somewhat limited," he lamented with a melodramatic sigh, a clumsy but firm topic change of his own. "However... there is a very charming young man who works in PZ2 who's expressed interest. I believe he's in for tax evasion."

You held a dainty hand to your chest, gasping in delight. "So you have prospects after all!"

"Oh, I do," he said, raising his chin haughtily. Amusement danced in his eyes. "As you observed, I'm very popular."

Wolsey approached your table as you laughed, dishes in hand, raising a scraggly, aged eyebrow at the baffling exchange before him. You recognized that it would appear, at best, odd to anyone not aware of the true nature of your relationship with Wriothesley, so you hoped Wolsey wasn't one to partake in the notorious Fortress gossip cycle. Wolsey shook his head wearily with a good-natured smile. One that said with no words, clear as day — kids these days. You hoped that was the green light that he wouldn't go poisoning your meticulously crafted well.

"Here you are," he said, placing a dish down before each of you. "Enjoy your dinner, Your Grace, my lady."

You both thanked him happily before digging into your meals.

You swallowed, eyes wide. "The inmates eat like this every day?" you asked, barely resisting the urge to shove more food into your mouth while you still spoke. It was phenomenal.

The duke snickered and for your life you couldn't understand what could possibly be so funny. "Archons, no. No. The welfare meals here are a bit of a... lottery system, so-to-speak."

"Hm?" You tilted your head, puzzled. "A... lottery?" you repeated. "Like gambling?"

"Yep," he said, popping the 'p', tossing another piece of his steak into his mouth. He proceeded to explain while chewing. "Exactly like gambling. We have several chefs on staff. Some of them are even inmates themselves. So let's just say, the type and quality of the meal depends upon whose you end up receiving. That's why I notified Wolsey in advance to ask him to make our meals himself."

You paused for a moment, letting his words sink in before throwing your head back in laughter. "A lottery," you wheezed, nearly choking on your food. "Oh, that's delightful. Probably cruel and unusual punishment, too, but delightful."

He beamed at you, eyes scanning over your face as you fought to regain your composure through fits of giggles. "If anyone asks," he said, blue eyes alight with mischief. "I didn't say a word. It would be bad for kitchen morale."

You snorted. "Perish the thought. Far be it from me to damage kitchen morale."

You were wrapping up dinner when a young man approached the pair of you, looking for all the world like he'd prefer to be anywhere else. He was thin, wearing the standard inmate overalls and an uneasy expression beneath a mop of sandy hair. He twiddled his thumbs in front of him as he waited for Wriothesley to notice him. You couldn't help but wonder how old the kid was. He couldn't have yet been out of his teens.

Wriothesley trailed off as he noticed the new spectator to your conversation.

"Your Grace?" the boy said at last. "Might I have a word?"

Wriothesley smiled tightly, placing his fork back down onto his empty plate. "George. Of course," he said to the boy who exhaled with palpable relief. Wriothesley turned an apologetic look at you. "Please excuse me. Feel free to have a look around. This shouldn't be long."

"Of course. I'll be fine," you reassured. Wriothesley nodded gratefully and began walking with the boy to a quiet corner near the cafeteria, already speaking in hushed tones. Wolsey came over to clear the rest of the table, offering you a polite smile as he collected the empty dishes. You thanked him and made your way in the opposite direction from the duke to explore a bit more freely, side-stepping inmates and guards and doing your best to take it all in. You noticed nowhere near as many people paid you any mind while you walked alone, despite the fact that you stuck out like a sore thumb in your stiflingly formal attire.

"Hey, lady!"

Clearly you stood out more than you'd thought. You came to a stop so abrupt it felt like reaching the end of a chain tether. You turned your head to find the source of the call, but could see no one close enough to have been the owner of such a high-pitched, authoritative voice. You turned even further, confused, completing an entire circle in place like a music box ballerina.

"Oi, over here!" came the voice again, cutting through the pandemonium. "Whaddarya, blind?"

You rotated once more to the source, emanating from a stack of various storage boxes and cases tucked away between two huge pillars of bronze and iron. Your eyes had to fall a few feet short of the height you'd been expecting to find the culprit — a little girl, no older than ten, little fists firmly anchored on each hip. She looked at you, up and down and then back up again with judgemental, green eyes.

"I never seen you ‘round these parts before," she said. She lifted her chin at you. Ornery little thing.

Your lips twitched as you watched the kid size you up. You couldn't help but feel a surge of fondness for the defiant, precocious little gesture. "That would be because I've never been here before," you told her.

She blinked, head tilted. "You servin' time?" she asked gruffly.

"No, ma'am," you said, squatting down to get on her level. Your freshly laundered hem dragged into a murky little puddle and you immediately felt a streak of guilt as Molly's hard work was once again ruined. "Just visiting the duke."

She rose an eyebrow. "The duke?" she intoned disbelievingly. "You tellin' me you're friends with His Grace?"

You nodded, smiling. "That I am."

She gave you an odious look, turning her back on you to make her way back to her corner. "If you say so, lady," she called over her shoulder. As she reached the stack of boxes, she spun to face you again, folding her arms in front of her chest. There was a boy you hadn't noticed before now standing beside her. He looked at you shyly, eyes comically wide.

You laughed softly, straightening and walking to the pair of them, near what you now realized was a small fort built between the two stacks of boxes. "What are the two of you up to?" you asked, leaning down to peek beneath the tarp draped over the two kids. There were a bunch of small items lying in cluttered, well-loved disarray across a rumpled plaid blanket — toys, knickknacks, clothes, and a lantern. Pillows. A couple of stacks of books, some for kids, some looking far too advanced for children their age. A small stuffed duck, a hint of fluff poking out from a small rip in the seam of its beak. "Do you two live in there?"

"No," said the girl insolently, as though to ask such a thing was the most preposterous thing in the world. "We have a room with some of the other kids. This is just our castle."

"No one minds when we build the castle here." The boy didn't look up from his feet as he kicked them softly against the iron flooring. He nodded. "We were playing checkers."

"Oh, I love checkers," you said brightly, kneeling down again so you'd be able to meet their eyes on their own level. "Can I join? I'm afraid His Grace is a bit busy right now and I'd love to hear more about the Fortress."

She looked at you, expression a little too calculating for your comfort. "It'll cost ya," said the girl at last.

"Huh? To play checkers?" you asked, confused.

"Nah, lady. The intel," she corrected.

"Oh, I see," you said seriously. "What'll it cost me?"

She leveled you with an unimpressed stare. "What else?" she said. "Credit coupons."

You frowned. "I'm afraid I don't have any credit coupons. But I do have… let's see… I have..." you trailed off, searching your brain absolutely anything of use to the kid. You came up short. You currently had nothing except, quite literally, the dress on your back. "I don't have anything at all."

She harrumphed, putting her fists back on her hips. "Whatever then, we don't need any coupons. We'll give you the info on the house. Just put in a good word for us with His Grace."

You grinned. "Oh, absolutely. I can do that." You chuckled and introduced yourself. "What are your names?"

She sniffed. "I'm Paulette. He's Jean. We're twins."

You grinned. "It's very nice to meet you, Paulette and Jean." Your eyes scanned the room quickly, locating Wriothesley as he bid goodbye to the young man from before. "And I'm afraid it seems we are going to have to postpone our checkers game."

Paulette grunted. "Rain check, then. Jean's too easy to beat so I expect you to be a better opponent than him next time."

"Hey!" said Jean, offended.

"You bet," you said, straightening back up. You winked. "But I won't go easy on you. Take care, you two."

Paulette waved you off with a noncommittal hand as she and Jean ducked into their castle. You turned away to find Wriothesley already walking over to you from across the administrative floor, his hand rising to seize your attention, almost as though he was unaware of just how much he stood out from any crowd. You began to meet him in the middle, trying to avoid the dinner rush of people coming to and from the cafeteria in a chaotic shuffle.

You'd almost made it when you felt a sharp force colliding with your shoulder, sending you careening forward and into another man, cup of coffee knocked clean out of his hand and hurtling straight toward you.

In the split second before you realized the steaming hot beverage was about to scald the bare skin of your collar, you braced for impact, but it never came — at least, not like you'd expected. Instead, a cold, hard, coffee-colored mass slid harmlessly down the front of your dress, meeting with the floor and sliding smoothly away a few feet before coming to a stop.

The duke stood before you with a worried expression, hand outstretched, a tiny cloud of frost dancing between his extended fingers.

You gawked, gaze darting between his hand and the brown, misshapen ice on the ground several feet away. "Did that just freeze?" you asked at last.

He nodded, worry fading away into perplexity. "That's right."

You passed your hand through the cloud at his fingertips. Tiny flakes of snow clung to your skin before melting away, leaving no evidence they had ever been there at all. You felt a surge of sadness, but it was short-lived. Wriothesley flexed his fingers, a second, tiny blizzard coming into being between your hands. It swirled in and out of your fingers and curled around your wrist with a mind of its own. You marveled at the tiny phenomenon. "I didn't know you had a vision," you said quietly, eyes glued to his hands.

"I mean, I suppose it's not common knowledge," Wriothesley said. "But it isn't a secret, either."

"Huh," you said intelligently as the rest of the blizzard faded away. You looked at him, scanning his vest and belt. "Where do you wear it?"

"Back of my coat," he said, turning just enough so you could see the glittering blue ornament hanging from the back of his left shoulder. "Have for a while now."

A puzzle piece clicked into place in your mind and you brightened with understanding. "That's why your back felt so cold at the ball," you gasped. "My hand was freezing."

"That... sounds about right," he said, smiling sheepishly. "Look, I'm sorry. We're going to have cut our date a little short today. Something's come up that can't wait."

"Oh. I see," you said, vaguely disappointed but unable to pinpoint exactly why. "Rain check on the tea, then? I was looking forward to it, you know."

He shook his head, smiling in a way that looked almost awed. "You really are something," he said. "But yes, next time. I have a blend with your name on it."

"I hear you've been rather busy," came a voice from the shadows in your foyer.

You sighed, letting your front door close behind you. You told Molly she could retire for the night with a tired smile — she nodded and excused herself.

"Clorinde," you said wearily, by way of greeting. "I was wondering when I'd see you."

"Honestly? I made the trip over as soon as Navia gave me ‘the latest gossip'," she quipped, stepping into the light of the foyer so you could see her scrutinizing gaze more clearly. She did not look impressed. "Duke Wriothesley?" she asked flatly. "Seriously? Since when have you been interested in marriage?"

You sighed, acknowledging to yourself that this conversation was always going to be unavoidable. You'd known Clorinde for years — long enough not only to be familiar with her persistence, but also her discretion. You trusted her. "I'm still not interested in marriage."

She narrowed her eyes, coming to a stop in front of you and crossing her arms. "And so the rumors are...?"

"Intentional," you said slowly with a pointed look. "We agreed on a ruse to keep suitors off my back, and as for him... he has his own reasons."

"The threat to the Fortress' autonomy," Clorinde supplied, and it wasn't a question. You raised an eyebrow. She sighed. "Why is it always a scheme with you? What if you ever want to be with someone in earnest?"

"I won't. I can't afford distractions. That would be a distraction."

Clorinde's eyes were sad as she regarded you. "That's not necessarily true."

"Why does everyone keep saying that?" you gritted. "It is true. I've seen what happens to every other girl like me when she shackles herself like that. I can't allow that to happen to me and I won't... entangle myself with someone and not be able to give them what they deserve."

"And so to avoid such an awful fate, you are what? Taking tea with the duke?"

"No," you snapped haughtily before exhaling. Brushed the dust off your skirts. You tilted your chin upward. "We're training as well." You shifted your weight awkwardly. "We... haven't gotten to the tea yet."

She shook her head, eyes wide. "Forget tea, training? You're boxing?"

You scowled. "How did you know that?"

"His Grace and I are acquainted," she said shortly. "You realize how many ways this could go wrong, right?"

"The only ways it could go wrong is if we were found out or one of us developed feelings for the other," you said, nodding primly. "And I can promise you, we are at risk of neither. This is a mutually beneficial arrangement."

Clorinde looked thoroughly skeptical. Her violet eyes glimmered in the dim light. "Famous last words."

Your frown deepened. "Enough. I have it under control. Is there something I can do for you, Clorinde? Or are you just here to interrogate me?"

"Just to interrogate you. Tonight, anyway," she said casually. And just like that, the tension dissipated. She strutted towards the door but paused before she reached it. She glanced at you from over her shoulder. "Training session this week?"

"Sure, yeah," you said, exhaling in relief. "Yeah. I will see you then."

"See you then," she said. She chewed on her bottom lip, not yet turning back away. "And uh, hey. Just one more thing."

You were quiet. Clorinde's eyes drifted somewhere off to the side, not looking at anything specific.

Her gaze flicked back to you. "Be careful, okay?"

Your cocked your head. "What do you mean?"

Her lips pulled into a thin line. "Just... take care of yourself," she said. "Don't get hurt. And try not to hurt him either, okay?"

You looked at her for a long moment. "Sounds like you aren't just acquainted. How well do you two know each other?"

"I'm allowed to have other friends," she said pleasantly. "Just please. Promise me, okay?"

You couldn't help but feel... off-balance. What she was asking was so simple but felt as loaded as her gun, carrying unspoken truths and a sense of foreboding you couldn't dismiss. She stared at you, her dark gaze earnest and not unkind. Nothing about Clorinde was ever unkind.

"I..." you started, unsteady. "Yeah. Yes, of course, Clorinde. I don't plan to hurt him. Or be hurt."

"Good. Thank you," she said. "That's all I can ask. Good night."

You smiled softly. "Good night."

She returned your smile and nodded, finally slipping out of the door and disappearing into the dark.

She was silent, but the door shutting behind her was louder than you ever remembered it being.

a/n: haha heyyy sorry this was so late but thanks everyone for being understanding about the delay. we been going through it at work but it'll hopefully even out in a few weeks

i hope all wriothesley wanters are or will be wriothesley havers <3

#wriothesley #wriothesley x reader #wrio #wrio x reader #genshin #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x you #genshin imagines #reader inserts #reader insert #lark.writes #🌊

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kas-eddie-munson · 1 year

Text

(This is inspired by this fic by @withacapitalp ! ^^ I wanted to do my own take on Steve with OCD ^^)

Content warning for a panic attack, OCD, and intrusive thoughts involving gore!

~ ~ ~

Steve always hated knives.

Well, not ALWAYS.

He was about five or six, and his nanny was in the other room, talking on the phone. He asked her for a penut butter sandwich, but she told him to wait, that this was important. Maybe it had been five minutes, or maybe an hour. His child brain couldn't tell, could only tell that he was hungry.

So he started rooting through the cabinets. He knew where a lot of things were. He'd seen his nanny in here often enough. He managed to pull out a plate, bread, peanut butter, jelly. He grabbed a butter knife, the final instrument, and began to work.

Spreading peanut butter and jelly was harder than it looked. He got frustrated as the bread ripped, and the ingredients barely spread. Eventually, he decided it was good enough and closed the sandwich to take the crust off. He wasn't a big crust fan.

Cutting with a knife was difficult, too. He pressed hard and moved the knife back and forth, but it still didn't cut very well. It also made an obnoxiously loud scraping sound as he worked. He furrowed his brow in concentration.

Suddenly came the clack clack clack of his nanny's footsteps, and, well. She wasn't happy.

"Steve!"

Her eyes were bulging and she lurched forward, yanking the butter knife from his grip. His stomach dropped and he froze. She never talked to him like that.

"Be careful! Knives are too dangerous for boys your age to use without a grown-up! You could have hurt yourself," she set the knife far away on the table, as though its mere proximity was a threat, and crouched down to look at him at his level.

He still felt frozen as he nodded and mumbled apologies.

When Steve was a few years older, and another nanny taught him how to use a knife safely, he was always careful with it. He never cut towards his fingers, as instructed, and he turned the sharp part away from his plate when he set it down, just to be extra safe.

When puberty hit, he taught himself to shave. It was an ordeal, but a necessary one. He worked slowly and carefully. He made sure to push the razor to the very back of the shelf above the skink when he was done, so it was less likely to fall and cut his hands.

Then the upside down happened. He wouldn't notice until years later that his distaste for sharp objects was getting worse. He always made sure to grip the bat tightly when he held it. To be hyperaware of where it was, where it was pointing.

Then he was at work. It was a normal day, until it wasn't, and then he was in the boathouse. He was up against a wall. And there was glass. Sharp. Ragged.

Pressed into his neck.

Dangerous.

And his heart was pounding and he was pushing his head as hard against the wall as was humanly possible and his friends were talking in the background but he could hardly tell what they were even saying because, somewhere in the back of his mind, a dangerous voice whispered, move forward.

He blinked hard. Pushed even further away. What the hell was that? Did he have a death wish or something?

Then Eddie pulled back. And Steve had to shake it off and get back to business.

The next few days passed in a blur of adrenaline and fear. Vecna was dead, but Max was hurt so bad, and Eddie barely made it out alive, and Steve, wracked with guilt that maybe they'd be okay if he had done something different, guarded their hospital beds like he needed the air in those stuffy rooms to breathe.

He didn't sleep much, or eat much, or bathe much, for about four days, until Eddie woke up.

He hated it in there, as much as he knew he wouldn't want to be anywhere else in that moment. Too many sharp things. He often found his gaze drifting to the IV cords inserted into the crook of Max's elbow and the back of Eddie's hand respectively, and he'd clench his fists thinking about the needle.

It was day four when he was doing this, half-eaten cafeteria food to his right from Robin, that he found his gaze once again drawn to Eddie's IV.

Yank it out.

Steve wanted to leave the room. He shook his head a little. Blinked hard. Tried to dismiss the weird thought.

Why did he think that? What if he did that on accident? He didn't want to hurt Eddie. Never, even if he hadn't fought so hard to get him here, would he want to hurt him.

That's when Eddie finally blinked his eyes open and woke up.

They had a tearful reunion. Steve reassured him that the others were okay, that Vecna was gone. He walkied Dustin and the kids in Max's room to come over, and they crowded around him, with hugs and tears in their eyes.

Steve stood on the other side of the room to give them space. He smiled fondly as he watched them catch up. He almost bumped into a poll attached to Eddie's IV. His mind flashed with imagry of him pushing it to the ground and stomping on the cord.

He decided to wait in the hall until they were done.

---

Steve and Eddie start hanging out. A lot, actually. Steve can't shake the feeling that the alternate dimension stuff can't be over yet. When he's not at work, Eddie is over. When Eddie's not over, Robin is over. When they're both busy he's with the kids. He doesn't give his fear the time of day to seep in with how busy he makes himself scheduling movie nights and trips to the arcade.

He keeps getting scary thoughts. Some of them are... new, though.

Steve starts to wonder what it would be like to hold Eddie's hand.

Steve imagines putting Eddie's hand in his mouth and biting down, hard, as he screams.

Steve wants to nudge his foot under the table.

Images flash of kicking Eddie in the balls, him doubling over in pain.

Steve finds himself getting lost in his eyes.

His head is filled with visions of jamming his fingers down Eddie's eye sockets.

He tries not to examine the thoughts too closely. Just shakes them off. Still... he wonders. Where was all this coming from? And is he gay? He goes over old memories. He loves Robin, but it's still a scary thought. Among the other scary thoughts.

All the thoughts get more and more mixed up in his head. He can hardly tell which ones are real anymore.

One night Eddie's over, and they're watching a movie, alone. Steve doesn't even remember which. Mostly they watch long enough for something to happen that prompts further conversation, and they goof around, ignoring the movie until the topic runs its course.

Eddie is wearing a new shirt. The sides are cut open, further than most of his shirts. The angle he's sitting at has it falling open even more, and Steve keeps finding his gaze drawn there when Eddie's eyes are on the screen.

It isn't too dark in the room. They have a dim lamp on, and Steve's eyes have adjusted to the lighting. So he can see a lot of detail.

There are stitches.

Steve digs his nails into the palms of his hands as grotesque images flash through his mind, and the commands start.

Tear them out.

Use your fork like a seam ripper.

Jam your fingers inside and pry his skin apart.

Steve feels like he's about to vomit. He wants to cry. He just wants this to stop. He wants Eddie to leave and he wants Eddie to hold him and he doesn't want any of that but most of all he doesn't want to snap somehow and do any of those horrible things.

He clenches his fists harder and shoves everything down and focuses on the movie.

Steve wonders if the thoughts will ease up as Eddie's wounds heal, since a lot of them are about that.

They do not.

They leave for a walk in the woods. Eddie wants to gather a bunch of rocks. For what purpose, Steve does not know. Steve is charged with lugging the rock bag around, since his bites never went as deep and are much more healed now than Eddie's.

It's ridiculously hot outside. Steve is sure his hair looks like ass in the humidity. Eddie is sweating through his shirt. Steve doesn't mind that part.

They find an open clearing with what Eddie deems "an especially exquisite selection" of rocks. Steve doesn't think they look any different, but he just smiles. Unfortunately, the lack of tree coverage makes it even hotter.

"Hey big sports guy, catch," Eddie calls as Steve feels something hit his backpack. He looks behind him and sees black cloth lying on the ground. He leans down to pick it up, then looks up at Eddie a few yards away.

Eddie is flushed, chugging down water from a bottle, some of it dripping past his mouth and down his chin and torso. His bare chest is covered with tattoos and scar tissue. Most of the stitches have been removed, it seems. Steve feels his face heat up, and then he sees it.

One of the deeper bites is still stitched up, and he has a drain attached to it. No bag is hooked up right now, but the drain is there, under the skin, peeking out. Steve wonders how deep it goes. Flashing images of yanking it out start coming and he feels nauseous as Eddie clears his throat and Steve meets his eyes in horror.

"My eyes are up here, princess," Eddie says as he smirks.

Steve ducks his head and runs his fingers through his hair. God, he hopes Eddie can't tell what he's thinking. About either topic, really. Or maybe he doesn't mind too much, about the one.

He tries to look at him, but his eyes keep trying to snap to the drain, and he knows he needs that out of his sight, fast, before the thoughts get worse.

"Dude, that's not fair." He shakes his head, still ducked down and eyes anywhere but on Eddie, as he makes his way over.

Eddie laughs bright and loud, and he pulls at his curls. "What's not fair, exactly?"

He shoves the shirt back at Eddie's chest, fingers buzzing with something as they make contact briefly with the skin of his pec. Eddie stumbles back a step and his eyes are wide.

Steve leans close and makes eye contact. "If I'm not allowed to be shirtless, neither are you, big boy." He gives his chest two quick pats before turning around and walking back the direction they came. He calls "for your modesty!" over his shoulder. It takes a few seconds before he hears Eddie's footsteps start up behind him to follow.

Eddie tells him he supposes they collected enough rocks for the day, anyway. Steve notes that Eddie didn't put the shirt back on, but he has it draped over his shoulder, and it covers the drain that way too, so Steve doesn't bring it up again. As they chat and walk home, Steve thinks Eddie looks redder than he did before. He looks cute flustered.

Is he flustered? Steve hopes so. Why does he hope so? Steve thinks he knows if he's honest with himself, but he's also scared, so he continues to try not to think about it.

---

"Alright alright! Settle down! I'll be back with snacks in less than five minutes. If you nerds haven't made a decision by then, we're putting on my pick."

Steve rolls his eyes as he leaves the room and the kids' voices raise even higher in pitch, whining that his movies are always boring. The other "adults" chatter behind them on the sofa, as the kids crouch around Steve's VHS collection.

When Steve comes back, The Goonies' cover is flipped open on the floor, and the ads are starting up as the kids flip the lights and fight over the remote, messing with the volume and arguing about whether or not there was a skip button for the ads or if they just had to fast forward through them. He looks around, and his heart skips a beat as he realizes that the only seating choice left is to squish himself right next to Eddie.

Or Mike, but he was absolutely not sitting between him and Byers for two hours, or however long The Goonies was. He doubted they'd stay apart like that for long, anyway.

Eddie smirks at him from behind his hand as he sits down, their thighs pressing together, and Steve is glad it's dark in here because he's pretty sure he's blushing.

That's when he realizes what side he's sitting on. And he freezes.

Oh God.

Oh no.

This is the side with the drain.

It was touching him. It was touching him. It was right there. It was right there and if he moves the wrong way he'll hurt him. It'll catch on Eddie's shirt and he'll rip it out and blood will be everywhere.

Oh my God. He can't move, now. It would be weird. Where would he even go? He can't just sit on the floor.

Oh my God. What if he moves to leave and that's what does it. He's stuck here. He's stuck here indirectly touching the thing under Eddie's skin and his lungs feel smaller than they should and oh God he does NOT want to freak out in front of everyone.

He has to leave. He has to get out of here. How the hell can he leave???

Steve presses as hard as he can into the armrest and away from Eddie, scooting out of his seat, and looking back at Eddie's side to make sure it hasn't started to bleed. His eyes catch Eddie's and the man still on the sofa looks confused, still sitting comfortably against the back of the sofa with his arms crossed as Steve, as discreetly as possible, slips out of the room and up the stairs. He's suddenly grateful he's only wearing socks on his feet so his footsteps are quieter.

He gets upstairs and walks into his bedroom, shutting the door behind him, running his hands through his hair, and taking deep breaths. He runs through the last couple minutes in his head, when. Oh God.

Did he look closely enough? Was he sure Eddie wasn't bleeding? What if it started slow? What if he didn't notice until Steve left and now he's bleeding out? What if he's on some sort of numbing agent and he WON'T notice until he PASSES OUT because it's dark and Steve isn't 100% sure he didn't see blood and he knows he must look feral right now but he just has to go check just to be sure and

He opens his door again to a surprised Eddie, hand half held up like he was about to knock. Steve's eyes drop down to his side and back again.

"Hey, Steve. Are you alright? You looked a little woozy back there." Eddie asks, uncharicatistically softly. Steve realizes he must still look wild and tries to shake away the crazy eyes.

"Uh, yeah, yeah, no worries." He runs his hand through his hair again, realizes that makes him look more anxious, and drops it. His eyes flit back and forth between Eddie's eyes and his side, and then he keeps them steady on his eyes.

Eddie eyes him skeptically. "Mind if I join you for a minute?" He gestures in the room, and Steve steps aside. Eddie closes the door behind him.

"Steve, I'm not gonna lie. I'm worried about you, and I don't think I'm the only one." Eddie steps closer to him and places his hands on Steve's shoulders gently.

Steve racks his brain. "How do you know something's wrong? Wait, what do you mean? I'm fine." Steve tries to shrug and Eddie levels him with a look. Steve feels his lungs shrinking again, and his eyes sting.

Eddie moves his hands up and down his arms a little. "Steve, you've been acting off for weeks. Flighty? You almost never sit next to me anymore. Basically the whole room conspired against you today. Is... did I do something? Did you," Eddie furrows his brows, and shakes his head, "did you, hear something about me?"

Steve shakes his head, very confused. He wasn't even actively avoiding sitting next to Eddie. How did he not notice he was doing that??? What else is he doing without noticing?

Eddie rubs his shoulders again. "Hey, hey, it's okay. Breathe for me. Slowly. Try to breathe."

Steve does try to breathe slower, and sinks to the floor. Eddie follows him, and talks to him as he tries to calm down.

"Stevie, you need to tell somebody what's going on so we can help you."

Steve shakes his head vehemently.

"Why not? I'm not going to force you, but. I'm not gonna judge you or anything. You're my friend, Steve."

Steve looks into Eddie's eyes and sees nothing but sincerity. He isn't sure what he'd see if he told him the truth.

"I don't think you wanna know," Steve says softly.

Eddie bites his lips and looks away for a second. "Are you scared?" Steve nods. Eddie looks back, nods, and looks away again.

"Look, Steve, if it makes you feel better, if you tell me the scary thing, then I'll tell you something scary, too." Eddie looks back at him, lip still between his teeth.

Steve feels something warm inside, and he smiles the tiniest bit. "You don't have to do that, Eds. I. I just," Steve takes a big breath. "I don't want you to hate me. Or be scared."

Eddie shakes his head and looks off into space again. "I kinda doubt my thing is the same as your thing, but either way. Steve, I don't think you can do anything to make me hate you. You're one of my best friends, Steve."

Steve isn't sure that's true, but he leans his head back against the wall. His breathing is more even now, and the tears have slowed. He thinks for a minute.

"I -" he closes his eyes, "I get these. These..." He tries to come up with how to word it. Eddie looks at him with the kindest eyes Steve's maybe ever seen, and he braces himself. "I get these words in my head?" Eddie tilts his head slightly, looking confused, but no less kind and patient. "Like. Someone is telling me to do something I don't want to do?"

Eddie's eyes widen. "Oh. Oh Steve. I'm so sorry. I, I think my aunt had something like that. Do you, do you see things sometimes? Things that other people don't see?"

Steve shakes his head again. He actually laughs a little in surprise.

"No! No, not like that. Not like, halucinations. Like. The thoughts are me. But they're not me? Like, they're the things that I would least ever actually want to do, but they just get stuck there? And they won't shut up? They're like, opposite thoughts. Like I think the opposite of the thing I want to do, and then I don't want to do it so badly but it still is just like stuck there repeating because I don't want to do it so badly?"

He looks at Eddie, who seems contemplative.

"Can I ask what the thoughts are about, Steve?"

He shakes his head.

"No. It's bad, Eddie. It's so weird, and gross. Like," he takes a big breath and continues, "they're about people getting hurt, Eds. People I care about. I just," he starts to cry again, looks at Eddie. "What if I do it on accident? What if I like. What if I hurt you, Eds? I don't want to; I'd never want to, but what if I did? On accident?"

He starts sobbing again. Steve feels Eddie's hands cup his cheeks, brushing away tears with his thumbs. He's honestly kind of surprised Eddie's still here. He probably shouldn't have said that much.

"Steve. I trust you. So much, Steve. I know you would never hurt me. And I can't say I know what's going on in your head, but I know you. You're Steve! You save people! You don't hurt them. And you won't hurt me."

Steve melts into Eddie's hands. He isn't sure Eddie's right, but he knows one thing. He cares about this man, so much.

"Thank you." He puts his hands on top of Eddie's. "Thank you, Eds." Eddie smiles at him, but looks close to tears himself.

"Did you, did you want to talk about it? Your thing?"

Eddie's smile falters. "I don't want to make it about me, but I suppose I did say I would. Do you want to hear it?"

Steve nods. "If you want to tell me."

Eddie nods. "Okay. Well." He closes his eyes. Nods again. "I'm gay, Steve."

Steve's heart skips a beat. "Oh my God." He's suddenly aware that their hands are still on his face. "Eds. I think I'm gay too."

Eddie's eyes widen. His mouth opens, then closes.

Steve's not sure exactly what comes over him, but he leans forward and presses their lips together. Eddie kisses back.

They talk more about it, later. About the thoughts. Steve isn't exactly sure why, but just knowing that Eddie knows, and doesn't hate him, helps. And there are times when the thoughts are better, and the thoughts are worse. But knowing Eddie's on his side makes it a bit better.

~~~

Thanks for reading this!!! If anyone doesn't know a lot about OCD but is curious about Steve's presentation, here's some more info:

(He has Harm OCD, so you can also just google that, but this is a p thorough intro ^^)

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