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revenant-dumpster-fire · 4 years ago

Text

Flower (Revenant x Reader)

[For AO3 archive, click here.]

Theme: Loneliness and depression are a painful but wicked combination after you have to talk about your past when you don’t want to. No matter how optimistic your friends might be, it doesn’t really fix anything.

Warnings: Graphic content, references to sex, references to past assault, references to noncon, male dominance, threats of violence, descriptions of violence, sharp objects, pain, post-traumatic stress disorder, bipolar, depression, mania, fluff.

Reader's Notes: Revenant (Apex Legends) x Reader, reader is female.

Writing Notes: What the fuck is a plot?

Navigation:

First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

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You wake up to the sun fully over the skylight window, shining brightly into your eyes. You groan as you realize what time it must be. Closing your eyes only reminds you how thin your eyelids are, as the only color you see is a fleshy red rather than the lovely darkness you wish you could experience. You pull your arm over your eyes and experience the darkness again, if only for a few precious moments.

As you come to, you remember what you did last night and feel a weird sense of concern overcome you. That wasn't a dream, was it? You are lying here without clothes on, after all, and you don't exactly feel clean either. It definitely happened. You panic a little and jolt up in bed, holding the blanket to cover you as you scan the room. You're alone, and there's no sign of where Revenant could be.

You review the events of yesterday to yourself. You remember Revenant taking apart his old chassis and saving some of the parts from it. You remember teasing him until he tied you to a chair using his scarf, although you remember kinda deserving that. You snicker to yourself, remembering how he called you a "bully" to Sherry. Yes, you definitely bullied the giant, metal simulacrum built to kill. You remember Revenant left you pizza that was good enough that a blatant murder couldn't distract people from it, and then you remember chasing it down with too much vodka. You remember Revenant covered in blood at some point after that, then Pathfinder showing up, then falling asleep alone...? That last bit doesn't make much sense, but there was probably a decent reason for all those things happening together. Then you remember waking up in the middle of the night and definitely remember Revenant gently loving on you to the fullest extent.

You've never actually thought you'd be open to sex at all. Especially considering all you've been through, it's amazing you trusted Revenant enough to let him do that to you. You take a deep breath to yourself. It's too easy to be anxious about experiences like this, especially when they tread such a close line to your past traumas. In reality, you don't regret anything, you've just surprised yourself. The main concern now is why would Revenant run off immediately after a night like that?

Maybe you'll feel better after a shower and cleaning stuff up a bit. After all, you've learned that dwelling on discomfort only leads to more confusion and generally a breakdown. That's the last thing you need right now. No need to ruin something that should be a positive experience with an anxiety-riddled spiral into depression. Imagine losing your mind all because Revenant had some errand to run today. That would be silly.

You get out of bed and scurry to the bathroom, finding some used towels hanging to dry. You're not sure if they're the ones you used or the ones he used, but it doesn't really matter. He's made of metals, plastics, silicones, and PVCs. It's not like his towels are going to have anything gross on them. You grab the closest one and quickly change your mind when you notice the red streaks across it. That's blood, and it's not like it could possibly be his. You throw it to the corner of the tile floor to remind yourself to wash it later. The other towel must have been yours, because there's no blood on it and it's considerably drier than the other.

You turn the shower knobs and wait patiently for the water to warm up, taking a moment to brush your teeth while you wait. Ever since he went on a long tangent about shaving, you can't help but eye his razor case when you see it. You wouldn't dare touch it since you know how much it means to him, but you'd like to see it at some point. The steam starts to fog up the mirror, so you quickly finish with your teeth and jump in the shower. You rapidly clean yourself with as much soap as you can manage to lather into your hair and skin.

You nab the clean towel and dry yourself off, spending an excessive amount of time trying to dry your hair as much as possible. You made the right call, a hot shower helps a lot with anxiety. You leave the bathroom and rummage through your bag for the most comfortable pair of shorts and shirt you own. You notice you're a bit shaky and sore from the night before, but it's nothing you can't handle. As soon as you're dressed and your hair is brushed enough to be detangled, you consider yourself put together enough. Nothing wrong with a lax day for laundry and lounging about.

You grab the towels from the bathroom; the sheets, blanket, and pillowcases off the bed; your clothes you found in the corner of the room; a bloody old towel from the kitchenette; and a small pile of your dirty clothing from the past couple days and wrap them together in the comforter, dragging the giant makeshift bag of dirty laundry down the quiet hall into the laundry room. It seems like the trios match was as violent throughout as the ending was--there is not a soul in the hallway, meaning the infirmary must still be quite full. The only Legends you know are back from the match are the winners--Revenant, Wattson, and Wraith--as well as Pathfinder. That makes sense, after all Pathfinder just needs some repairs to be good as new since he's a MRVN, which can be performed hours after any match.

The laundry room has only one dryer running, echoing a mundane hum in the large room with the uncanny beat of the contents turning over repeatedly. You find a few washing machines in the far corner of the room and start separating the delicate items from the colors from the bleach-worthy whites. Thankfully, all the blood-soaked towels were once white, so they get a washing machine all their own along with the sheets. You pull the detergents and bleach out of the cabinet and start over-soaping all the loads, setting the timers to start each machine as they fill with hot water. Steam starts pouring into the room: commercial-quality washing machines are able to use tons of near-boiling water to sanitize anything inside of them. The room's vent fans kick in to try to keep the room's humidity low, but the fans will definitely struggle to keep up.

The door to the laundry room opens and Sherry shuffles in, bags under her eyes and likely hungover from a night of celebrating Wattson's victory. She's too foggy to notice you, so you shuffle over to her.

"Hey, Sherry! Drink too much last night?" You chime, Sherry weakly holding her head.

"Ugh, yes. And that stupid pizza didn't help. It was so perfectly greasy that I couldn't feel how drunk I was getting." She moans, making her way over to the only running dryer.

"So, this is all Revenant's fault then?"

"Absolutely, you and your stupid metal man always conspire to make me worry or drink myself into a stupor because of good pizza." She manages to put just a little sarcastic tone to her voice, but is clearly struggling through her headache. "So, why aren't you hungover? After what I saw yesterday, I was sure you'd bully Revenant into a drinking contest until he tied you to the ceiling vent."

You chuckle, it sounds almost too wild to be accurate, but you've learned that testing Revenant's limits always leads to the unexpected. Sherry continues, a sudden glint showing in her eye.

"So, since you didn't drink to celebrate, then you obviously must have--"

"Sherry--!" You try to shout over her, knowing exactly where she's going with this.

A devilish look creeps across Sherry's face, almost wiping out her hungover grimace. She dashes away from you and towards the running washing machines, leaving you stunned just long enough that you can never hope to catch her. She throws the lids open of all three, pouring steam into the room and all over her face, but she doesn't wince at all. The hot steam almost seems to invigorate her more.

"Sheets! I fucking knew it!" She laughs maniacally, her face red and moist from shoving her face in the billowing plume of vapor. She slams the lids shut, letting them clang loudly as the agitators begin to whir back to life after being interrupted. "You did it! You finally did it!" She scurries back to you with the energy and erratic movements of a cockroach, finally reaching you to shove her finger against the tip of your nose. Her wicked grin is now in full form, only enhanced by the deep purple hues under her eyes.

"Sherry, it's not that big of a--" You start, trying to be honest but not let her go where she's definitely going.

"Ohohoho, yes it is! This is proof that you can move past your assault! It's huge! It means you're working past your traumas!" Her excitement makes her sound much louder than she actually is. "And it makes me feel so much better about this whole fling you're having, since Revenant was understanding of it all." She twirls away with her arms outstretched, as if to praise some unseen angels.

"Sherry, he doesn't know." You mumble half-heartedly, hoping she might ignore you. She whips her head back in a fury, which must hurt with her hangover.

"You didn't tell him anything?!" Now she's loud. "What were you thinking?! I get that you don't need to tell just anyone, but don't you think you should have told him so he'd know to take it slow?!" She grabs you by your cheeks and pivots your head to meet her eyeline. "What if he did something that caused a breakdown?! He wouldn't have had any clue why, and he wouldn't have been able to help you!"

"Sherry, it's oka--"

"No it isn't! That's not fair to either of you! You can't just let someone go waltzing through a minefield because you're not sure how to tell them that you had some fucked up shit happen to you!" She pulls you into a massive hug, shoving your face into her chest per usual, since it naturally lands there due to your height difference.

"I'm sorry, I don't want to yell at you, but you seriously need to be careful." She softens, sighing as she realizes you're shivering a little. "Look, if you don't know how to tell him, I will do it for you."

"Thanks, but I think I have to do it." You sigh, recognizing she's right. "Honestly though, the only thing I remember is the rag and then waking up in the hospital." You pull away from her, ensuring she can hear you clearly.

"I know you may not think it's a big deal since you can't remember much, but what happened to you is absolutely traumatizing." Sherry wipes away a tear you didn't even feel escape your eyes. "Seriously, if you really like Revenant, you should tell him what you remember and what you know, even if it's hard." Now you feel the emotional hurt, and you hate this. Everything was fine, but now it isn't, and you're struggling to keep your composure.

"I wish I didn't have to. I don't like talking about it. I didn't even do anything wrong, I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Why do I have to confess it like it's some crime I committed? It's not fair!" Now you start to cry, and Sherry hugs you again, drying your tears with her shirt. She pets your head and hair, trying to comfort you in any way she can.

"Like I said, I'll do it if you need me to." She sighs while holding you tight. You don't intend to pull away until you've calmed yourself anyway. "I guess you don't really have to tell him, but I really think you should..." She trails off, trying to undo any harshness from before. You feel her face bury into your hair as she holds you closer.

You manage to pull yourself together, the despair slowly releasing its hold on you, even if the sense of doom does not. You have no idea how you're going to tell Revenant anything. How do you even start such a conversation? What if he thinks you should have told him before, like Sherry does? Will he feel betrayed? Or will he understand? The knot in your gut stiffens more.

Sherry holds you until you naturally pull away, rubbing your eyes and now looking worse than the hungover woman in front of you. Sherry looks at you with very concerned eyes that betray her wary smile, clearly trying to cheer your spirits despite her honest concerns.

"I'm sure it will be okay. After all, you managed to open up to him already in a way." Sherry sheepishly encourages you, placing her hand on your shoulder. She takes a deep breath, clearly feeling her aches again, but continues to try to bring you back from the brink of despair. "I bet you opened up real nice for him last night, didn't you?" Her teasing is missing its usual edge, but you can't help but appreciate her effort. You chuckle a little at how hard she tries.

"Didn't have to when he can do it for me." You banter back, taking pity on her weakened state.

"Your little rendezvous must have made quite the mess to have to wash the whole bed, huh?" You shouldn't have given her the inch, she fully plans to take a mile.

"Sherry, why must you do this to me?" You ask, rolling your eyes, turning away to help her with her laundry in the dryer. She could use the help, there's no way she feels well.

"Did he pull out? Is that why you needed to wash the whole bed?" She pauses as you actively try to ignore her, pulling her miscellaneous clothing from the dryer and placing it on top of the machine. Sherry doesn't quit. "Wait, if he's mechanical, can he even cu--"

"Sherry! That's gross!" You interrupt her.

"The pursuit of knowledge isn't gross!" Her energy is back now that she's found a foxhole she plans to dig into. "Anyways, you're the one who holds this forbidden knowledge! Now spill it!" She pauses, "Literally, if you must."

"For fuck's sake Sherry, why are you like this?!" You yell at her through a genuine laugh. No matter how gross that statement is, it is also really funny. You feel a little better, but the knot in your stomach remains.

She grabs a shirt out of the clumped up pile and folds it with zero care or grace. It might as well be a glorified knot. She puts it down and grabs for another, not caring at all to fold anything well. You help her fold, but actually do it correctly.

"So? Spill it!" She insists after making a few knotted clothes. You sigh, frustrated but unwilling to fight her.

"Yeah, I guess he had something in him. Probably the same slick stuff those synthetic refills are made of that you can get for prosthetics. Not that I could really tell anyway, it felt like any other liquid would in there." You mumble quietly.

"Heheheheh, gross." She giggles.

You throw the warm pair of pajama pants you're holding square in her face for that one.

• • • •

You're sitting on the bench in the laundry room, a pile of Sherry's properly folded clothes off to the side and Sherry herself snoring against your shoulder. She promised to stay with you while you wait for your laundry to finish, but you're not sure how helpful it is for her to snore in your ear and drool on your shoulder. She didn't manage to stay awake for long after she sat down with you, but this was inevitable with how hungover she is. Sometimes it really is best to sleep it off whenever possible, although you worry about her hydration. You'll wake her up if you really need to move, and then you'll get her a sports drink or something when you do.

At this point you've moved your laundry into a dryer. The commercial grade washing machines are insanely fast, but drying can only work so quickly. You might be here for a bit, whether you like it or not. Properly folding all of Sherry's clothes kept you occupied for a little while, but now all you have left to keep you company are your thoughts and the sounds of Sherry's snores.

You wonder to yourself why you're so worried over talking about your past with Revenant. You've been dismissive of it this whole time, but to be fair he has never pressed you on it either. You've told him you were homeless and used to date one of the other women in the shelter, but you didn't tell him that she eventually found a way out of poverty. You had to break up with her so she could move on. You didn't fully explain that your past relationship was so you could always stick together and watch out for each other. You definitely didn't tell him how you ended up homeless in the first place, and certainly not what happened to you after the breakup. In truth, you don't want to talk about it. You don't like being a victim of circumstance, modern societal failures, and a criminal underbelly that intentionally preys on people like you. Everyone who's unfortunate enough to be born into this cybernetic hellscape has a story or two that could curdle blood, and you're no different. Heck, you're sure Revenant has plenty too.

The fact of the matter is, you're alive and able to tell the tales of your past, which is better than the slew of victims, predators, and petty criminals alike that are missing or buried in shallow graves. It almost feels disrespectful to the slew of dead and abandoned individuals to complain since you've survived and gotten somewhere better. There's no way you can deny that you've won the jackpot by getting to work for the Apex Games, let alone getting hired and getting so close to one of the Legends themselves. Who are you to complain? You know that feeling shame for getting out of your situation isn't how you should feel--after all, everyone should have a right to talk about their past and experiences--but you can't shake the feeling of survivor's guilt that ebbs away at you.

You put your arm around Sherry and rub her opposite shoulder, but she doesn't wake up. She's really the reason you're out of the trenches of modern society at all. She secured you this job which gave you everything you could need, rent free. The tips from the Legends have let you save up money to escape when this opportunity falls through. Even moreso, Sherry didn't drop the offer for the job when you were hospitalized; in fact, she doubled down on making sure you got the position. You have no idea how much harder she had to work to get you here while you recovered for months, and you've always been afraid to ask. You almost don't want to know the debt you owe her, since you'd spend your whole life trying to pay her back. Sherry probably wouldn't want you to do that either; she's just so happy to have someone she can treat like a sister again.

The door to the laundry room opens again, snapping you out of you pondering.

"Skinsuit! There you are! I've been looking for you." Revenant swiftly makes his way over to you. He's holding a plastic bag, clearly with something inside. He towers over you, looking down at you and the drooling sloth latched to your side.

"Oh, sorry, I was just doing laundry." You mumble, caught in his bright, LED eyes.

"Skinsuit." He pauses, likely seeing your blank stare. You take a moment to come out of your adoring trance, shaking your head a little to clear your thoughts.

"Sorry, what's wrong?"

"We need to talk." The knot in your stomach falls deeper and yanks your gut down with it. Those are the worst words in the world, and the catastrophic thoughts in your head immediately start to wind up. Before you can even finish processing your thoughts, Revenant has picked Sherry up and off of you, laying her down on the bench. She doesn't even stir, she just snores louder now that she's lying flat. Revenant grabs your wrist and hoists you to your feet. "Come, now." His voice is so foreboding.

"Wait, the laundry isn't done yet." You pull back, resisting his grasp on you. You don't want to confront whatever he's upset about. It could be anything, and you just don't want to hear whatever words will inevitably hurt you.

Revenant doesn't release your wrist, but he grips it harder, forcing you forward and closer to him.

"I'm not asking." His eyes are terrifying points, the most intense look he can give, and he's staring straight at you. "Come. Now."

He doesn't give you time to even step forward before he starts dragging you. You trip over your feet as you try to regain your balance. He takes you out of the room and down the long hallways.

You panic. What the hell did you do? Does he regret last night? Did you accidentally hurt or insult him? What on earth does he want to talk to you about? Is he going to fire you and treat you like a nobody again? How could you possibly still work here if he cuts ties? You'll be traumatized every time you see him. What the hell did you do?

He drags you into his room. You could throw up you're so stressed. He drags you to the bare mattress and flings you down onto it. You try to fall into a sitting position, but fail and roll onto your back. He's standing over you, the intense look still hardened on his visage. He throws the bag to the side, its contents smacking the side table hard.

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to upset you!" You practically cry, feeling the tears well up in your eyes. You hold your hands in front of you instinctively. He's breathing so rapidly, he must be livid. What the hell did you do?

"Skinsuit." His voice isn't angry, his heavy and rapid breathing isn't rage. He's clearly upset, but not enraged at you. He almost sounds sad. "Who tried to kill you?"

You hold your breath, staring at him. Time passes, but you don't know how to answer. Finally, Revenant hunches forward to get closer to you, slipping a claw under your shirt and against your abdomen.

"This isn't a surgical scar. This is a stab wound from a kitchen knife." He sounds calm again, but you're still too locked up to answer him. "I wasn't sure until I saw the other four scars."

His hands glide to another place on your abdomen on the opposite side, then to an area of your lower rib cage, a second under your breast, and one near your clavicle. He brushes each one carefully before pulling you up into a sitting position to meet his eyes.

"What happened?" His face is right in front of you. You didn't realize this is how you were going to have to tell him, let alone that the scars are what he'd latch on to. He sighs, not getting a word out of you yet.

He stands up and sits down next to you on the side of the bed. He's so damn heavy that he creates a pit in the mattress that sucks you towards him. You land against his arm, which wraps around your back and holds you close.

"Don't panic, I just want to know what happened." He states, keeping as monotone as possible. You can sense that he's actually quite upset still, but is likely trying to make sure you don't feel like the target of his ire.

You're still having trouble reigning in all the anxiety, catastrophic thoughts, depressed ideations, and traumatized fear to yourself. If you speak now, nothing is going to make sense and you might start to cry instead. His hold is reassuring, but it's not enough to stop your brain from running on all threads against your will. You feel yourself shaking against his metal frame, trying to come up with an extra bit of bandwidth to talk, but unable to muster any.

You hear him sigh as he notices you struggling. He pulls you further into the gravity sink he's created in the mattress edge and leans into you, intentionally rattling his artificial lung pumps in your ear. He gives you a few minutes to try to gather yourself before he decides to intercede.

He holds your chin and forces you to face him. His LED eyes are bright and much more relaxed than before, and the sight of him calms you down quite a bit. You almost forget what you are even thinking about; only a single, lucid line of thought still runs in your head. Your shuddering stops, and you feel clear enough to speak again. You take a deep breath, and you let yourself speak.

"Right after my ex and I went our separate ways and I met Sherry, I would walk between here and the homeless shelter so I could keep on top of getting this job." You lower your head to look away, so Revenant withdraws his hand from your chin. "I guess some gang was watching me and saw an opening one night. I got grabbed from behind and they put a rag on my face, but when I went to scream I woke up in the ICU instead." You pause. "I don't remember anything, but they told me I had been--"

"You don't have to say it." Revenant interrupts before your voice cracks from the thought. You sigh, grateful for the reprieve.

"I guess they decided to kill me and dump me in a ditch out in the Dust, probably hoping a pack of prowlers would destroy the evidence." Your voice tremolos as you struggle to put together experiences you don't remember. "They nearly succeeded. I almost bled out in the ditch, but a Hammond employee found me on his way home from a late night at the office and got me to a hospital." You feel numb, but your voice betrays you. "They destroyed one of my lungs, managed to slit open my digestive tract in a few places, barely missed both my jugular and subclavian veins at once, and hit me directly in the liver and popped one of my kidneys. I should have died."

You sit there for a moment, gathering your thoughts. Revenant respects the silence and waits for you to continue.

"The Hammond employee who found me donated a bunch of their prototyped synthetic organs to replace mine. One of my lungs, one of my kidneys, and my liver are Hammond prototypes of the ones currently on the market. I also have some of their experimental silicone meshes holding together the digestive tract in the multiple places it was sliced open. I don't think I would have recovered without them."

"How are they holding up?" Revenant asks, carefully pushing his hand against your chest on the side with the artificial lung.

"I haven't noticed any problems, not to say that I know what that would feel like." You place your hand over his, gently touching the Hammond Robotics logo etched into the plate on the back of his hand. It has giant gashes in it, as if he's tried to scratch it off at some point. If this is a new chassis, he must have scratched it out very recently.

"So they used you as a guinea pig for their prototypes?" Revenant growls. "Typical."

"I never thought about it like that. It's not like I could afford synthetics anyway, let alone real ones. It felt like a blessing." You run your fingers over each jagged metal scratch on his metal plates carefully. "I would have died if Hammond hadn't donated them."

"Not to scare you, but be careful with the deals you make with those devils." Revenant's hand pushes harder into your chest.

"I didn't make any deals, I wasn't even asked. They just put them in and sewed me up." You mumble, concerned by his apparent disgust for his own manufacturer.

"Of course they didn't even ask. Silly me." His voice is low and dripping with hatred. You start to pull away from him in fear, but he notices and pulls you back gently. He wraps his arms around you completely and his chin rests on your head. You're not going anywhere at this point. "I'm not angry with you. You're a victim in all this." His voice is softer, but it's a ruse. His lungs are labored with rage and you can feel the tension in his body. You let the silence fall for a moment.

"Revenant, are you okay?" You whimper from under his grasp, unsure of yourself. You feel his fingers turn to points and grip you, but carefully angled not to puncture you.

"I have a lot of work to do." His voice is low and hateful again, his words equally as ominous. His voice jumps back to something softer to address you. "Do you remember anything about the men who chloroformed you? Or when it happened?"

"I'm sorry, it's all really fuzzy." You shake your head a little, in case he can't hear your quiet whisper. He growls, clearly caught up in his thoughts, determined to find a way to narrow down his search. "Does it really matter?" You ask, unsure of what he plans to do.

"Yes, it's important." He huffs for a moment, gathering his thoughts. "I'm going to give you the entrails of every punk who violated you as a gift, and I'm going to pry Hammond's claws off of you before it's too late."

"Wait, you don't have to--"

"You used up your pardon, skinsuit. Now, I am the sole judge, jury, and executioner in this case." He sounds so livid, you can't help but shrink under him and hope none of his wrath is aimed in your direction.

The silence falls again, spare for his blood curdling huffs of rage. He slowly calms himself, likely with some kind of plan on what to do.

"Skinsuit, did they kit you when you were at the hospital?"

"Of course, but there's not a universal DNA database of criminals in the Outlands, assuming it was even entered into one at all. As a gang they might have connections. Either way, it didn't amount to anything. Plus, there was a lot of different DNA..." You trail off, shuddering at your own words and trying not to vomit up the pit in your stomach. Revenant grips you tightly in response to your quivering.

"Skinsuit, I need you to listen to me. I will handle this. I don't want you to worry about it anymore." His voice is determined and steadfast.

"I wasn't worried about it before, I just didn't know how I was going to tell you any of this." You manage to get out as you choke back stressful tears. "I was worried you'd be upset that I didn't tell you earlier."

He locks eyes with you from above, but you avert yours. His LEDs are bright enough that you know he's staring at you, trying to gauge your emotional state. Sure, maybe you are upset by the whole ordeal. Maybe it is why you struggle so much with despair. Maybe it is the event that broke you emotionally. But you don't want to dredge it up any more than you have to. It's hard enough telling him this, why does he need to make it into a mission?

"Your heart rate is spiking." You hear him dryly state. You cower deeper into his frame. "Don't be so nervous, like I said, I'll handle it from here."

Something in your head pops and you feel the unmistakable taste and heat of anger overtake you. Mania shows up for a mere few moments, in an attempt to bring righteous indignation to the fray.

"Handle what?! It's not like you can just undo what happened! What's the point? Just pretend like I didn't say anything!" You pull away from him and stand up, but he holds onto your wrist, only allowing you to get arm's length from him. "You can't just assassinate every problem into oblivion! It doesn't work like that!" You're staring down a simulacrum that has single handedly spilt more blood than in all the people you've met in your lifetime, but for this rage induced moment, you don't care. "Heck, if you really want to erase the problem, kill me! Because then nobody has to deal with it! That's what was supposed to happen! But I just had to get lucky at the worst time imaginable!" Your lungs empty out from yelling.

He reels back in shock, releasing your wrist. You have nowhere to go, so you just hover there, staring him down. In this fleeting moment, you have bested the Revenant. You are in charge, but only for a mere moment in time. The anger peters out and sadness overwhelms you in its place. Tears start flowing before you even start to vocalize your pain. The moment has ended. You hurriedly collapse to your knees on the floor and bury your face in your hands, trying to hide yourself as you cry. You hate it when this happens. Immediately after you get angry enough to snap, you regret everything and collapse into a sobbing mess. Every time. You just openly confessed you wish you had died instead. You asked Revenant to kill you instead. On top of it all, now you're crying on the floor like you didn't just say something heinous to him.

You gasp for air between your desperate attempts to suppress your cries, which leak out as sorrowful whimpers instead. You feel his palm on your head, but you can't bear to look up at him. He gives you a moment, possibly hoping you will collect yourself, but he gives up quickly. He kneels down beside you and you hear the clangs of his scarf straps coming loose. You feel his scarf wrap around your face like a hood, absorbing the wayward tears and helping hide your face. He bunches up the extra scarf around your shoulders and loosely ties the buckled straps to hold it to you. He reaches into the hood and holds your hands that are pressed against your face, intentionally fluttering his fingers around yours to wipe away tears. He withdraws, wraps his arms underneath you, and lifts you in his arms. He doesn't even struggle to lift you, remaining completely unwavering.

You feel him carry you out of the room and down the hallway, back towards the laundry room. You pull his scarf completely over your face, trying to calm your cries to be as quiet as possible. Your labored breathing is the only audible indicator of your tears now. You feel his arms push up against the swinging door to the laundry room before feeling the humidity difference wash over you as he enters. You hear the sound of Sherry still snoring on the bench. Revenant carries you towards the back of the room and gently places you on one of the still-warm dryers. You feel him open the front-loading door on the dryer and pull out the load of laundry, doing the same to the second dryer next to you. As the door clicks shut, you hear Sherry stir and wake up, moaning a little in protest.

"Oh, hey, is she okay?" She sleepily addresses Revenant.

"She needs time." A fairly honest dodge, but not really an answer to her question.

"I guess she told you while I was out, huh?" Sherry sighs, yawning afterwards. Revenant stops moving next to you for a moment.

"You knew?" He doesn't sound mad, simply intrigued.

"Of course, I lied and told them I was her biological sister so I could get into the hospital and stay with her." Sherry sounds sad, reflecting on it. "I had no idea she walked alone between here and the shelter. Had I known, I would have called a cab or just done the interviews over the phone..." She trails off, regaining her composure. "After that, I fudged everything to get her this job so she could escape that life."

"Do you remember any details of that night?" Revenant asks with piqued intrigue.

"Of course, I couldn't forget even if I wanted to." You rarely hear Sherry sound so deep in self-shame. You wish she would accept that it wasn't her fault, but you also know that's easier said than done.

"I'll speak to you about it later, then." You jump a little as his hand caresses your arm. You're too withdrawn in his scarf to see anything, so you have no warning when he touches you. Your startled wince doesn't seem to bother him, as he locks his arm around yours, allowing him to continue working with his hands. He must be folding some of the laundry, or at least trying. You can't imagine he's well-versed in the practice.

"You're going to try to find those guys?" Some hope returns to Sherry's voice.

"I will." He doesn't hesitate and he has no doubts. As an assassin he must have some sleuthing skills. He's more than proven himself to be clever, at the least. You still don't want him to bother, though. It doesn't fix what happened, but maybe it could save someone else, at the least.

"Hey! What the hell?" You hear Revenant shout as he withdraws his arm from you and staggers backwards. You pull your face out of the scarf to see Sherry hugging a very confused Revenant.

"Eviscerate them and hang them by their fucking entrails." Sherry mumbles before letting go, and turning to you. "I hope you don't mind, he earned it." She smiles through her exhausted expression, giving you a quick hug too. She pulls away and shuffles to her folded stack of laundry, picking it up and making her way out of the room. Revenant watches her exit with concentrated attention before turning to you.

"Never thought I'd have a second idiot asking me for a favor." He huffs, stepping back over to you. He reaches into the scarf and holds your cheek for a moment, locking eyes with you. "No worries though, you're my first and favorite idiot." His intense determination has melted back down to a teasing vitriol. You let your head tilt into his palm approvingly, letting some wayward tears drip onto him.

He pulls his hand back slowly, intentionally tugging the scarf back to cover your face so you can't see. You're startled when you feel a pile of warm, clean laundry land in your lap.

"Hold this." You hear him instruct as you feel him pick you back up. You wrap your arms around the pile of sheets, clothes, and towels, doing your best to prevent any from falling out of your grip. He carries you, buried in a pile of warm laundry, all the way back to the room before lightly dropping you onto the bare mattress. You let the laundry bury you, enjoying the warmth.

"Why did I even try to fold anything...?" You hear Revenant mumble as he reaches in and pulls you upright, undoing his scarf from you. You let him pull it off of you, but don't bother to watch him put it back on himself. You prefer to bury yourself back in the warm pile of clothing, messing them up further. You hear his buckles lock down on his chassis as he walks away. "I have some leads to follow up on, stay there until I find you a babysitter." The door slams before you can sit up and ask him what he means. He's already gone. He can disappear as quickly as he can appear, climbing walls and collapsing himself into vents and nooks. Even though he used the door this time, it never ceases to scare you a little.

You wish he would just stay around and not leave. Considering how hard it was to even explain what exactly happened to you when you were attacked, you had hoped he would realize being left alone is the worst possible thing. Although, maybe he does realize this, and is getting Sherry to stay with you. Still, you'd rather it be him. It feels like a cop out for him to just leave you with her, but maybe he's also dealing with some emotions too. Unfortunately, you're worried he thinks he can somehow undo everything that happened to you with a bloodbath of vengeance.

You sigh, getting up and looking at the disheveled pile of laundry. You begin to toss your wads of clothing into your duffel bag. No point in folding any of it, it's not like you own anything nice. As you pick through, some appear to be partially folded but his claws had poked some holes in them. Well, at least it's all cheap and replaceable. You toss them into the bag anyway, right now you don't have time to get new ones. You fold the towels and place them in the bathroom, nicely folded and ready to be used again. You take the one odd rag to the kitchenette, finding the drawer full of its siblings and placing it nicely.

Finally, you make the bed. It's an annoying and cumbersome process when you're working alone--the beds here are so big you have to do laps around it to get all the sheets and blanket right. However, you refuse to cut corners, and get it done pretty quickly. The majority of your past few years here have been focused on housekeeping, so you consider yourself quite adept and efficient at it. After throwing on the pillowcases and making a small mound of plush pillows to jump on later, you consider it done.

With nothing left to do, you decide to jump on the pillow mound early, burying yourself in it.

Almost as soon as you get comfortable, the door swings back open.

"Skinsuit! Meet your friend for the day!" Revenant sounds oddly sadistic, but why?

You turn around to meet eyes with a single, red, optical bulb.

"Hello, new friend! I'm Pathfinder, and I am a MRVN!" He waves at you as if you're not a mere few yards away. You actually already know Pathfinder, but he tends to forget who you are regularly. Maybe it's from getting damaged in the Apex Games? Or perhaps it's since he's only ever met you in passing before. After all, there's never been a good reason for him to remember you until now. "Very nice to meet you, Skinsuit!"

Revenant fights back a chortle as Pathfinder gets your name so morbidly wrong. You have no reason to correct him, though, after all you never had parents to give you a real name. You've been trying on different names for decades. 'Skinsuit' just seems to fit this stage of your life, weirdly enough.

"After our misunderstanding yesterday, I decided to make it up to him by introducing you two." Revenant explains to you, his hands gesturing sarcastically. Misunderstanding is one way to put it. "He's going to make sure you don't hurt, maim, kill, or otherwise damage yourself while I'm gone."

"Yes! I don't let friends do any of those things!" Pathfinder pipes up excitedly, probably not even realizing the subtext of what Revenant is implying.

Revenant must be holding on to your self-destructive rant from earlier. That explains why he's keeping some distance. You wish you could take it back, but words don't work like that. You still can't ignore it and let it stand, though.

"Rev, I'm sorry." You blurt out, not caring what Pathfinder might think. Revenant locks eyes with you for a moment, looking slightly less on-edge than before, but still quite tense. His pause doesn't last long, as his manipulative performance must go on for Pathfinder.

"There's nothing to apologize for. " He shrugs with heavy exaggeration, even though he clearly knows what you're referring to. "Just don't be a liability." He turns to Pathfinder, who has been listening intently. "Try to keep her safe, you wouldn't want to get me in trouble if she gets hurt, would you?"

"Absolutely not, brother!" He salutes, seemingly aloof to the tension in the air.

With that, Revenant disappears behind the closing door and is gone again.

Cool, more metal friends you didn't ask for. Well, the first one went well, maybe this won't be so bad.

"You said the right thing." Pathfinder suddenly sounds more serious, even if it still has an unmistakable twinge of optimism. "He seemed upset. I think you made him feel better."

"Wait, you saw through that?" You're dumbfounded, what is with all the perceptive robots in this place?

"He always acts like that for me, but I don't mind. He only does it for me, so we must be like brothers!" Okay, maybe he's not working with a perfectly clear perspective, but still. "And he wouldn't try to get me to watch you if he didn't value you, so I will do this as a favor to him." The screen on his chest emotes a heart-eyed smiling face. "He was very upset when he thought I had figured out his secret, so you must be a very good friend to be a secret friend!"

"Wait, you saw me yesterday?" Is this MRVN a genius and pretending to be unassuming, or somehow a perfectly naïve clairvoyant? He's able to hide his power of perception from Revenant, so he can't be stupid.

"Of course! I have sensors that pick up on heat and vital signs. But you were clearly hiding, so I did not want to ruin your fun."

Fun? Oh, he's so perfectly naïve, or you're falling for a perfectly executed feign. Whichever it is, Pathfinder is a little scary in the exact opposite manner that Revenant is. Revenant may be a homicidal simulacrum with deeply human roots, but his intentions are fairly obvious and any malice he has is clear cut and concise. Pathfinder is much more confusing, clearly more intelligent than he lets on, but so perfectly optimistic that he comes off as non-threatening. Despite that impression, you've seen Pathfinder take down some of the scariest Legends over the years, often with a near-condescending air of playful joy while doing so. When Revenant kills, the bloodlust is sensible, but playfulness? It's somehow scarier.

"Are you okay, friend? You seem nervous. Did I say something bad?" His emote shows a distressed face.

"Sorry, I just get caught up in thought sometimes. What did you want to do for fun?" You figure he won't hurt you, even if you can't completely figure him out.

"Well, what do you and Revenant usually do for fun?" His emote brightens into a smile again as you grimace internally. He's either wholly unaware or viscously teasing you.

"How about we do something else? Let's..." You think, what would be nice to do? You're a bit hard pressed to come up with anything fun.

"We could bring flowers to people in the infirmary!" He pipes up happily. It's not a bad idea, really.

"Sure! I actually wanted to visit the second place Legends, if that's okay. Fuse is so nice and so is Bloodhound. Caustic... probably won't mind." You've never really met Caustic, but you know he has a reputation for being grumpy.

• • • •

You walk out into the hidden atrium behind Pathfinder's room. You knew this was here, but nobody ever comes out here to your knowledge. The doors lock if you're not careful to keep them open, so the risk of being locked outside tends to lead most to avoid the area entirely, even though it connects two wings more efficiently than the hallways.

It's full of flowers of all types, sizes, and colors. The arrangement is chaotic and seemingly random, but the lusciousness of the plants more than makes up for it. The ground flowers are blooming and have various bee species hovering around, seemingly at peace with one another. There are a few small trees reaching around eight or nine feet high and giving a little shade. One has flowers, another has berries, and yet another has some kind of unripe fruit. It's truly breathtaking, and completely undisturbed after years of being left alone by the other Legends.

"You did all this?" You ask aloud, completely in awe of the secret oasis.

"Yes! Do you like it? We can pick some flowers from here!" Pathfinder seems especially happy to be sharing this with someone.

"It's beautiful." You mutter, still captivated by how mythical this little cut of land feels.

"Thank you! I have been meaning to show Revenant, but he will never chase me this far." Pathfinder shuffles over to an area and pulls up Revenant's abandoned bovine skull from the last match with a giant chipped gash in the forehead. He's filled in the bottom and red rose buds have been replanted in the eye holes. A large snail is making its way around the gash with its mossy shell, making for an artistic arrangement. "I am really proud of this one. I felt bad his new suit was destroyed, so I wanted to keep a part of it for him. Once the roses grow, it will look really nice!"

You're impressed. Revenant seems to have some kind of distaste for Pathfinder, and you're beginning to understand why. Pathfinder is scary. He's terrifyingly kind. If your guard isn't up at all times, he will reach a deep part of you and break down your defenses in an instant. When the entirety of the Outlands treats people as disposable assets and teaches everyone to trust as few people as possible, this MRVN will treat anyone like they truly matter, like they are truly cared for, and like they are capable of great things. It's dangerous to believe those things in this universe. That's how you get victimized, abandoned, and let down. Yet, this MRVN manages to hold on to these beliefs about himself and others, and he isn't broken, dead, or an abandoned shell.

Revenant, like you, can't adhere to those beliefs. The universe has spoken, and it says otherwise. Yet, it feels nice to indulge in the feeling of mattering, even if only for a few hours. Is that why he chose Pathfinder? Of course, Pathfinder is the living opposite of a suicidal ideation, after all. Maybe Revenant knew that.

"Stupid, clever jerk." You mumble out loud.

"Me?" Pathfinder has a confused emote as he points to himself.

"Oh, sorry, no, I meant someone else." You pause, switching subjects. "It's really nice of you to reuse his favorite chassis like this. I think it's really pretty, even if he never sees it."

"Thank you, friend!" His happy emote is back, and he waves you over to another area. "Have you seen this chassis? It's my favorite!"

You walk over and follow him to see a rounded red, purple, and white chestplate that has been cracked and shattered, but loosely put back together. It has the word "Thunder" and the number "81" written on it, as well as a unique mask attached to it. This mask doesn't look like any skull you've seen before, human or otherwise, but still has a bony texture. It appears to have hooks near the chin, perhaps where it was attached to the exoskeleton, as well as unusual leather bags under the eyes. It looks perpetually tired and angry, but you definitely can't say you've seen him wear this before. The chestplate is closed over an old wood stump and beautiful mushrooms have sprung to life in the darkness and reached beyond the chassis to meet the light. His mask has a particularly colorful fungus growing on it, happily latching onto the porous material more easily than the chestplate. It's gorgeous, but you wish you could see this chassis on him too.

"No, I've never seen this one before... I haven't seen him wear it in the games either. What is it?" You ask, curious why he would have such an odd chassis in his repertoire.

"He uses it when we spar! I don't think he uses it much otherwise."

"You two spar?" You're surprised. Maybe Revenant also finds excuses to dabble in the feeling of mattering sometimes.

"Yes! Not too often, I think he gets frustrated that I am an excellent boxer. I have tried to let him win, but he doesn't like that." Your eyes widen. Pathfinder can outclass Revenant in a sparring match? This guy really is scary. "You should come sometime!"

You look back at the busted chassis. Was Revenant knocked out of this one with a blow from Pathfinder? You knew all MRVN are particularly sturdy and powerful, but you never really felt it until now. You're a helpless ragdoll full of easily exploitable and fatal flaws to Revenant, but you never even considered that perspective when around Pathfinder. Now you do.

"You can really beat Revenant?" You mumble aloud, not intending it as a real question.

"When we only use our fists, yes! I don't think I could beat him if he was allowed to use his stabbing hands. He is getting better though!" He doesn't acknowledge your apparent fear, simply giving a chipper answer. "Whiplash to the neck is a weak point in his design. He is learning that he can't let me land an uppercut. You should come watch sometime! I bet he would fight harder with you there!"

The thought of Pathfinder knocking out Revenant with an uppercut is unbelievable to you. You almost want to know if it's really possible.

"I will, if you're both okay with it." You look up at Pathfinder, who immediately makes a happy clapping motion.

"Yes! I look forward to it!"

"Do you have any more insider information on his other suits?" You ask, curious how many he has seen.

"He's told me about some, but I haven't seen them yet. Only some special colored versions of his normal one." He looks upwards as if to think, the emote on his screen changing to match. You've seen some of the other colors in past games, but never in person. You hope he has a lot of different suits, especially since they tend to alter his personality a little. You wonder what his sparring suit does to him.

"We are here to visit Fuse, Bloodhound, and Caustic!" Pathfinder chirps, flashing his ID badge. You place yours on the counter as well, as the receptionist scans them both. You know the receptionist, Carol's been here a long time, and she's used to seeing volunteers come through to visit the Legends.

"Let's pick some flowers for the others, then maybe we can talk some more." You want to make sure you get to see the second place team, knowing the extent of their injuries is well beyond simple gunshots wounds. Revenant had run Caustic and Fuse through completely, and probably broke many of Bloodhound's bones. You're a little worried for all of them.

• • • •

You and Pathfinder approach the receptionist in the infirmary wing, holding three unique bunches of flowers. You couldn't find vases, so they're propped up in glass soda bottles filled with water. It may be a cheap alternative to a proper vase, but the flower quality makes up for it.

She starts to laugh after scanning your badge.

"Little Skinsuit? Is that what you're going by now?" She prods. "Also, I didn't know Revenant liked anyone enough to have a direct hire. I guess all that dedication to the grump-machine paid off, huh? Congrats!" She's very nice, and doesn't pry further than that.

"I'm not going to tell Revenant what not to call me, that would be asking for trouble. But thank you! It only took four seasons and figuring out his favorite liquor." You take your ID back.

"Ha! Leave it to you to make your way up in the world through the craziest means possible. Revenant still scares the heck out of me. Today was the first time I've ever seen him visit anyone, though. Maybe he's softening up." She spins a little in her chair thinking about it. "Anyway, tell Sherry I said 'hi' when you see her next!"

"Will do! Thanks Carol!" You chime back, walking past the desk with your arms full of bouquets, Pathfinder following behind. Why would Revenant have come by here earlier? That's very odd.

As you turn the corner, you see the names of the currently admitted Legends on each of the doorways. There are not many left, it seems like most were discharged this afternoon. Fuse, Bloodhound, and Caustic are all still here though.

Caustic's room is the closest, but you'd rather wait to deal with him last. You haven't met him, and those who have aren't usually treated well apparently. He almost has as bad of a reputation as Revenant, but Sherry has always been able to interact with him reasonably. She told you it had something to do with being close to Wattson, but that doesn't make much sense to you.

"Let's see Fuse first." You say, carefully making your way to Fuse's door. You knock lightly before you hear his booming voice welcome you.

"Door's unlocked, mate!" He barely sounds injured. As you open the door, you see Fuse grinning widely and sitting upright in bed. He's in a hospital gown, chest exposed to reveal a massive but sewed up and sealed wound. "Oy, you brought me flowers! How kind of ya." He's absolutely beaming for someone with a massive hole in his chest.

"Sorry we came so late in the afternoon, I just wanted to visit and make sure you were okay." You fumble over your words, not sure how else to admit you were worried about him and the others. Let alone that it's partially an apology for Revenant absolutely skewering him.

"Not a problem, I see you brought a different metal fellow with ya t'day." He motions to a table beside him, where you place the flowers.

"Good to see you again Fuse, I am glad to see you are recovering well." Pathfinder chirps, forever positive.

"So, sheila, how is the angry feller?" Right, he knows about you and Revenant.

"He's, uh, under some stress, but nothing he can't handle, I'm sure." You're not sure how else to answer. Saying he's fine is too obvious of a lie, but you don't want to be too specific either.

"Really? Who knew? The red rage actually has problems like the rest of us." He chuckles. Normally you wouldn't think much of his statement, but Fuse is the type to try to get anyone to warm up to him, Revenant being no exception. Perhaps you've said too much.

"Yes! Which is why I'm taking care of his secret friend for him! She's not allowed to be a liability!" Pathfinder gently pats your shoulder. Why did he have to say that? Fuse catches sight of your dejected look and laughs harder, gripping his chest to steady the pain. Pathfinder takes his laughter as some kind of endorsement, while you hang your head in embarrassment. Fuse catches his breath finally.

"No worries sheila, I won't tell a soul. You may have to keep that a bit more under wraps though, Pathy." Fuse says through labored breaths. That laugh must have hurt. Pathfinder cocks his head in confusion. "I think the point of having a 'secret friend' is to keep them a secret, not to tell everyone!"

"Oh no! I'm sorry!" Pathfinder realizes his mistake, a blue sad face appearing on his screen.

"It's okay, Pathfinder, Fuse actually already knew." You pat him on the arm in reassurance.

"Yeah, no worries mate. Just be a little more careful." His smile erases any embarrassment you feel. "Well, I'll let ya make your other rounds, I'm gonna turn in for the night." Fuse waves goodbye to you both as you excuse yourselves.

You make your way across the hall to the room labelled for Bloodhound. You lightly knock, and a nurse opens the door carefully for you. You slip in quietly and see Bloodhound lying on their back, their head facing your direction. You see their eyes dart in your direction, no longer buried under their usual goggles. Their head is well-wrapped in gauze, and their breathing mask is replaced with a hospital oxygen mask. You can finally see their eyes, which are filled with a softness you don't usually see.

Artur is on a large perch in the corner of the room, surprisingly. Bloodhound likely had to fight to get Artur into the infirmary at some point, since the perch almost looks to be a permanent installment now. Artur coos, watching the room carefully.

"Ah, the apprentice and Pathfinder." They address you both, but don't sit up. They likely aren't able to in this state.

You look to the nurse and offer her the flowers, not sure if you can approach Bloodhound at all. She takes the vase and puts it on a table a short ways from them, but well within their eyesight. Bloodhound seems enamored by the flowers, but also confused by their presence for a few moments.

"Ah, right, flowers are a common gift to the injured." They say to themself before turning to you both. "Your well wishes are accepted graciously. May the Allfather bless you in return."

You bow instinctively, not wanting to speak too loudly in the quiet room. Pathfinder notices and attempts to do the same, but starts to lose his balance and barely recovers. Once you right yourself, you break the silence for a mere moment.

"Get well soon, Bloodhound. Please don't..." You trail off, not sure where you were going. Die? Unlikely. Hurt? They're already hurt. Hate Revenant? They're not the type. "... don't be a stranger." You recover a little, but you're sure you're coming off awkwardly.

Bloodhound smiles with their eyes, and you feel much better, quietly slipping back out the door. Pathfinder follows, waiting for the door to close before speaking.

"I kept the secret!" He pumps his fists a little. You chuckle.

"By not talking at all. I guess it works." You pat him on the arm again. "One left, but I don't know anything about Caustic. I hope he's not as bad as they say."

Pathfinder takes the last bouquet from you and leads the way this time, apparently willing to handle the interaction himself. He knocks on the door and opens it, revealing a growling Caustic on the other side, sitting upright in bed and writing in a notebook. His usual mask is switched for an oxygen mask, and he's in a hospital garb that is far too large for him.

"Greetings, doctor! I brought you flowers!" Pathfinder chirps happily, ignoring Caustic's scowl.

"I don't want flowers. I already had to answer the simulacrum's idiotic questions, why are you bothering me now?" Caustic asks angrily, averting his attention back to his notebook.

"I intentionally got you chamomile flowers, they're Wattson's favorite for tea!" Pathfinder chirps, holding the white and yellow-centered flowers up. Caustic suddenly looks up from his notebook with a softer expression, before sighing and relenting.

"Fine, put them down on the table." His voice and expression have softened, but you're not sure why. Pathfinder must know something you don't.

As Pathfinder moves to put the flowers on his table, you lose your body to hide behind. Caustic notices you, and suddenly smiles a little wickedly.

"Ah, the simulacrum's personal lapdog reveals herself." He sneers. How did he know about you? Did Revenant say something? "You have quite the science project at your beck and call. How did a little thing like you manage that?"

You're not sure how to answer, and you know your discomfort is visible on your face. Pathfinder seems to notice as well.

"You seem to be a kindred spirit, flirting with death. Makes you feel more alive, doesn't it?" He coughs a little, interrupting his train of thought. His voice returns in a much more serious tone. "I'm afraid I can't do anything more for either of you, but I'll keep you in mind if I need to get under the simulacrum's skin."

Pathfinder doesn't speak, but starts walking towards the door, gently herding you in that direction. You leave, unsure of what else to say after that. The door gently closes behind you both.

"Are you okay, friend?" Pathfinder asks.

Now late in the evening, you finally make it back to Revenant's room, bidding Pathfinder goodbye before opening the door. You're holding a single flower you picked out for Revenant, despite Pathfinder's insistence that Revenant doesn't like or accept flowers. He's tested it thoroughly, or so he claims. You're certain this one is different, though. You picked this one for him, and you picked it for a reason. As you slip through the door, Revenant stands up from the computer desk to meet you.

"Yeah, just disturbed, I guess. Let's go, it's getting late. Let me grab dinner and let's go back to your garden." You answer, not sure what Caustic meant. You'd rather spend the rest of the evening chatting about Revenant's different chassis with Pathfinder than dwelling on Caustic's cryptic words.

• • • •

"You must have had fun. You've been gone all day." He notices the flower. "Pathfinder managed to pawn one of his flowers off on you?" He scoffs, rolling his optics.

"Actually, I picked this one for you." You correct him, unsurprised by his initial rejection. He seems to tense at the realization it's a gift from you, not Pathfinder, and that he has already judged it so openly. "It's a datura flower, I thought it was fitting."

"Datura? Like the drug?" He asks, trying to ignore his previous judgement on the flower.

"Yeah, it's called the Devil's Trumpet. It's poisonous if ingested, and causes psychedelic delusions. It's legendary for giving some of the most hellish waking nightmares. Isn't that something you've said about yourself? A nightmare flower for the nightmare Apex Predator!" You finish your short speech, and he carefully takes the flower from you, staring silently at its alluring but deceptive beauty for a few moments in silence.

"Thank you." He finally says, carefully placing the makeshift vase and flower down on the computer desk. "I wanted to talk to you about something while we're at it."

"Is this about what I said earlier? I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything. I wasn't thinking, and--"

"You wanted to die. It's okay. I understand that feeling." He takes your hand and sits you down on the bed as he takes the office chair opposite to you. "I don't want you to die, even though I am certain I will live to see the day anyway." He pauses, gathering the words he wants to say. "If you really find you cannot handle living any longer, I want you to die painlessly in my arms."

You sit there, unable to fully process what he means, or perhaps you're refusing to process it. It's hard to swallow, if your suspicion is right. He lets the pause hang before finally specifying.

"If you truly must die, I want to be the one to take your life." His head hangs, and he refuses to make further eye contact. "It will be painless, you won't be alone, and I can hold you one last time." His pain is apparent.

As soon as the words register in your head, you throw yourself to the floor and kneel under his hunched over body, trying to meet his gaze. He is unmistakably despaired, so you stand into him, hugging him as you do.

"I'm so sorry Revenant, I promise it won't come to that." You're pleading with him to trust you, but you're not sure how to convince him. "I love you, I just want to spend as much time with you as I can. I won't let it come to that."

You're pretty sure you sound desperate, but you're not sure how he'll interpret that. You are desperate to get him back from wherever his mind is. He stays limp in your arms for a few moments--long enough to concern you. His optics are still on, so he's not rebooting. He's just pondering, and somehow that's more worrying than anything.

Finally, Revenant hugs you back, standing up and lifting you off the ground. He brings you to the bed, carefully lying down in it and dragging you into an enveloping hold. He holds you tightly, but with an intensity you haven't felt before. He doesn't speak, just holds you, refusing to let go.

You lay there, unable to move and unwilling to abandon him for what feels like hours, until your consciousness starts to fade. You drift off quickly, unable to deny your exhaustion any further.

111 notes · View notes

marmosa · 5 years ago

Text

short fuse.

Fred Weasley x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 4.6k

Warnings: zero proof reading, ha sorry

A/N: hey guys, so i’m swamped with work rn so my writing process is totally stunted, so i’m sorry about the wait for a new fic. aside from that, i hit 118 followers??? that’s absolutely insane to me that 118 people wanna stick around to see more of my work, it makes me undeniably happy and so proud. So thank you, thank you, thank you. i wanna celebrate somehow, but i’m running dry on ideas. i shot a soulmate!au fred by my best friend and she was keen on it, so i’m leaning towards that, but i do want to celebrate in a way that caters to you guys. so my inbox is open for suggestions and requests while i handle personal obligations. sorry this was a bit of a long a/n, but i just wanna thank you all again so very much for choosing to stick around. it means a lot to me. thank you and enjoy <3

***

“I haven’t got a single clue as to what you’re talking about, she says! That’s a load of rubbish if I’ve ever heard it!”

[y/n] finally laxed and looked up from her hand, furrowing her brows as she continued to blow a soft gust of air onto the drying layer of nail varnish. Her eyes trailed along with Fred who was pacing around her dormitory, his face flushed in anger as he ranted on about some girl in his potions class who happened to piss him off earlier that morning.

“You’d think after Snape chewing our heads off about a less than perfect presentation she’d at least pull some of her weight! And I’m no academic mind you, but I would really prefer to avoid another one of my mum’s howlers this week,” he huffed, finally sitting down in one of the loveseats with an aggressive thump.

“If it’s angering you this much I suggest you either speak to Snape, but he’s insufferable so chance are that’ll bust. How do you feel about me hexing her?” [y/n] offered, offering him a small consoling smile, trying her best to lighten his mood.

It didn’t seem to work as the cloud of frustration continued to thunder above his head, the crease in his forehead more prominent than ever. He dragged his hand down his face and let his head loll back with a grunt, “I appreciate the offer but if I’m forced to another insufferable detention with Snape I’m going to do something awful.”

“What happened to the Fred who spends detention pranking Snape until he’s decided to stop giving you detention simply to avoid having to deal with your pranks again?” [y/n] queried, looking back up from the thumb she’d just fixed up.

“He went and died,” Fred grumbled, sinking further into his chair and frowning.

“Oh shove it, come here,” she waved him over, giving him a demanding stare when he remained deflated in his seat, “I said come here!”

He groaned like a petulant child and slid out of his chair, dragging all his weight as he shuffled over, plopping down onto the floor with a thud strong enough to shake the nail varnish container, earning himself a narrow glare from [y/n].

“Let me paint your nails,” she hummed, grabbing his hand and placing it in front of her without so much as a nod of confirmation.

He remained silent as she got to work, coating his nails in a fine layer of a lovely light blue, humming a small tune to herself as he continued to have the anger peel off him ever so slowly. As soon as she finished the first hand he silently gave her the other, resigning to blow a small gust of air onto the drying paint.

“You’ve gone all quiet, d’ya like getting your nails done?” she mused, grabbing one of the many q-tips spilled across her surface to wipe away at the still wet polish that dripped off the side of his thumbnail.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he mumbled, back-tracking when she squeezed his hand to emphasize that she was just asking him a genuine question, “a little, yeah.”

“Well then you should ask me to paint them more often! I think I did a pretty good job and look-!” she held up their hands together, pressing hers right under his just enough to where you could still see his nails, “we match!”

Fred couldn’t carry his anger anymore, a smile finally creeping its way onto his lips, his eyes crinkling at the edges as he returned the kind gesture. His heart decompressed, his posture relaxing as he blew off his remaining steam.

“See, all better- ah! Don’t move yet, they’re not dry,” she chastised him, bringing his hands back down flat against the surface, earning herself a shocked grimace from him, “sorry, I’d just hate for it to smudge.”

“S’alright,” he blew out a breath of air, his eyes scanning her appearance as she fussed over his nails just to make sure they were still intact.

He felt another smile coming on as he admired her. A concentrated crease in her brow, her hair out of place from the morning past, robes long discarded as she got comfortable despite the school uniform. It was impossible, he thought, to not be in love with her.

“What’re you lookin’ at Weasley? Planning to kill me in cold blood are ya?” she teased, finally content with her scan of his nails.

“If you keep biting at me with all that sass, maybe I will be,” he replied, sticking his tongue out playfully and scrunching his nose.

“Well if you wanna keep coming to me to vent you’re going to have to get used to sass. Besides I’ve known you for ages, this isn’t new, is it?” she queried, cocking her head to the side.

“It certainly isn’t,” he shook his head, “doesn’t mean you should keep doing it. But I rest my case.”

“Good, because we’re gonna be late to class, come on now.”

***

“I like the color mate, where’d ya get that fancy thing done?”

Fred looked up from the parchment in front of him, glancing over to Oliver who’d seemingly already finished up with his charms notes, “oh, it’s uh, [y/n]’s. She painted them for me before class.”

“Nice. Hopefully it doesn’t get ruined at practice today, which is after class don’t you forget it,” Oliver added, nodding his head as if he’d just aided Fred in avoiding a perilous fate.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Fred chuckled, rolling his eyes at Oliver’s typical attitude.

Oliver seemed content with that answer and went back to his work leaving Fred be. Before he could focus back on his work he felt a piece of paper pelt the back of his head, anger twitching in his temple at the annoying gesture. He glanced behind him and saw the crumpled paper on the floor, looking around the class to see a group of Slytherin quidditch players sitting around laughing amongst themselves.

Fred glowered at them and picked up the paper, unfurling it to see a few insults and some shitty grade-level doodle that insinuated Gryffindor was going to lose the upcoming match later that week. Anger bubbled within him once more as the small gesture relit the fuse [y/n] had supposedly managed to completely put out earlier that day.

Without so much as a side glance he stuck his arm out just enough to where the Slytherin’s could see it and Flitwick couldn’t, muttering a small incantation and feeling the paper burst into flames and reduce itself to ashes in his palm within seconds.

The Slytherin’s had gone and picked a poor day to get on Fred’s nerves as it didn’t take long for another few pieces of paper to be pelted at the back of his head. Unfortunately he had quite literally had it, his stool scraping behind him bringing everyone’s attention to him in the silent class as he thundered over to the Slytherin’s.

He approached them with fury biting into every step he took, his arm surging forward as he grasped the collar of one of the upper year players, a nasty glare painted onto his features.

“You’ve got something you wanted to say to me you slimy bastard?” Fred seethed, his other hand clenched at his side, ready to swing had things decided to take the turn he was anticipating.

“Yeah, didn’t you read the papers?” The Slytherin boy replied smugly, not frightened enough for the immanent danger he was in.

“I would’ve, but none of you are literate enough to form an understandable sentence,” Fred bit back, his brows set heavy on his face, anger practically rolling off him in waves.

The other boy didn’t seem to enjoy having his intelligence insulted, his own chair scraping behind him as he stood up, though it was comical to onlookers just how much taller Fred was than he.

“What’d you say to me, Weasley?”

“I said you’re a piece of shit who’s dumb as rocks.”

That was it. Fists started flying and a ruckus had immediately begun, some students cheering while others called Flitwick’s attention, begging him to intervene in the situation. Being as tall as he was, Fred didn’t have much difficulty tackling the other boy to the ground, taking a sharp swing to his face that landed with a uncomfortably loud thump. The kid cried in pain at that and was finally overtaken by his fighting spirit.

It want on like that for a while, the other kid managing to get in a few hits too, punching Fred in the mouth and landing a nasty kick to the stomach, before Professor Flitwick and another teacher who’d been panic called in finally stopped the brawl.

“Mr. Weasley, enough!” McGonagall snapped, standing in front of him as Oliver and two other Gryffindor’s corralled him to the side and away from the boy who was groaning in pain on the floor.

“But professor he-,”

“Forget detention, you need to be taken to the infirmary this instant! Wood, escort him there immediately and please try not to track blood in the corridors,” McGonagall sighed, exasperated with having to deal with yet another issue, turning on her heel to go attend to the obviously more battered student.

As Fred’s adrenaline finally subsided, pain started to seep into his face and chest, the feeling of fresh blood spilling out of his nose finally registering to him.

“C’mon mate, we’ve got to go before it gets worse,” Oliver insisted, trying his best to forcefully move Fred who was rooted in his place without hurting his injuries.

“Yeah, yeah, right,” Fred nodded, a far away quality to his voice as he and Oliver left the class to head to Madame Pomfrey’s.

***

“Is Fred here? Where is he? Oh, Fred!”

He looked up from the cup of medicine he’d just downed, his face recoiling in disgust at the flavor, eyes sealing shut as he forced it down. When he’d finally recovered from the rancid taste he saw [y/n] barreling towards him, panic glued to her features, her robes billowing behind her.

“Hey, [y/ln],” he grinned, setting the glass down and wincing in pain as he went to uncurl his hands, the knuckles still split open and raw as he waited to have them wrapped up.

“Don’t ‘hey [y/ln]’ me, what were you thinking?” she chided, grabbing a nearby chair and pulling it to the side of his bed, “you look terrible.”

“Hey,” Fred pouted, endeared at her display of worry for his wellbeing, “But you honestly should’ve seen the other guy.”

“I did and as mad I want to be, you did do quite a number on him. But your hands! Oh dear me,” she sighed shakily, jumping up to go collect some gauze, tape, and disinfectant.

“They’re not that bad,” he mumbled as she grabbed one of his hands, guiding it in her direction ever so gently.

“You always say that,” she clipped, taking a cotton ball out of its container on the nightstand and soaking it in disinfectant, “now just brace yourself, it’s going to sting.”

Before Fred could get a word out he was hissing in pain, collapsing his shoulders inward as his body shivered with the sting. She cooed sweet words under her breath, quickly replacing the cotton ball with gauze to protect the now freshly clean wound. After repeating the same process over again she set his now wrapped hands in his lap, discarding of the used things and returning the tools to their designated spot.

“All better,” she smiled, reaching forward and squeezing the uninjured part of his hand kindly, rubbing her thumb over the tightly wound gauze.

Fred’s heart swelled as he watched her, the fight feeling all the more worth it to have her fawn over him, “Yeah, all better.”

“Madame, he should be free to leave shouldn’t he?” [y/n] asked as Madame walked over, a tray of tools and medications in her hands.

“I’d wish it so. Mr. Weasley please remove your shirt so I can get a good look at your injury,” Pomfrey instructed, setting her tools down on the nightstand, “and [y/n] please move to the other side so I can get to work.

[y/n] passed him a wide-eyed glare as she maneuvered to the other side of the bed, her worry quickly being shoved to the side as he revealed his toned abdomen right in her face. Had circumstance not have been so worrisome, she probably would’ve been all over him, however the school infirmary was the last place she was going to do something like that.

She cast her gaze down, pretending to occupy herself with picking at her nails as she desperately tried to focus on anything but him. She could see him looking at her quizzically, but she still refused to cave and play into her not to so pure thoughts.

“Alright, luckily there isn’t more than a bit of nasty bruising and some small fractures. I’ll go get you another dosage of medication but it’ll require that you stay the night in the infirmary,” Madame Pomfrey nodded, lifting her tray and scurrying away, continuing onto the next ailment she had to attend to.

“Stay the night, rubbish,” Fred groaned, letting his fall back against the railing of the bed with a small thunk, his chest rising and falling softly as he stared at the ceiling.

“Don’t get any bright ideas, you’re staying here or I’ll give you different reason to,” [y/n] deadpanned, folding her arms across her chest as she finally looked up at him.

“And what will you do? Hmm?” He smiled smugly, sitting back up and folding his arms over his chest, his muscles flexing with the movement.

“I-,” her brain ran blank as she quickly averted her gaze, her leg bouncing conspicuously fast, “I don’t know. Something bad probably.”

“Something bad,” he repeated with a lilt, quirking his head to the side, “ is that ‘something bad’ bothering you, [y/n]?”

Her eyes proceeded to grown wider if that was at all possible as she fumbled to find a witty response to snip back at him, but it was no use, she was all hot and bothered and at a loss of words. She resigned herself to a small shake of her head, casting her eyes down to her lap.

“Oh,” he hummed, a smugness practically dripping from his voice, “I get it, you like what you see don’t you?”

“Okay you know what, I think you’re in good hands and you’re going to be just fine on your own and now that I know you’re not dead, I’m going to head back to my dormitory now!” She jumped up, her chair scraping across the floor with an uncomfortable screech as she turned on her heel to leave.

“Now hold on-,” he interjects, grabbing her wrist the best he could with his restricted mobility, tugging her back slightly, “I was only kidding, you know that. I appreciate you coming to check up on me.”

He watched her decompress, her eyes glancing down to where he held her wrist with a tiny smile pulled onto her lips, “Of course, any time Freddie. Now if you’ll excuse me, I actually must go for homework purposes, but I might be back later. Take care.”

“Take care!” he called after her.

***

Fred cozied himself into the covers, the gentle pitter patter of the rain outside the many infirmary windows becoming the background to his thoughts as he tried to fall asleep. With a sigh he rolled onto his back, folding his hands over his chest as he found himself uncapable of falling asleep.

He was bored out of his mind, usually when he found himself in similar circumstances in his dorm he had something on hand to occupy his busy brain. However the infirmary didn’t really provide much to do unless he wanted to get up, steal a stethoscope, and start playing a one-sided game of doctor.

Before he could roll back onto his side and pull the covers closer to his chin to try and force himself asleep, a small outburst of noise drew his attention. As alertness spiked in him, he quietly reached for his wand on his nightstand, wrapping his hand around it and drawing it back under the covers, his mind starting to recite as many defense hex's he could think of.

As he prepared himself to turn around he felt a hand clasp his shoulder and before he could start screaming to try and grab everyone and their mother’s attention, another hand placed itself over his mouth followed by a shushing command.

He turned his head and felt a sudden wave of relief flooding over him as he registered the faux perpetrator, his heart then picking up pace for the same reason.

“Hey,” [y/n] smiled softly, he eyes sunken in a sleepy sort of way. “I’m gonna move my hand, don’t scream.”

Fred rolled his eyes, but nodded none the less, “you could’ve given me a heads up that you were coming, I would’ve tried harder to look more presentable.”

She looked up from her open bag at her side, her brows pushing together as she stared at him with a confused yet amused look, “you look just fine, Freddie. What’re you on about?”

Fred struggled to bite back a laugh, shaking his head as he pushed himself up into a sitting position, the blanket bunching around his waist, “Nothing, nothing- hey, what’d you even come here for anyway? Couldn’t resist being away from me for so long?”

“You wish, Weasley,” she rolled her eyes, thanking her lucky stars that there was a chair nearby and she wouldn’t have to make any extra noise bringing it over, “I’m here to paint your nails.”

“Oh,” he glanced down at his hands, noticing she was, in fact, right about the presumed notion that he needed a repaint, “Are they still gonna be blue?”

“Well, I brought the lot of the varnish with me, I was just going to let you pick,” she smiled, setting the bag down into his lap.

His face beamed as he rolled the tote bag down, revealing the pile of nail varnish containers, a childish grin spreading out on his face as he browsed the collection. [y/n] smiled to herself and prepped the nail varnish remover to get rid of the cracked and chipped polish already on his fingers.

“Can I mix ‘n match?” he quipped, holding up two colors to the moonlight to get a better look at them.

“If you’d like,” she shrugged, “it’s up to you.”

“Sick! Can I do one hand black and one red?” his voice buzzing with excitement.

“Certainly, hand them over and we can start,” she chuckled, taking the two colors and setting the rest at the foot of the bed

She pulled one of his hands to her gently, swirling the cotton ball over his nails to remove the polish. A giggle escape her when he scrunched his nose at the bitter smell of the acetone, the fumes making him blink rapidly as he got used to it.

“Well that’s mad, it feels like that stuff should’ve melted my fingers off,” he breathed incredulously, shaking his head to get rid off the weird buzz that had fanned over his brain.

“It certainly does and unfortunately the effects don’t change, you can never really get used to it,” she sighed, grabbing his other hand, continuing to wipe away at the blue.

The two feel back into silence as she feel into her focused stupor, her lips pursed to blow a small gust of wind to dry the remaining acetone while she shook a bottle of varnish in her other hand. Fred watched her with wide, adoring eyes, absolutely enamored with how dedicated she was to the task at hand. He let her continue on without interjecting, for the first time that night the silence was inviting and he quite enjoyed just hearing the clink of the cap against the bottle and the intermingling of their breaths.

“You have nice hands,” she noted absentmindedly, capping the black varnish and beginning to help it dry, missing the look Fred gave her at the suggestive nature of her compliment.

“Thanks,” he hummed, redirecting his attention to the shiny layer of red on his right hand while she continued to blow air onto his left.

“Of course,” she hummed, “now let me see both of your hands, I don’t want it to be messy.”

Fred complied and shifted his body so he was facing her, setting both his hands in her own while she inspected his nails, her focus so dedicated to her task that she yet again missed the adoring look he was giving her. A smile quirked at his lips as she absentmindedly ran her thumb over his hands, triple-checking that the varnish was indeed dry.

“Well, I suppose that does it,” she nodded, satisfied with her handy work, “d’ya like it?”

“More than anything,” he beamed, “are you going to leave now?”

“Only if you want me to, I don’t have classes tomorrow morning so I have no problem staying up,” she shrugged, secretly wishing he’d request her company.

“That’d be lovely, I was having trouble sleeping anyway,” he nodded.

“Same here. I can imagine it was only harder for you with your injuries,” she noted sadly, glancing over at his still wrapped hands, the gauze looking like it was fresh.

“It’s not too bad, Madame Pomfrey gave me some painkillers so I’m doing alright. Besides it’s not so bad since I have you,” he added, fiddling with the folded covers around his knees.

Her eyes widened a bit as she processed his confession of sorts, her heart picking up pace in her chest at his vulnerability, her next words coming out in a hush, “That’s sweet, Freddie.”

“I’d hope so,” he whispered, raising his brows as he bobbed his head in an awkward sort of nod.

[y/n] reached forward again and took one of his hands into hers, boldly lifting it to her lips and pressing a chaste kiss to his bandaged knuckles, squeezing his wrist gently. It was all too much for Fred, she’d been too kind all day and here she was sitting in front of him now, kissing his hand and smiling at him all too innocently for how badly he wanted to kiss her then and there.

But he was at a loss of words and she was at a loss of restraint, trailing her lips up so she could press another kiss to the inside of his wrist and then the small divot of his elbow, slowly but surely pulling him forward towards her. Fred didn’t mind it though, he leaned into her with every advance, his breath coming to a stand still in his throat as she neared his face.

Her chair pushed behind her with a faint scraping noise as she stood up to accommodate for their height difference, his hand now intertwined with her own down at her side as she looked him straight in the eyes. The tension in the air was palpable and though she had been taking the initiative all day, he didn’t need anyone to tell him twice just what he needed to do.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked barely above a whisper.

“You most certainly can.”

Though he felt himself surge forward with urgency, the entire thing was as slow and sultry as they could get it. Their lips molded together softly, gentle kisses passed between each of them, quiet endearments passed between each pause for breath before going in for more. Fred cupped the back of her head with his free hand, hers doing relatively the same as she lifted her knee to his side so she could stabilize herself.

The kisses quickly became deeper, not necessarily desperate, but long and drawn out, both of them wanting to melt into the other for eternity. [y/n] wished so desperately that the circumstance were different enough to where she could curve into him, be able to feel over his arms and chest and relish in every inch of him that she’d fallen in love with. Fred similarly thought the same, his hand squeezing hers every so often to remind himself that she was there and this was happening and she was his.

When they pulled away, [y/n] pressed her forehead to his, letting their hands unwind so she could cup his face and he could caress her hips. Their breaths mingled in the buzzing silence, heart’s thumping in their ears as they relished in one another’s presence. She turned her head to the side to pepper kisses against his cheek, tilting it downward to trace loving kisses along his jawline too. He let out a breathy chuckle, feeling bad that he couldn’t just pull her into his lap and show her as much affection as she was showing him, but he knew deep down their current options were limited.

“I adore you Freddie,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to the divot where his ear met his jaw, her fingers moving to card through his hair.

Fred couldn’t believe how utterly at a loss for words he was. It was so unlike him to not have a witty word or two to put in, especially after such a moment that begged for its tension to be resolved. But after the rough day he’d had, he thought it fine to let himself receive rather than give, even if just this once.

“You’re amazing, [y/l/n],” he chuckled softly, moving his hands so they were rubbing her back gently, her shirt riding up every so often with his movements.

“As are you,” she hummed, finally pulling back to admire her lover’s face, her thumb tracing over his jaw, nose, and lips, an adoring gaze melted onto her features.

“Thank you. For all you’ve done for me today,” he added, wanting to emphasize just how appreciative he was of her, knowing he’d hopefully be able to truly make it up to her later.

“That’s what you do for people you love, right?” she smiled, biting back a giggle when his face drew into one of bashfulness.

“I suppose so,” he returned the smile, pulling her face back down for one more savored kiss, a sigh escaping her as she melted into his embrace once more, “now what do you suppose we do for the next couple hours, that is if you intend to stay?”

“Well see,” [y/n] shrugged, “now scoot over that chair is ghastly, I don’t want to sit in it anymore.”

“And were back,” Fred chuckled, obliging her request to make room for her on the bed.

“What?”

“Oh it’s nothing,” he shook his head.

“Yeah, nothing, sure,” she rolled her eyes, crossing her legs under her as she got comfy across from him.

“It is nothing!” he scoffed, kicking her before crossing his legs underneath him.

“Rubbish.”

“I warned you what would happen if you kept giving me sass didn’t I,” he quirked a brow, folding his arms over his chest.

“Maybe you did, maybe you didn’t, we may never know,” she lilted, batting her eyelashes innocently.

Fred exhaled and lolled his head to the side, unable to hide the grin on his face, “whatever, now, I bet you’re wondering how the fight went!”

“Oh yes! But spare the nasty details, I can handle it, I’d just prefer not to.”

“Whatever you say, love.”

#fred weasley #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley imagines #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x [y/n]#[y/n]#mar writes #harry potter #hogwarts #gryffindor #slytherin #infirmary

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cheri-translates · 5 years ago

Text

Alone on Christmas

A one-shot dedicated to my Secret Santa partner, @beautiful-mystic-mess

♡ MERRY CHRISTMAS YOU PRECIOUS GIRL ♡

And major appreciation to @ginkgowritings who initiated this wholesome exchange and for feeding us quality Gavin content :>

Mildly suggestive!

[ a week before christmas ]

“How could you do this?!”

“I’m sorry.”

“You. Are. The. Worst. Boyfriend. Ever.”

“I know.”

“How could you leave your adorable girlfriend alone on Christmas?”

“Mm, she’s adorable.”

“...”

A zephyr rakes up dried leaves, pulling them into a dance in mid-air. This dazzling display would have left you in awe, if you weren’t currently fuming.

Gavin presses a chaste kiss to your right temple. You huff, a cloud of mist leaving your parted lips.

It’s nearly impossible to stay mad at him.

“I’m going to miss this,” you grumble, voice slightly muffled by the azure scarf you’re sharing with him.

Giving your laced hands an angry squeeze in the left pocket of his jacket, Gavin halts in his footsteps in the middle of the empty park.

“I’ll only be gone for two weeks, and even though I might not be contactable…” his voice falters when he sees the tears prickling the corners of your eyes, glistening under the glow of streetlights.

Eyes widening, he quickly removes himself from the scarf and stands in front of you, wrapping the wool evenly around your shoulders. Cradling your face, he tilts your chin upwards and gently scoops away the pearly droplets with his calloused thumbs.

“I really am the worst boyfriend,” he murmurs, slight panic in his eyes.

The last thing you want Gavin to see before he leaves tomorrow is your crying face.

You smack him in the chest, then turn away to rub the heels of your palms roughly against your face. However, it’s a futile effort as the tears return in a continuous, unrelenting supply.

“What if... what if something happens?” You choke, words surfacing in a blubber as you sob messily.

Gavin turns you around to face him, as though he’s inspecting a fragile antique. He draws you into an embrace, and you bury your face in the crook of his neck.

A light swirl of wind tangles and tosses the scent of mint in your surroundings.

“Nothing will happen. I promise.” he whispers into your hair.

He draws back, flitting his lips across your face, every peck removing the tears, the sadness of his impending departure, and the clouds of uncertainty.

The ticklish sensation causes you to giggle.

Gavin gazes into your slightly reddened eyes, then brings your right hand to his lips, planting a kiss on your engagement ring.

“I’ll make it up to you when I get back.”

[ four days before christmas ]

The house is silent, save for the occasional tapping of the keyboard and the almost imperceptible whirring of Sparky Jr. Jr. the Zoombot.

“Maybe Kiro’s Christmas album could turn this gloomy season around,” you muse to yourself, scrolling through your playlist before settling on a bubbly rendition of “All I Want For Christmas Is You” to inject some festive vibes into the room.

Leaning back against your chair, you return your gaze to the document on the laptop screen. You thought burying yourself in work would make the days more bearable. Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem to have such a desired effect.

Whenever you worked at home, Gavin would drop by the study room and bring you warm drinks, your favourite snacks, and words of encouragement to keep your momentum going.

You stare at the pink, bunny-shaped post-it note stuck to the top right corner of the laptop: I’ll be home soon. You can do this, my girl.

He had stuck it there before he left. But it seems he’s also taken your motivation along with him.

You sigh.

[ christmas day ]

The dullness of winter hangs above you as you drag your feet down the familiar street, boots sinking into the soft snow.

The streets are livelier than usual, with raucous children pressing their ruddy cheeks against the glass windows, cooing over the newest toys.

Aside from you, no one is alone. Seeing everyone accompanied by their partner, friends and family gives you a stark reminder of how the person you wanted to spend Christmas with is currently in an unknown location and in an unknown condition.

Catching sight of your gloomy reflection in a glass window, you hurriedly smoothen the crease in between your brows, perking yourself up. You don’t want to ruin the company’s Christmas party for everyone.

This year, your contribution to the party is in the form of baking Christmas goodies. Not wanting to mess it up, you even sought the advice of Victor beforehand on how to make the perfect chocolate cupcakes.

Although the goodies turned out slightly different from the images he sent you, you trust that your employees wouldn't dare to complain given that the fate of their monthly salaries rests in your hands. At least, not in your presence.

After storing the box of cupcakes in the pantry’s fridge, you head over to the main office.

“Boss!” Minor greets enthusiastically once you step inside, squatting down next to the Christmas tree standing tall in the corner of the room.

Although the branches are already weighed down with tons of decorations, Minor continues digging through the cardboard box filled with ornaments, seeking to further embellish it.

“We’re almost done,” Kiki says proudly, taking a step back to admire the tree. “All that’s left is for Eli to-"

“Kiki!” Willow interrupts loudly. “I think we need more fairy lights.”

“Eli?” You repeat, utterly confused. “Wh-”

“Anyway,” Anna pipes up, handing you a Santa hat so you can match with the rest of them. “Since you’ve been such a wonderful boss, we thought we should give you something you’re sure to love.”

“Yes, make a guess!” Minor chimes in, standing up and clasping his hands together excitedly. “We’ll give you three tries.”

A thud from the file cabinet draws everybody’s attention. The door swings open, revealing none other than a familiar figure curled up in a foetal position at the bottom shelf.

But how is this possible?

A ghost?

Did you finally go insane after plowing through all those proposals for Victor over the past few days?

“Bro Gavin! You were supposed to wait for our signal!” Minor huffs in mild irritation.

“...it’s really cramped.”

You watch, frozen in position, as he struggles to extricate himself from the clutches of the cabinet.

Straightening up and patting some dust off his hands, his face breaks out into a handsome, slightly sheepish smile as he mouths your name.

“Gavin!” You lunge at him, wrapping your arms around his neck in a tight hug. He responds instinctively by pressing you closer to himself, and you can feel the rumbling of his chest as he chuckles softly.

Ignoring the flush on your cheeks when you hear whistles from around you, you draw back, staring at him in wide-eyed disbelief.

Then, you fire a series of questions at Officer Gavin:

“Are you real?”

“Yes.”

“When did you get back?”

“This morning. The mission ended earlier than expected.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” “I wanted to give you a surprise.”

“Are you hurt?”

“Nope...?”

“Gavin helped with the decorations.” Kiki pipes up excitedly, pointing at the unevenly cut paper snowflake garlands strung on the walls.

Catching the hesitance in Gavin’s response and Kiki’s input, you lift his hands up. As expected, you notice the razor-thin paper cuts donning his fingers.

You bring them to your lips, blowing on them. “My Gavin is a poor liar as always.”

“And I thought their posts on Moments were bad enough...” Minor gripes good-naturedly, gesturing for everyone to leave the room. “We’ll go decorate the pantry now~”

Knowing glances are exchanged among the group as they flee from the scene, giving the two of you some privacy.

All the heaviness in your heart from the days before seem to melt away as you stand on your tiptoes, kissing him with all the fiery passion you have in your being. You can feel him laughing against your lips.

“It’s only been seven days,” he breathes in between kisses. You feel like crying with joy, but only laughter bubbles from your throat. Breathless and blissful laughter.

“Seven days is too long,” You respond, planting kisses on whatever skin you can reach on his handsome face. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” he echoes. He pulls your face away from his just so he can simply look at you, his liquid pools of amber drinking you in.

The door slams open with a thud.

“Did anyone miss me?” Eli bellows, strolling into the room with a tower of presents.

The party commences soon after that. Gifts are exchanged (Minor knitted Thorny a mini Santa hat), glasses are clinked, and separate conversations take place.

While it’s nice to be a part of the liveliness, you feel pretty overwhelmed and drained soon after. Offering to bring the cupcakes out, you politely excuse yourself from the intense discussion with the girls on which was the worst Christmas movie on Netflix this year.

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see that Gavin is currently engaged in a conversation with Minor (though it looks more like a one-sided effort on the latter’s part). You decide not to disturb their moment of bonding, and head out by yourself.

Taking small sips from a glass of water, you fiddle mindlessly with the round magnets on the refrigerator, relishing this short breather.

Once you feel sufficiently rested, you pull the fridge doors open, retrieving the familiar box.

“Are you okay?”

The sudden voice causes you to jolt, and you almost drop your precious cupcakes.

"Mm, I’m fine. Just bringing the desserts out," you tell Gavin with a shrug.

"That can wait," he says simply. One large hand glides between yours and the tray, snatching it away, and sliding it onto the counter next to you. “I said I’d make it up to you when I got back.”

Now that the obstruction is out of the way, he wraps his arms around your waist and presses his lips to yours. You giggle, hands moving up to lace through his hair as you try to bring him closer than he already is.

He crushes you tightly against his body, easily lifting your feet off the ground and seating you atop the counter. There isn’t even enough room for air to fit between the both of you.

His teeth travel upwards, grazing the soft lobe of your ear, making you shiver deliciously.

“Gavin, not... not now,” you’re trying very hard to keep your volume down.

“Hm?” His warm breath tickles your skin. Caressing your cheek, he peppers feathery kisses down your jawline, ending with gentle licks and nibbles on your neck. “Why not?”

What happened to the boy who used to blush at the mere thought of talking to you?

“We’re in the office,” you respond lamely, attempting to pry him away without using any strength whatsoever. Your body betrays you, and you feel your grip around his neck tightening so he couldn’t go anywhere even if he tried.

Someone in the doorway clears their throat.

As though you got scalded, you release your hold on him and hop off the counter.

You lift your head to see a teasing Eli, his brows arched in bemusement as he splays his fingers over his eyes. "Please refrain from using the office furniture inappropriately.”

While you smoothen your slightly rumpled clothes and, Eli stuffs a Santa hat into Gavin’s hand.

“Here,” Eli says, injecting faux urgency into his voice. “Wear this.”

“No.”

Already expecting Gavin to refuse from the get-go, Eli waggles his brows.

“If you wear it, maybe you could...” His voice dips into an audible whisper. “Slide into her chimney tonight.”

Gavin coughs, dealing a painful blow to Eli’s torso. “Get out.”

“Ah, my spleen.” Eli winces exaggeratedly, grabbing the box of goodies off the counter. “I’ll keep the others occupied. Please lock the door next time. You’re welcome.”

With a wink, he makes his way back to the meeting room, shutting the door with a click.

Pretending that you didn’t hear Eli’s comment, you meet Gavin’s gaze once again. After staring each other for a few seconds, the two of you burst into embarrassed laughter.

He takes you into his arms with a contented sigh, nuzzling his chin against the top of your head.

"Merry Christmas. I’m happy to be home.”

ENDING THIS WITH ANOTHER POOR EDIT:

#mlqc #mlqc gavin #cheri tries to write

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whatsmyline-pb · 4 years ago

Photo

Saw this for the first time today and just about died. Then this happened:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32013415

(Edit: a big thanks to @stevieshelby for a much better quality picture.)

Alfie Solomons does not run. Ever. Men who run, in his opinion, are silly and weak; either running from or to something and either way showing far too much desperation in doing so. Alfie is a firm believer in acting with as little urgency as possible.

He knows, of course, that most people running are doing so for the sake of exercise. But it’s a bloody foolish way to achieve fitness, if you ask him. Likely does more harm than good, slamming your joints together against hard pavement. Swimming is a much more sensible form of exercise.

Point is, Alfie doesn’t run.

—

Leave it to Tommy Shelby to ruin Alfie’s first true holiday in years. It’s summer and it’s Margate and Alfie is altogether content to let work fade into oblivion and get some much-needed rest. But of course, he can’t get one fucking moments peace before the little prick is calling him, demanding that they meet, that it’s urgent, cannot be discussed over the phone, and what’s Alfie’s rental address, he’ll be there first thing in the morning.

And mornings, right, mornings are sacred to Alfie, especially when on holiday. He likes to take his fucking time, stretch languidly while the last remnants of sleep slip away, stay in bed however long he pleases and not leave a moment sooner. And then, when he deems himself ready to rise, make his way to the terrace with coffee and biscuits and a book and cigar. Greet the day with leisurely intent.

And fuck if he’s gonna let Tommy interfere with that pleasure. So the next day he goes about his morning just as he normally would, and when Tommy pulls up in his sleek Royce he’s just opened his book and taken his first sip of coffee.

“Just come on up, for fucks sake,” he hollers down when Tommy knocks on the front door. Moments later Tommy is standing in front of him, looking incredulous. Or really, looking entirely impassive, if you don’t know him. But Alfie does, so, yes, it’s definitely incredulity swimming behind those flat eyes.

Thing is, another part of Alfie’s morning routine is not getting dressed. Dressing really defeats the point of lounging around, doesn’t it? It’s boxers and a loose robe for him, and there’s nothing like the feeling of the warm morning sun on your bare chest, is there?

“You forget I was coming, Alfie?”

“Naw mate, how could I? Been anxious for my groceries, haven’t I?” He’d texted Tommy as soon as they’d hung up last night, Be a dear and stop by Kosher Kingdom before you leave, followed by a rather extensive grocery list. Just to be a prick, really; hadn’t expected any follow-through. But Tommy’s holding a grocery bag.

“Those ‘em?” He asks and grabs it from him. Tommy pays this no heed.

“You didn't think a business meeting warranted, I don’t know, putting some trousers on? Maybe a shirt?”

“Business meeting? Naw. I’m on fucking holiday, ain’t I?” He says it into the bag, busy shuffling through the contents. Only half his requests are in there. “Where are my bourekas?” He asks, looking up.

Tommy glares at him and pulls out a cigarette. His eyes flit unwittingly over Alfie’s bare torso as he lights it. Alfie suppresses a smug grin.

Could be that not wanting to disrupt his normal routine isn't the only reason Alfie declined to dress for Tommy’s visit. Could be, yeah, that they’ve been in business together for seven months and those seven months have felt like a fucking eternity, all of them spent with Alfie not so secretly lusting after Tommy and Tommy, cunt that he is, determinedly ignoring his advances (even though Alfie is damn sure his desires are reciprocated). So yeah, he stayed half-naked to make a point about holidays and respect and all that, but also to taunt Tommy.

Rather transparent. Could be he’s getting a bit desperate.

“So what’s this big emergency, then? You finally set the factory on fire smoking those godforsaken fags? Tear a hole in that favorite suit of yours, hmm? Someone finally snap and off Arthur? Out with it, treacle.”

Tommy sighs as he slides into the seat opposite Alfie. “How’s it you’re even more fucking irritating on holiday, Alfie?”

Alfie just smiles.

“Alright,” Tommy says, pulling some papers from his briefcase and onto the table. He launches into a story, and Alfie immediately forgets to listen. Thing is, there’s a lot going on in Margate in the summer, even this early in the day. Folks are up and about and Alfie can’t help it if he’s an avid people-watcher. Not really in the headspace for business, is he?

Alfie’s somehow getting away with not paying attention to Tommy when the group of runners pound by. They look equally smug and miserable and he can’t help but mutter, “Ridiculous fucking hobby.”

This stops Tommy mid-sentence. “You hear a word I just fucking said, Alfie?”

Alfie nods. “Yeah, mate, sure. Something about a shipment and a fuck up.”

Tommy’s jaw clenches, his eyes narrow. He looks from Alfie to the runners and to Alfie again. It’s a long, heavy silence. Long enough that Alfie grabs the grocery bag again and begins pawing through it. He can practically feel the annoyance radiating off Tommy.

“You remember when you set me up with that cousin of yours?” Tommy asks, an eternity later.

Alfie can’t help it, he breaks into a toothy grin. He remembers it. Often and fondly. It’s not every day Tommy is in need of a last-minute date for an important business dinner and turns to Alfie for help. And really, Tommy should have known better. Of course, Alfie was going to hire an escort to accompany him, paying her extra to pretend to be his cousin. Of course, he was going to relish the opportunity to fuck with the great Tommy Shelby, delight in the knowledge of him prancing proudly around London with a high-end prostitute on his arm.

Hadn’t expected him to ever find out, at least not until a few years later when he’d randomly decide to let his duplicity slip. Hadn’t anticipated that there’d be an adversary present at the dinner who knew just who his ‘cousin’ was, did little to hide it and, in fact, outed Tommy on spot. Alfie can’t quite regret this, though. Would never have gotten to see his cheeks flushed so darkly, red with rage and embarrassment, the next day, would he have? It made the fist to the face and ensuing month of stony silence entirely worth it.

“Course I remember, treacle. One of my finer moments. Really though, you were rather ungrateful, weren’t you? Just trying to give a mate a pleasurable night and all I get in return is a black eye and broken nose.”

Tommy is looking at him with that look of his, the one that means there’s a scheme brewing and you’d best brace yourself.

“Tell you what, Alfie,” Tommy says, leaning forward and stamping out his cigarette. “You make it to the pier and back in under a minute, and I’ll return the favor.”

“What, you’re gonna hire me an escort?” Alfie asks, amused.

“No.” His eyes bore into Alfie, the blues in them much darker than usual. His meaning, suddenly obvious, clicks.

There’s not many things that can stun Alfie into silence. He blinks stupidly at Tommy for a few beats, then leans back, dragging his hand over his beard.

“Let me get this straight. I go for a quick jog and we fuck?”

“Think it’ll have to be more of a sprint, Alfie.”

Tommy knows Alfie’s feelings about running. Knows them because Alfie had told him, can never keep his fucking mouth shut and stop the landslide of damning information that falls out.

A run for a fuck. It’s tempting, for sure. But Alfie has his pride. There’s lots of things he’d do for a fuck, but running definitely ain’t one of them, no matter how desperately he wants it.

“Naw mate. Don’t feel like getting dressed, quite yet.” Tommy quirks an eyebrow.

“Didn’t say anything about getting dressed, did I?”

Alfie laughs at this. Of course, it’s his unkempt appearance that Tommy thinks adds an extra punch of humiliation to this bargain. But Alfie could give a fuck, and Tommy should really know better. He’d meet the Queen in his boxers and robe, head held high, wouldn’t he? But running? No.

“Tommy, sweetie, it’s not going to happen. Now, isn’t there some world-ending urgent reason you are here?”

Tommy shrugs and starts over.

Alfie listens. Or tries to. Tommy himself proves to be the distraction this time. First, he takes off his suit jacket, and fucking well he should, he’s got too many layers for this heat, so that’s just fine.

Then he starts to roll his shirt sleeves upwards. Not in the messy, rushed way that Alfie shoves his own up, but slowly, methodically, one careful fold over another. It takes a tedious amount of time for his forearms to emerge and Alfie tracks the progress hungrily. He’s always had a weakness for those arms, which Tommy, of course, well knows. Another stupid thing he’d let slip. But no matter, they’re just arms, after all.

The lazy recline against his seatback is definitely unexpected. So unlike Tommy, to don a posture of such ease. Yet it suits him, stretches his body out more fully, allows Alfie a more substantial view. And there’s the leg too, that has slid out as result, and is now pressing firmly against Alfie’s own, calf to calf. It’s not moving or anything, so, really, it’s no big deal.

Tommy keeps talking and Alfie keeps listening. Problem is, Tommy’s doing this thing, and it’s definitely the most distracting of all the things. He keeps slipping his eyes from Alfie’s face, raking them over his body, slow and deliberate, licking his lips as he does. And that, well that is just fucking sinful and cruel and underhanded and right up Alfie’s alley.

A run for a fuck. It’s ludicrous, yet…

The leg next to his gives a forceful nudge.

“Asked you a question, Alfie.” There’s a drop of sweat running down Tommy’s throat, spilling onto his clavicle. When had Tommy undone the top two buttons of his shirt?

Maybe, maybe, just one, short run won’t kill him. He clears his throat.

“A minute, you say?” Tommy blinks, then nods, trying and failing to keep his lips from twitching upwards. The hair on his forehead has begun to curl slightly in the humidity. Alfie wants to run his hand through it, brush it away, feel how soft it must be.

“Fuck it. Where are my goddamn trainers, then?”

—

Alfie runs like the wind, or so he’d like to think. It’s not far in that he first considers, with slight panic, that this distance might not be doable in under a minute, not for an avid non-runner, such as himself. But there’s no fucking way he’s not getting his reward for this ridiculous exercise in humiliation.

He picks up his pace, stiffens his hands, pumps his arms with vigor. He runs like the devil’s chasing him and there’s a naked Tommy Shelby jumping and cheering his name at the finish line. He can only imagine what he looks like, face set with anguished determination, robe billowing behind him.

Tommy’s holding in laughter, eyes brimming with tears, when he heaves to a stop beside him, gasping violently, his hands on his knees. He’d silence him with a righteous punch to the dick if he could only catch his breath.

“Well?” He asks, a moment later. Tommy holds out his phone to him.

“Minute three seconds,” he says.

“Fuck off,” Alfie breaths, but the timer indeed reads as Tommy says. Three fucking seconds. “This goddamn robe, too much resistance.”

Tommy laughs. “Nah, I must have hit the start a bit too soon,” he says, and closes the distance between them, wrapping an arm around Alfie’s waist and kissing him vigorously.

—

And so that’s how Alfie finally managed to get Tommy Shelby into his bed. Still fucking hates running. Hates it with unyielding passion and will never partake again. But, he figures, just that once, it had been worth it.

#Tommy Shelby #Alfie Solomons #Tommy/Alfie #tommy x alfie #fanfic #ao3 #oneshot #Peaky Blinders #Tom Hardy

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grainjew · 4 years ago

Note

Random ask time! Care to name ten fics, any fandom, that you have or plan to reread? (Not necessarily your top ten because top ten is hard but ten that you genuinely enjoy.)

hi lynse i can’t believe you slightly switched the ask subject from what you were contemplating sending in dms. yes i do care to do this!!! fics follow

these are arranged in literally no order whatsoever except vaguely the order I remembered they existed and tragically they will mostly not be readable for you lynse on account of us sharing fandoms basically never. but in any case!!! let’s go!!!!

A Professor and a Student - LeDiz - Pokemon Anime (Alola) - multichap, complete - Professor Kukui’s pov outsider on Ash, through interstitial set during the first season of Alola anime. This fic is the fic that got me into pokeani in the first place, and I have reread it all the way through at least once and specific chapters genuinely so many times. it’s good! it’s got so many fun reveals! it’s even got a surprise plot! if someone is in pokeani fandom though there’s like a 95% chance they’ve already read it, so it’s kind of pointless to recommend

Broken Rules and Consequences - Redring 91 - Doctor Who (All Eras) - series, ongoing i think - This is one that i’m planning to reread rather than one i’ve already reread: I first read it back when i was originally into dw, in like 2013, and honestly lynse the timing was probably right for me to have recced it to you back then. in any case i have a friend who vouches for its continued quality, and it was straight-up the only dw fic i kept up with for several years after i first fell out of the dw fandom. it’s a really excellent exploration of all the times the doctor has met their past and future selves, and i highly recommend it. it’s also very long, so watch out!

An Unexpected Greeting - kimirice - Pokemon Anime (Alola) - threeshot, ongoing - it’s a fic in the “cynthia runs into ash in alola and dumbfounds his entire class” genre and it’s a good one. my favorite one. i reread it whenever i want to feel serotonin in my bones. serotonin does not go in bones. whatever, this fic is such a joy, it’s pretty short, please read it if you too want serotonin in your bones on account of revealssssss

Phone A Friend - TheBigCat - Doctor Who (Seventh Doctor Era / Gallifrey Audios Era) - oneshot - this is another “reread when i want serotonin in my bones” fic. it really is amazing just how much joy can be stored in a single 1K oneshot, it makes me so happy, that’s ace’s space dad........... wahhh the au - everything’s fine tag on this one really carries it right into my heart

dreamt you a kinder future - Sixteenthdays - Dream SMP - multichap, ongoing - my FRIENDS forcibly got me into the damn MINECRAFT RP. this is all you will see of it on this blog ever because i do have SOME dignity left but if you HAVE gotten bodily dragged into caring about the block men yourself please do enjoy this time travel fixit about pre-plot Dream getting dropped into post-Doomsday era canon and dealing with the fact that his future self is evil and ruined all his relationships. its very good i reread the ranboo chapter regularly

The Red Coast - Maldoror_Chant - One Piece - oneshot - genuinely hilarious pov outsider on post-skypiea straw hats via some idiot bounty hunters who think they‘re easy prey. it’s a lot of fun and it took me three entire rereads to catch the punchline, which i am still mad about. please read this fic i am shaking my fist at it

Though She Be But Little, She Is Fierce - Izzyaro - Pokemon Anime (Kalos Era) - multichap, abandoned(?) - a few years after the kalos crisis, Bonnie sets out on her own pokemon journey. told through the eyes of her very alarmed traveling companion, who so incredibly doesn’t know what to make of her. yes, it only has two chapters and hasnt updated in years. i do not care. the chapters stand alone as oneshots and this fic has done so much for me. its like 90% of the reason i write bonnie the way i do its such a joy

Keeping a Welcome - Gramarye (ao3 | ffn) - The Dark is Rising Sequence - oneshot - did you ever wonder, gee, zeph, why do you write so much loyalty content? and why is it all Like That? well, the answer is that i read this fic at a formative age and imprinted on it like a baby bird, and then subconsciously was shaped by it for the next decade. genuinely it is SO good. it’s so good guys. guys it’s so good im going to cry just thinking about it. o a t h s ,,, wahhhhhhh gramarye is probably my favorite fic author ever i love their stuff SO much. so much. i am going to cry im telling you!!!!!! (also while I'm here I also recommend everything else theyve ever written, especially the Eirias Triad, which i have reread probably as many times as there are fingers in my house, and which is only not on an entry on this list on account of me wanting to keep it at one rec per author)

Nah - soomin - One Piece - oneshot - the straw hats have been stuck in a time loop of their entire lives for many, many years, and boy are they having a good time causing chaos. this is one of the only op time travels that i feel like accurately captures what would actually happen if luffy did a time travel, and i love it. they’re having so much! infinite retries for the best adventure ever!

Insomnia - tikitikirevenge - The Legend of Zelda (Majora’s Mask) - multichap, abandoned(?) - novelization of majora’s mask with a twist: instead of resetting the three day loop every time, link gets exactly 5 cycles, and the whole thing is a stable time loop. its true it hasnt updated since 2015, but it was my favorite zelda fic back in middle school and i still reread it every few years to confirm that it’s just as good as i remember: it somehow always is. and every time, i forget just how agonizing (complimentary) the link&tatl friendship slowburn is like dear lord does this author know how to write a slowly developing relationship hh i wish more people would read this fic it’s really just very good ok dont mind that its abandoned just before the snowpeak temple

#i feel very much like i am committing a grave betrayal with how few of my friends' fics are on here but my friends write things that cause m #e to have emotions. i have enough of those already!!! i dont need more emotions!!!!!#long post #recs #zephflix original #chatter tag #asks and ask memes #pokemon #pokeani #doctor who #sighs......#dream smp #i GUESS that tag has to exist on my blog i GUESS #one piece #the dark is rising sequence #the legend of zelda #majora's mask #i tried to keep these summaries short but i feel like they got longer as i got further down the post. whoops #sorry this took so long to answer!

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themonkeycabal · 4 years ago

Text

WandaVision Spoilers

Wherein I watch it and have a few comments, but no super deep thoughts. Obviously there are spoilers.

I'm excited for some fresh Marvel content. It feels like it's been a hundred years. Damn it, 2020.

The only thing I know about WandaVision are the two trailers, and that's it.

Oh, they gave us two episodes right away. Thanks, Disney! Let's see what happens.

Episode 1:

lol, the theme song. And oh man, a laugh track.

So, very Bewitched meets Dick Van Dyke Show right off the bat.

"My wife and her flying saucers." Har har har.

Good set design. Very period. They raided every prop house in a hundred miles.

Hey so, did Bettany and Olsen study 50s-60s sitcoms and the awkward stilted dialogue and physical staging? (Not a knock on them, it's like, throwing me back to all the shows in syndication that I never wanted to watch when I was home sick from school or something, and yet, it was all the was on until cartoons later. Yes, I'm old enough to remember life before ubiquitous cable/satellite tv. Though, we were also poor and late to jump on the cable train.)

Legit question, do people still play bridge? My grandparents had a bridge set growing up, but honestly I never remember anybody ever playing it. My mom was more likely to play Dealer McDope. Yes, that was a real game. My parents were hippies and ran a head shop when I was very little. My formative influences were a little ... something.

"That embarrassing display of beatnik enthusiasm." "I wore a turtleneck." Okay, that was good and deserved a better punch from the laugh track, guys!

I like “My wife’s European” from the guy with the accent. lol

"You move at the speed of sound, and I can make a pen float through the air. Who needs to abbreviate?" Heh.

Honestly, while I appreciate the dedication to the conventions of 60s sitcoms, most 60s sitcoms were not very good (full disclosure, though, I don't really like sitcoms anyway, so I’m probably biased), and while the sitcom awkward setup was very on brand, it's also awkward in a way I don't like. Embarrassing humor hurts me in my brain and my soul. 12 minutes in and I'm sure somebody needs to get to a point here.

I don't meant to sound impatient, but, really, this was not a TV era I ever particularly enjoyed. I did not love Lucy. Shocking, I know, but there, I said it. The Honeymooners? More like the Honeysnoozers, amiright? There were some things that survived in syndication for far, far too long. But, I digress …

I like Vision trying to figure out what exactly he does for a living. The bits of confusion are all good, but the hamming it up is not something I mostly care for. I acknowledge this is a matter of personal taste, and is no commentary on the acting, because honestly, they’re managing it pretty much spot on.

The sing along. This is all so awkward. I know it's meant to be, but man.

Yay a strange turn. A turn of strangeness. Good strangeness. I think maybe if they layered some of that in a little more, Wanda and Vision having these blank spots, and not made me suffer through so much sitcomness, I would have liked this episode a little better. Again, a+ follow through on the tropes, but I didn't want to really watch a 60s sitcom with one minute of weird. Needed More Weird!

Good looking end credits.

Episode 2:

Okay, let's move things along. Please don't make me watch another full episode of sitcom with a smattering of strange.

Oh no, I can't skip the 'previously on' of the episode that I just watched 30 seconds ago. Disney! Fix that!

Oh no times two, an awkward sitcom scene. Though, we've moved up more firmly into the mid-60s. So, progress.

Lol, okay, the animated opening credits are excellent. Really quality. Somebody gif those stat!

Man, do they have a different set every episode? I don't mean the set dec, but actual set layouts. That's not a little thing. It's just a three room setup, but still.

Phew, only had to wait about 5 minutes for some 'odd' this time. A toy helicopter in color. Hey, remember Pleasantville? That was a good movie. I haven't seen that in ages.

"Can I give you a bit of friendly advice?" "Is it about the way I'm dressed?" "Yes, but it's too late for that." Heh. Agnes is a delight.

Dottie — oh hi Emma Caulfield! I haven't seen her in forever.

Man, I just had crazy deja vu, during this awkward neighborhood watch scene, but then I remembered, I did actually see this clip before … somewhere? Wait, did I? Now I'm doubting myself. Somebody tell me they did release a bit of that clip at some point. I don’t think it was in either of the trailers. So weird.

Oh, no, gum is gumming up Vision's works. Har Har.

Weirdness! The radio is talking to Wanda! "Who's doing this to you, Wanda?" Good weirdness. Creepy weirdness. I like.

Hydra was in the watch business, was it? Well, I guess everybody needs a day job. I mean, Howard Stark made toasters. Are these ads a clue? Hmmm.

Oh, no, Vision with his gummed up works is going to ruin the talent show that is the biggest fundraiser of the year for the children! Gum apparently makes him drunk?

The talent show is funny. But, it's a little too long.

"Is that how mirrors work?" lol.

"That really gummed up my works, didn't it?" That joke crashed to earth like 12 minutes ago, my guy.

Oh noes, Wanda is suddenly and mysteriously pregnant. Followed by strange banging and and a creepy beekeeper crawling out of the sewers. As happens in the suburbs so often. No, though, it's good creepy. Then she rewinds to a more pleasant moment. And we go to color.

Okay, are we going outside the tv world? Oh, alas, we’re not. How are we at end credits with 7 mins left? Geez, come on. So short, these episodes.

So, is Wanda imagining a tv world where Vision is alive? Or trapped by some outside forces trying to keep her docile in a perfect sitcom world where Vision is alive? Did Sokovia also suffer through cheaply acquired runs of American sitcoms in syndication during Wanda's childhood? Is the mind stone somehow messing with them both? So many questions. Very little to go on at this point, but so far this feels more heavily Wanda’s POV than Vision’s.

Anyway, I mostly liked it, but I also feel like it was slow to get to a point. This is a 9 episode series, and they burned two with drips and drops of maybe something weird is happening. I mean, we know something weird is happening, but 80% of this was a lot of sitcom filler. I get we needed set up, but these episodes needed to move things along a bit tightly. I guess we'll see how this plays out, but so far I'm a little let down. Not much happened. And the episodes are short, so I don't feel super engaged yet.

I guess my thing is, that while I get wanting to play in the tropes, I also think they’re too attached to trying to really faithfully recreate them, and as a result, so far, they’re not really telling their own story within them. But, it is only the first two episodes so far. We’ve got time and I don’t mean to be harsh.

#wandavision #wandavision spoilers #gonna need a bit more movement in episode 3 #wandavision liveblog

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come-on-shitty-boys · 5 years ago

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//caution: contents are hot and dangerous. kuroo tetsurou//

Request: Could I request a Vampire!Kuroo x Reader?

Warnings: one (1) swear. Mentions of blood, but no actual blood-spillage.

Word Count: 2.6K (i’m so sorry. i got carried away ;-;)

Notes: Leave it to my dumbass to turn a vamp au into a coffee shop au smh

(Vampire!Kuroo x Human!reader)

It seemed like something straight out of a coffee shop fanfiction AU. The dorky barista who now knew your coffee order by heart, always asking about your day as he brewed your latte. He would write you little notes on your cup, usually some lame science joke that would bring you back up to the counter, asking him to explain it to you. You would watch his face fill with a smile, eyes shining as you take interest in what he’s saying, the setting sun casting long shadows throughout the quiet cafe.

Wednesday evenings had become Kuroo’s favorite shifts as it was the one time a week when you would indulge him with your presence. Once 6:30 would hit, every jingle of the bell above the door would cause his heart to thump a little harder, in hopes to see your bright smile. Your school bag always sat heavily on your shoulders, tired eyes from a long day at university, but the happiness that spread over your face when you saw him leaning his long form over the counter, that lazy smile plastered on his lips, it made the whole atmosphere feel ten times lighter.

Today was no different. You pushed open the door, clutching your wallet, looking over the menu as if you were going to try something new, just like you always did. Standing in line behind the other customers, Kuroo couldn’t help but try to rush through taking orders and making beverages, just wanting to get you to the front of the line, just wanting to see you smile up at him.

“Vanilla latte with soy milk and an extra half shot of espresso,” Kuroo said, already punching the drink order he knew better than the periodic table into the cash register as you stepped up to the counter.

“$4.26,” you answer, handing him your card to swipe, but rather he pushed it back towards you, that staple lazy smile dancing across his face.

“It’s on the house today. Consider it a thank you for being such a loyal customer.”

“I can pay, really. It’s no problem.” You try to hand him your debit card once more, but he just shakes his head, laughing lightly as he pushes it back once again.

“No, seriously. Don’t worry about it,” he says, scribbling your name and a little joke onto your cup. “So, how was class? It was psych and- hang on, don’t tell me,” he pauses, tapping the pen against his chin in thought. “French!”

You tilt your head in confusion, but yet a small laugh still escapes you. “How’d you know?”

“Easy. You always sit at the table by the window and copy notes from your psychology book and your French book.”

“Very observant of you, but I’m just going to work on French today. I have a test tomorrow,” you explain, watching him attempt to make a cool design on the top of your drink, but inevitably failing and just creating a blob in the foam.

“I’m going to figure out how to do latte art one of these days, just you wait.” He smiles teasingly as he places the lid on your cup, handing it to you. A small pink tinge dusts over his cheeks as his fingers brush over yours in the exchange. “Careful, it’s- it’s still hot,” Kuroo mutters, moving his eyes down towards the counter, letting his bangs fall into his face in a desperate attempt to hide the heat that had risen to his cheeks.

But, if you did notice, you didn’t say anything, instead you examine the cup, just like always. This week, under your name was a circle, a few ‘Fe’s scattered around the perimeter. It appeared to be standing on some stilts, but you could’ve stared at it for hours and still not know what the hell you were looking at. “Kuroo, these are just getting harder, you know?” There’s a small hint of laughter in your words, the playfulness evident in every syllable.

“It’s a ferrous wheel! Get it?” The look on your face was all the answer he needed. No. “Okay, so, Fe is the atomic symbol for iron, right? But, like, why?” Any ounce of embarrassment or awkwardness that had once clouded the barista’s brain had since flown out the window. You had him talking chemistry, the one area in which he was completely comfortable. His thoughts were now so jumbled with the thoughts of atoms that your hypnotizing scent escaped him, even if for only a moment.

You watched him blabber on about science, explaining the joke, taking a million and seven detours to explain something else that was barely related, but you couldn’t just stop him. He looked so excited, hands flying in every direction as he spoke, practically buzzing as he broke down the history of iron and why it was displayed on the table the way it was. The dorky barista who had stolen your heart with science jokes and his lazy smile only stopped talking long enough to make orders as they came in, but he would jump back in immediately the minute he was done. This was always your favorite part about coming here, seeing him get so passionate about this field that he loved so dearly.

“I’ve probably bored you, haven’t I?” He interrupts your thoughts with an awkward laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just took up some of your precious study time, I’m sorry,” Kuroo apologizes.

“No, don’t worry about it. I don’t mind, really.”

“Hey! I could help you, I mean, only if you want, of course. It’s gotten pretty slow, so I’m sure no one would notice if I stepped away for a little while.”

You smile warmly at him and nod. “I’d like that, Kuroo. Thank you.”

It all seemed so innocent. The awkward barista nestled into a booth with his favorite customer as she tried to teach him the correct pronunciations of the words on the page. The orange glow had settled into a much deeper purple as the hours ticked by, quiet laughter being exchanged as the foreign words stumbled clumsily off his tongue. His arm had settled on the back of the booth seat, letting it hang around your shoulders, but at the same time, not overstepping any boundaries. But, the way that your body was slowly inching closer to his led him to believe that most of the lines had been erased. To anyone with an outside view, it was a beautiful image of a newly blossoming romance.

But, Kuroo’s head was fogging at the close proximity. It was one thing when he had a counter separating you from him, but now, with your head leaning on his shoulder and his arm that had just naturally sank down to rest against your form, it was hard to shake. You smelled so good. Your body absolutely dripped that delectable scent that made his skin prickle. Every time that you entered the shop, he could feel his fangs trying to push through, trying to just get some sort of taste of your blood. With that counter between the two of you, it was easy for him to shake the desire, but now? Your neck was so exposed. It would be so easy. He found himself absently tracing patterns up your shoulder towards your collarbone, fingers seeking out that soft spot that would feel so nice to simply sink his fangs into.

“I should probably be getting home.”

His eyes snapped away from the soft curve of your neck to look at the time on your phone. It was nearly nine, nearly time for him to close. Kuroo let out a small sigh, pulling his arm away. “You know, it’s really not smart for you to walk home by yourself at this hour,” he says, sliding out of his seat.

You just shrugged, putting your books back into your bag. “I’ll be okay.”

“If you want, I could walk you home. I just have to do some cleaning, but it shouldn’t take too long.”

“I’d like that, Kuroo. Thank you.” There’s a smile behind your words as you sit back in your seat.

It should’ve been as sweet and simple as that. But, you weren’t living in a fanfiction, were you? Everything would have been too easy and too beautiful if this was just your typical coffee shop love story. You should’ve gathered that something wasn’t quite right about the situation from his shift in demeanor. That lazy smile that always seemed to be evident on his features melted away, settling into a thoughtful expression. He wasn’t talking as much, preferring to simply hum and nod in agreement with what you were saying. If he was forced to talk? Well, his answers were short, nothing like the extensive rambling that you had become used to from the barista.

It’s not like he wanted to be passive with you, it’s just that the soft poking on the inside of his lip told him that he better keep his mouth shut. Kuroo was usually so good about keeping his fangs hidden, but for some reason, you ruined his resolve and before the two of you even left the shop, those two sharp teeth had emerged and he just couldn’t seem to will them away. Especially when you were holding onto his hand, pushing your body up against his side. You were so tantalizingly close and so naive to what dangers this situation really held.

It wasn’t safe for young ladies to walk home by themselves at this hour, but it wasn’t exactly safe for them to be escorted by one of his kind either. God, to drain you right then and there- The thought of your mouth falling open in the mixture of shock and discomfort, hands pawing defenselessly at his chest as that sweet red liquid dripped from your neck, the mental image of you being so vulnerable had his amber eyes shifting a few shades darker.

You were still smiling, so caught up in whatever you were telling him that you didn’t even notice how heavy the mood had become. You were so caught up in this little fantasy that everything was perfectly normal and that you were just getting to spend a little extra quality time with the man that had caught your eye all those months ago. But, he couldn’t help himself, really. This wasn’t how he expected his first long evening with you to go, but it had been awhile since he had had anything to fill his stomach and there was just something about the way your blood smelled that made his resolve collapse and his mouth water.

Imagine your surprise when the usually sweet barista pushed your back against a wall, standing over you, eyes glazed over in hunger, hooded by desire. Kuroo’s fingers gripped your chin, tilting it so that your eyes would meet his. And he smiled.

Except it wasn’t that cool grin that made him seem so laid-back, this one had an air of menace to it, those white fangs catching the rays of the moonlight. The little squeak that had left you as your back had hit that hard surface only made a low chuckle rise in his chest.

“What’s the problem, kitten?” The pet name dripped teasingly from his tongue, the tone only making you sink further into yourself, but his breath fanned so nicely over your skin, that part of you didn’t even care that he was potentially going to kill you. He tilted your head to the side, exposing your neck to him. The sharp points of his fangs graced teasingly over the skin as if trying to decide the best place to finally make their mark. “I bet you never thought that I could be dangerous. You were always so sweet and innocent, never once thinking that I should be the one that you needed to be afraid of.”

There’s a soft whimper and a shake in your bottom lip. Kuroo can feel your slight shake and it almost makes him pull away from you, apologizing for saying such things, but this- this was an opportunity that he couldn’t just pass up. After this night, there would be no guarantees that you would come to see him again and then he would never have the opportunity to just get that little taste that he so desperately craved. But, even so, the grip on your chin softened and the malice in his smile seemed to disappear.

“If you’re going to kill me, please- please just do it already,” you whimper, the tremble in your voice echoing through his ears as you closed your eyes tightly.

That was all it took for him to fully pull away from you, that fear that had crept up within you brought him back to his senses. The ominous creature that had loomed over you only moments before, fangs threatening to pierce your skin, had been replaced by the boy from the coffee shop who got overly excited about chemistry and talked feverishly with his hands. He could feel his fangs shrinking away and Kuroo leaned away from you, sadness being the only emotion on his features.

This wasn’t what he wanted. He never wanted to scare you, to make you shake beneath his touch, but that’s exactly what he had done. To be frank, he hated it. He hated that after months of getting to know you and building a meaningful friendship with you, he let it all waste away as he was driven by an urge of hunger. Kuroo hadn’t offered to walk you home just so he could get a little late night snack. He had genuinely been concerned for your safety and yet, here he was, being more of a danger to you than anyone else.

His mouth stuttered absently for anything that could be an explanation or even an apology, but there was nothing. But when your eyes opened cautiously, surprised that you were still alive, Kuroo could see the soft glisten of tears on your cheeks. Someone could’ve hit him over the head with a brick and it still wouldn’t have hurt anywhere near as much as the knowledge that those tears had fallen because of him, because he had made you fear for your life and for your well-being.

So, when you flung yourself into his chest, clutching at the fabric of his t-shirt, letting your quiet sniffles dampen the material? Kuroo was shocked to say the least, but nonetheless, he wrapped his arms tenderly around your form, mumbling soft words of remorse against your scalp, planting sweet kisses on your temple.

“Please,” you whisper, your words getting caught in your throat in a choked sob. You tighten your grip, pulling him closer to you as if you were trying to completely disappear from the world. “I don’t care what you are, just please- please don't do that to me again, Kuroo. I like you a lot, but I-” You looked up at him, fresh tears shimmering down your cheeks. “But, you scared me and I-”

He shushed you, petting your hair softly before running his thumb over your face, ridding your skin of any remaining tears. “I know, and I’m sorry, Y/N. I guess I just like you too much to pose any real danger to you, huh?”

#i am absolutely not sorry about the title #haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x reader #kuroo #tetsurou #kuroo tetsurou #kuroo x reader #vampire au #but also??#coffee shop au #x reader #imagines #dorky rooster boy could never scare you ;-;

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skarsgard-daydreams · 5 years ago

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Voices Carry

Ch. 2: “Don’t Turn Around”

Description: Merkel accepts a job to smuggle a young woman out of East Berlin, and it turns out to be more than he bargained for.

Warnings: smoking, poor grasp of the German language, possible historical liberties, probable sexual content in the future

Notes: Thank you for the positive feedback! I tried to make it possible to work out the meaning of the German phrases in this chapter based on context, but I also included a glossary at the end.

A dull roar filled the grimy subway station and a rush of wind blew past as the red and yellow S-Bahn train came out of the tunnel, slowing to a stop in front of the platform crammed with commuters. Irina adjusted the bag on her shoulder and shuffled onto the train with the other men and women wearing long thick coats and woolen scarves, all of them weary from work and longing to be home. Jostled by the crowd, Irina moved further into the train and grabbed hold of a pole to keep her balance as the train shot forward, the familiar roar filling the car. That’s when she felt his breath on her ear.

The tall man behind her spoke softly, stretching an arm over her to grab onto the same pole she was holding. “Irina König?” he asked, standing close enough that she caught the scent of tobacco and a warm, woody cologne laced with spices on his clothes as he spoke directly into her ear in a way that would have felt intimate if she knew who he was.

Every muscle in Irina’s body tensed. She nodded slowly.

“Your father asked me to meet you,” said the man. “Stay on at the next stop.”

Irina said nothing. She had no idea who this man was or if he was actually sent by her father. Her jaw tightened as she gripped the pole with clammy hands, realizing that this man knew where she normally got off the train. Maybe he’d been following her for some time. She glanced up at his hand resting against the pole. He easily towered over her, and he was standing in the path of her only exit.

The sign at the end of the car flipped over, displaying LENINALLEE as the train slowed. An idea began to form in Irina’s mind. She couldn’t outrun or overpower this man, but maybe if she caught him by surprise, she could push him out of the train at the platform. If she timed it right, the doors would close and he wouldn’t have enough time to get back on before it sped off.

Just as the train came to a stop, the man placed his hand firmly on Irina’s shoulder and propelled her further into the car. Stunned, she moved forward without resisting. More commuters piled in behind them, blocking access to the door. The man gave Irina a little push and she fell into an open seat. She looked up at him, her heart hammering. He loomed over her, dressed in a long blue overcoat with the collar turned up against the wind. He had dark hair that was buzzed short on one side and the most intense eyes she had ever seen. On the surface, his expression seemed neutral—almost bored—until you looked at his eyes. They were gravely serious. The man glanced over his shoulder as the train doors closed again, then fixed his gaze on Irina. She swallowed hard.

The train rushed on, stopping at two more stations. Neither of them spoke. Irina weighed whether this man was telling the truth as the train rattled through a curve in the tunnel. It wasn’t impossible. Johannes König was a paranoid man, and he had often talked about finding a way to send Irina to live with her aunt and uncle in the West. It wouldn’t be unlike him to send someone to find her if something ever happened to him.

Irina looked back up at the man, her stomach twisting with worry. “My father,” she began. “Is he…?” Her voice sounded smaller than she’d intended. Vulnerable. She tried to find the words to finish her question, but fell short, and instead sat there fuming for showing that side of herself to a total stranger, even if it was just for a moment.

The man stared down at her with those deep, hazel-green eyes for a long moment. “I saw him this morning,” he said, shrugging a shoulder. Irina pressed her lips together tightly.

The train slowed again and the man beckoned her to get up. “Kommen Sie mit,” he said. Irina rose to her feet and wrapped her light brown coat around herself more tightly as she walked out onto the platform. She felt the man’s hand press against the small of her back, and he guided her out of the station, following closely behind. Irina recognized the bombed-out ruin of a train station that hadn’t been repaired after the war and guessed they were in Friedrichshain. The man steered her wordlessly up the street and turned left into an alley that had been renamed for a famous Russian patriot and filled with identical concrete apartment blocks. He paused in front of one of the buildings and pulled the door open, holding it for her.

Irina paused, too, and looked at him hard. “You haven’t even told me your name.”

The man arched his brow slightly, seeming surprised at her sudden defiance. His cheeks were ruddy from the cold air, and it gave him a boyish quality. “Call me Merkel,” he said.

“Merkel,” she repeated, but she didn’t move. She searched his face for any sign she should trust him.

Merkel watched her quietly. “Alles klar?” he asked after a moment.

Irina wanted to scoff and tell him that was a stupid question. Either he was being honest, and her father was in deep trouble, or he was lying, and she was the one in trouble. She had never been worse. She sniffed from the cold air and then nodded, refusing to meet his eyes. The wind rattled the door. As they stood there, an old woman dressed in her nightgown appeared on the second-floor landing and shouted down at Merkel.

“Schließe die Tür!”

“Ja, Frau Engel,” Merkel said quickly. He ushered Irina inside and pulled the door shut tightly against the wind. He walked up the stairs and gave the wrinkled woman a respectful nod as they passed her on the landing, where she stood scowling.

They ascended another flight of stairs and Merkel stopped outside one of the apartments on the third floor, sliding his key into the lock. Irina followed him inside, sweeping her gaze across the room, looking for any clues that might suggest malicious intent. The apartment was small, with stark white walls and dark hardwood floors that needed polishing. A plush orange couch sat against one wall in the living area, facing a small television set that teetered haphazardly on top of several record boxes. Records and books were stacked everywhere, and the coffee table was littered with yesterday’s newspapers, a half-empty box of Cabinet Reds, and a pile of cassette tapes with handwritten labels.

“You don’t entertain much,” Irina observed, stepping over a pair of boots left in the doorway and sitting down on the sofa.

Merkel chuckled, kicking the boots aside. “How did you guess?” He moved to the cramped kitchen and busied himself with filling a copper kettle at the sink.

Irina shivered. The apartment was warmer than it had been outside, but just barely. She leaned forward and took a cigarette out of the box, lighting it with a match. She took a long drag, reclining back against the cushions, and watched Merkel as he fiddled with the finicky knobs on the old gas stove in the kitchen. Blue flames suddenly erupted under the base of the kettle and he yanked his hand away quickly, letting out a small exasperated huff that made Irina laugh to herself.

Something about the way he’d acted toward the elderly woman had set Irina’s mind at ease. Perhaps she was being naïve, but she suspected if he was going to hurt her, he would’ve done it already. Merkel had brought her here with little more than gentle coaxing, and his apartment seemed ordinary enough for a young bachelor in East Berlin. Irina crossed one leg over the other and brought the cigarette back to her lips. No, she wasn’t concerned for herself any longer. But if her father had sent someone to meet her, she knew that something terrible was about to happen.

German Glossary

Kommen Sie mit - come with me

Alles klar? - you good? (though it can be used in different ways)

Schließe die Tür - close the door

@skrsgardspam @b-afterhours @emmyrosee @flowers-in-your-hayr @bebetriste @bethskarsgard @xluvparis @bskarsgardlove92 @scuba-seamus @goblincxnt @dragsraksllib

#atomic blonde fanfiction #bill skarsgard fanfiction #merkel fanfiction #gordon merkel fanfiction #bill skarsgard #bill skarsgård #gordon merkel #merkel #atomic blonde #voices carry

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ichigo-daifuku · 5 years ago

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Desiderium

Obey Me! Fanfiction [Read on AO3]

Diavolo/Female!MC

As the exchange program comes to an end, she spends her final evening with Diavolo, the demon she has become enamored by, the man she shares a romantic affair with, and the one she is most reluctant to leave. With both of them disinclined with her departure, she states the condition which will make her stay: a pact with him, the Devildom's Prince.

But how can a human he has known for a mere year compare to the legacy passed on to him that is worth thousands of years?

Explicit | Oral Sex, Possessiveness, Mild Praise Kink, Goodbye Sex, Heavy Angst

I really wanted Diavolo content, but there isn't much in the game itself (right now, at least), so I wrote this story. This was inspired by some of Diavolo's lines in Lesson 19-12 Normal and Lesson 20-15 Hard ʕ´•ᴥ•`ʔ

Word Count: 6k

Humans had warned her.

It was something she heard in passing; a matter seemingly insignificant, yet for some reason, still echoed in her mind up until this moment. She couldn’t even pinpoint who, but she recalled being told that the demon; the embodiment of sin, temptation, and evil; would come in the most beautiful form, one that would surely seduce a human to do their bidding, make them fall from grace, and succumb to sin themselves.

As she sat in front of Diavolo, the Prince of the Devildom, she couldn’t help but remember this little detail, and in silence, she took the stem of the wineglass between fingers, moved it in a circular motion to swirl the liquor, and agreed.

He was a dangerous creature—perhaps, the most dangerous she could ever come across—and to an average human, it would be utter madness how she was far from terrified. Since the moment she laid her eyes on him in the student council room, she was inexplicably drawn. Diavolo had sat in the court judge seat like it was a bejeweled throne, stood tall as he introduced himself, his voice sonorous as he welcomed her to the Devildom and stated his name and title. The year she spent in this realm had been a whirlwind, but her memory of him remained crystal clear. Each time Diavolo entered the same room, his presence commanded her attention, and like a lovestruck fool, she would hang onto every word he spoke and laugh at every joke he cracked. In every meeting, she snuck furtive glances at him with desire, a longing she believed was futile and would never attain fulfillment. She assumed he was merely looking out for her because of her status as an exchange student, a springboard to turning his vision into reality, but to her disbelief and satisfaction, he looked her way in the same manner she gazed at him, and nothing was ever the same again.

It was her final night in the Devildom. She could’ve left earlier—her fellow human exchange student, Solomon, as well as the angels, Simeon and Luke, had returned to their respective worlds. However, an unfinished business plagued her mind. Unprepared to leave due to it, she asked to stay for one more night.

To no one’s surprise, she was spending it with Diavolo.

In the Demon Lord’s Castle, the two of them met for dinner. The veranda of his chambers offered the most magnificent view of the Devildom, the wind cool from the altitude and the neon lights below surreal and mystical.

Diavolo sat across the ornate table, the sleeves of his black button-up shirt rolled up to his elbows. He wore no tie, and the first two buttons of his shirt were undone. She liked him like this: informal, relaxed, and carefree. It was a sight very few had the privilege to witness, and it pleased her that he could be this way in her company.

“What’s wrong? Do you not like the food? We can ask for something else if you’d like.” Diavolo set his fork and knife down, his eyes flickering to her and her plate, a worried furrow visible on his brows. He had chosen tonight’s menu, a five-course meal consisting of her favorites, all of them being food from the human world which he had queried her in one of their earlier conversations. It was one of the things she admired about him: his open mind. His down to earth nature, the quirks in his personality she never expected—she could go on and on about these things, but she would still feel like it wasn’t enough to express how strongly she felt for him.

“No, I like everything that’s in front of me,” she assured him as she set the wineglass down, picking up her utensils to cut the steak. It was no secret that Barbatos was the most skilled in cooking in all the three worlds, so much so that having him in Diavolo’s service was something many envied. She savored the burst of flavor on her tongue, uncertain if she would ever encounter a quality that could rival or come close to it from a human world restaurant, even from a Michelin-rated one.

“That’s good to hear.” Diavolo smiled and resumed his meal. The candle illuminated his features and graceful movements, and once again, she remembered the warning about the devil, the one she failed to take heed of.

The two of them enjoyed their dinner as if it was one of their usual nights at Ristorante Six, except it was more private; intimate. The sense of finality hung in the air yet remained unspoken. As the lighthearted conversation about her stay in this world came to a close, she did the honors and addressed the elephant in the room, opening the sensitive subject of her departure.

“By the way, I have something for you.” She took three small boxes from the paper bag beside her seat and handed it to him.

“What is it?”

“A parting gift, if you may.”

The first box contained hellfire mushroom rolled cigar cookies, his favorite, and a small container of flaming gecko sauce on the side. It was the most unlikely pair, yet those two together suited his palate well. It surprised her when she found out, but it was something very Diavolo to like something many would consider an oddity. Through trial and error, she made multiple batches and requested a very willing Beelzebub to taste test the samples in search of the perfect flavor she hoped Diavolo would enjoy, even if they weren’t going to be on the same level as the ones baked by Barbatos. The second box was the one she was proudest of: rolled butter cigar cookies, the special recipe from the human world. Out of the three, these were the ones she was most acquainted with, and she felt happy to be able to introduce them to Diavolo. The final box contained the Celestial Realm’s version of the rolled cigar cookies which she asked Luke to assist her in making. Luke had frowned about it at first when she told him of her plan, but like the angel and friend that he was, he obliged, happy to share his hobby of baking pastries with her.

“I was the one who made them, not Lucifer, so you have nothing to worry about,” she informed him, making both of them remember the time when they discovered Lucifer’s melancholy.

“I was hoping you’d say that.” Diavolo’s lips quirked into a fond smile. “Three versions from the three realms! That’s impressive. I truly feel like a king now.”

“I don’t do things half-baked, literally and figuratively,” she quipped, a chuckle bubbling from her lips. “Either I go big, or I go home.”

It was time for dessert. The server arrived and placed a slice of decadent chocolate cake in front of her and was about to do the same to Diavolo. However, Diavolo shook his head and dismissed the server, in a happy mood as he said he would opt for the rolled cigar cookies as his dessert for tonight.

“Hm, it’s similar but different… but delicious, nonetheless,” he commented after finishing a rolled butter cigar cookie, his radiant expression growing forlorn the next moment. He paused and took the cover in his hand, sealing the box again. “On second thought, I don’t want to finish them all right away. They’re from you. I may never get the same opportunity to have them again.”

“They’ll get ruined if you do that.”

“That would make you sad, wouldn’t it?”

She took a bite of the cake, letting the taste sit on her tongue before swallowing. Bittersweet. Diavolo was correct: it would make her sad, but she didn’t want to make him feel terrible for that, especially with his reason being so sentimental of her. “I made them for you. Please go and indulge.”

“I… I guess I will. Thank you.”

“It’s my pleasure.”

“I know I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again. I’ve had the most wonderful year with you.” Diavolo heaved a sigh, running a hand through his hair. “Tomorrow, you won’t be here anymore, and that makes me really sad. I’m going to miss you.”

His straightforward nature was one of his many charms. She admired how easy it was for him to speak what was on his mind and heart, how he spoke freely about topics he was passionate about, and how he sought after his dreams and goals with a grit unlike any she has ever seen from anyone else. Still, there were facets of him she has yet to uncover. Once she returned to the human world, he would remain a mystery she would never have the opportunity to completely unravel, the answers within her grasp but still out of reach. This was why she stayed for one more night; to ask him one more question and receive a final answer.

“I can stay longer if you’d like,” she began the proposition in the most innocent way possible, wondering if he already knew and if he did, why he did nothing to prevent it.

“You’d be willing?”

“Yes,” she confirmed with a nod, “but under one condition.”

“Tell me.”

“Make a pact with me, Diavolo.”

She was playing with fire, and she knew it. With those words, she could be lighting the fuse to their inevitable ending, but the chance he would agree with the idea existed, as slim as it was, and she would never forgive herself if she didn’t seize it. The thrill from the anticipation made her pulse quicken, the tension palpable from the short distance of their connected gazes.

Diavolo grew quiet for a moment, his expression unreadable as he stacked her gifts together and pointed out, “You already have pacts with the seven brothers of the House of Lamentation.”

“I do.”

“And you want to make a pact with me as well?”

“That is correct.”

He broke into a smile. “Are you trying to give Solomon a run for his money?”

The turn of the conversation made her laugh, the silent trepidation inside her subsiding, though infinitesimally. “No, I don’t intend to forge pacts with over seventy demons. I only want you.”

Diavolo set the boxes aside, his hand reaching out to clasp hers. “I would love nothing more if we could be together longer, of course, but is there no other way to persuade you?”

“Surely, you are aware that everything comes with a price.” She took her hand out of his grasp, reached for the wineglass, and took another much-needed sip of the liquid courage. “I’ll give up everything I have in the human world and stay in the Devildom beside you for as long as my human life will let me. That is no small feat, and so is what I am asking of you, I know, but I’ll do it if you agree to make a pact with me.”

Even in this world, it was a give and take. In this dangerous game they played, she was ready to go all-in if he was willing to do the same. A sacrifice too extreme on her end, the rational part of her mind insisted; a selfish act, her human conscience chided. The idea had plagued her mind for weeks. Diavolo had made a deal with Lucifer before, not a pact but something similar, could he not do the same for her, a human he would outlive by many lifetimes? If it meant that she would stay by his side, would it not be worth it? Would she not be worth it?

“I want to stay with you, Diavolo. I really do, but I will only do it under this condition,” she declared, her voice calm yet laced with conviction.

“The Devildom comes as my first priority. Always. I’m sure you know this.”

With his father resting and disinterested in the affairs of the existing realms, Diavolo was the de-facto ruler of all demons. He was always confident, charismatic, and sagacious; the epitome of a responsible royal. Steadfast loyalty to the Devildom flowed in his veins. As its future king, he had no room for errors, including in this circumstance.

The thin ray of hope she clung onto slowly faded, for how could a human he has known for a mere year compare to the legacy passed on to him that was worth thousands of years?

The harsh reality that dawned on her made her lightheaded, and she reached for the glass of water and downed it in one go. Their differences made their situation more difficult, but it was the understanding of his perspective and responsibilities that made everything severely painful on her part. In the end, she was a speck in his immortal existence while he had made an enduring impact on her transient one. It began to feel as if every second she had spent with him was a stolen moment. Her bravado threatening to crumble, she dabbed her lips with a napkin and stood, turning from him and making her way toward the side of the veranda.

“Do you think I will wreak havoc in the three worlds and betray you?” The discovery of her latent magical power had come as a surprise to everyone, including herself, but more than anything else, she had no qualms about how deeply she cared about him. To her, the question of the possibility of her betrayal was rhetorical.

“It’s not that. A pact will put me under the full control of an individual. As the future king of the Devildom, it’s simply a danger I can’t risk,” Diavolo replied, his voice firm and his resolve absolute.

They had reached an impasse. With her palms over the banister, her eyes drifted over to the land he exacted his rule over, her mind reflecting on his ambition of peace and coexistence among the three worlds; a dream she was a part of, a dream that in a small way, she was able to assist him with. “Your answer is ‘no’, then.”

Diavolo stood and made his way to her. His answer was ‘no’, yet he was embracing her from behind and bending his head to press a kiss on her neck like an unspoken apology.

She has received her answer. Exhaustion seeped into her bones, her shoulder slumping in both the relief of being able to express her terms and the blow of her defeat. She had the courage, and though scathed, she was proud of herself for making it through. Her body relaxed against him as she laughed bitterly. “Can you blame me for trying?”

“No, never. It’s one of the things that I adore about you, your ambitious streak. You know exactly what you want and go after it. You have a beautiful mind and an equally beautiful heart. I am so lucky to have space in them.”

“I’m going to miss you, Diavolo.” She faced him and returned his embrace, wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her face on his chest. She battled to suppress the rising grief in her chest, but her eyes refused to lie and glazed with tears. “I’m going to miss you so much.”

His hand reached to stroke her hair for a few moments before tilting her head so he could see her face, the tears she couldn’t stifle streaming down her cheeks. He wiped them with his thumb, his expression growing sorrowful and worried.

“I’m sorry for making you cry. I know we intended to spend the night together, but would you like me to take you home instead?” he asked, yet his arm around her waist grew tighter as if he didn’t want to let her go.

It was indeed her final night in the Devildom, and she wanted to spend it with no one but him. “No. I don’t want to go home tonight. I want to stay with you.”

She stood on her tiptoes and brushed her lips against his softly, but he captured them in a ferocious kiss, the passion and hunger they had for each other still burning brightly even though they were on the final page of their romantic affair. This was the last time she would have the privilege of calling him her lover, she thought as her fingers moved from the nape of his neck to thread through his hair. In an attempt to banish those thoughts, she ran the tip of her tongue over his lips, and he gently sucked on it and swirled his tongue around hers, the kisses growing urgent by the second. The feel of his mouth and the hard planes of his body against hers made it easy for her to succumb to the consuming desire ignited by him. Her knees buckled, but his arms and body trapped her by the banister and steadied her.

She leaned back, catching her breath and giving him a challenging stare. “You keep on saying that you’ll miss me. Will you miss this, too, when I’m gone? Or will you find someone else to do these things with?”

Diavolo frowned. “Do you really think that way?”

“I don’t know what to think anymore, honestly.”

With a sigh, she took his hand and led him inside his chambers. The moment they passed through the threshold, he drew her back in his arms and kissed her again. It took her off-guard, but his advances were most welcome; she needed to be close to him and responded in kind. Neither of them broke the fierce caresses of their lips as she led him to his bed, his arousal unmistakable through the proximity of their bodies. Without missing a beat, she placed her palms on his shoulders and urged him to sit on the mattress. He obliged and scanned her from her head to her toes, taking in her form while keeping his hands on the sides of her waist.

“Go on,” Diavolo commanded and stroked the fabric of her dress with his thumb. “Do as you wish.”

He released her as she sank to her knees, waiting for her to act upon her desires. The tip of her tongue brushed across her rosy lips while her hands landed on his knees and slid to his thighs. Her fingers sought after his belt and unbuckled it, releasing his cock from the confines of his clothing. She proceeded to take his hardening length in her grasp, her fingertips unable to meet her thumb as she encircled it. With a glance at him and through her parted lips, she inhaled and exhaled, her warm breaths sensually teasing him, though unintentionally. She gazed at him from below as she ran the tip of her tongue over the slit, earning a groan from him, his eyes turning half-lidded. Languidly, she ran her tongue over his shaft and explored, and more sounds of approval fell past his lips, his arousal growing at her ministrations. She parted her lips and engulfed him by the tip, sucking gently before moving further, growing accustomed to the weight inside her mouth. Her hand twisted around the base of his shaft as her lips moved up and down, satisfied by the way he was reacting to her.

With the back of her head cradled by his palm, he took her tresses in his fist but did nothing to guide her as he did during their previous times together. He let her move at her own pace and allowed her to have her way with him. Diavolo closed his eyes and moaned. “That feels really good, yes, just like that. Keep going.”

His praises were music to her ears; every word urged her to continue pleasuring him. He was a sight to behold, and again, the reality that it was the final time she would see him in this light raced inside her mind. The nature of demons was tied to temptation; they were unable to resist them, having the need to possess what they wanted. Diavolo had her, but he was willing to let her go. She wondered if it was a matter of him not desiring her enough or if the goals of Diavolo, the future king of the Devildom, simply outweighed whatever it was Diavolo, the demon, wanted. Still, it hardly mattered. After this, Diavolo could have anyone he desired, and the certainty of the thought sparked envy within her. But tonight, for the last time, he was hers. She released him from her lips and continued to stroke him, her fist running up and down his rigid length as she wiped the saliva that dripped from the corner of her mouth with the back of her other hand.

“How would you feel if I took another lover? Have you thought of that?” she asked and was confronted by his carnal gaze, an unmistakable spark of fury surging within them.

The remark she made led his mind to race with images of her sharing a bed with another, a mortal man, and the self-restraint he had hanging by a thread snapped. A squeak escaped her lips when he hauled her over his lap with her back facing him. His body trembled, and the golden markings on his wrists appeared, making her assume that he would shift into his demon form until he buried his face on her shoulder. His hair tickled her cheek as he breathed in and calmed himself. Soon, the golden markings on his wrists disappeared, and to her surprise, he chuckled.

“You think you can? Please,” he mocked, his hand sliding over her thighs to her knees. He removed her high-heeled shoes and hiked the fabric of her skirt. The trail of his fingers made her shiver, her breath hitching as he undid the garter of her black stockings and peeled them from her skin. The lace panties she wore were discarded next, and he caressed her bare skin and parted her legs over his lap, his fingertips teasing the sensitive skin of her inner thighs.

She bit back a moan, and her skin prickled with anticipation. “W-What? You don’t believe I can?”

“No one will be able to satisfy you the way I do,” he rasped, running a finger over her entrance and making her shudder at the initial contact. He began to stroke up and down her slit, taking his time before slipping a finger inside her with ease. “Look at you. You’re drenched.”

“D-Diavolo…”

“Hm?” He was still irate that she would suggest such a thing, but despite the dismissive response, he gave her his utmost attention. His thumb stimulated her clit as he sought the places where she could feel the most gratification and slipped another digit past her entrance.

Overcome with the accompanying desire of him and the intoxicating sensations he was giving her, she forgot what she wanted to say next. Her hand shifted back to his shoulder to steady herself as her hips undulated to pleasure herself faster with his fingers. He let her do as she liked, pressing a kiss behind her ear and brushing his lips over the shell.

“You’re mine. Don’t you forget that,” he whispered, curling his fingers inside her.

Like a beautiful curse that no one would be able to undo, she would never forget it. She tensed and met her release, trembling for a moment before collapsing against him. Her mind was in a haze, her breaths came out in huffs, and her body felt warm all over. She was spent.

“I’m not done with you yet.”

“What—”

Before she could form a coherent response, Diavolo had hooked his arms under her knees and around her waist and moved her over the plush bed. She blinked a few times, the bounce from the mattress startling her. He unbuttoned his shirt and revealed the taut muscles of his back, crouching down to discard his shoes and socks, his trousers and underwear following suit, baring himself completely, unashamedly.

“Let me see you,” he told her as he faced her again and shifted his body over to the bed.

His hands found the buttons and ribbons of her dress, undoing them and stripping her. For tonight, she had chosen to wear his gifts, the knowledge that it would please him delightful to her, and though the ribbons of this particular ensemble were intricate, he had somehow memorized how to remove them, much to her initial surprise. He guided her down the mattress with his body, his lips seeking her own and moving down her neck. His teeth grazed it for a moment and nipped at it, focusing on a spot and sucking at the skin, marking her as his, as though lovebites weren’t something temporary.

“Diavolo,” she cried out, her yearning for him impossible to ignore.

He grasped her chin and met her gaze. “Tell me what you want.”

“You,” she answered without needing to think. It was him, he was all she wanted, and he was the one she could never truly have no matter how much she needed him.

“Hm, you’re so beautiful.”

She least expected it, but the subsequent kisses he covered her breasts, neck, and lips with didn’t give her enough room to dwell on the thought. He pumped his shaft a few times before he aligned himself over her and slid past her entrance. Eyes shut at the blissful sensation, she whimpered as he gradually eased himself further inside her. Once she had taken him fully, he paused and peered at her face, waiting for her to adjust and accommodate his size. She squirmed and clenched around him, in need of more friction, more of him.

“That feels so good, doesn’t it? You think someone else can make you feel that way?”

Her breaths ragged, she could only moan in response, but Diavolo wasn’t having it.

“Answer me.”

“No… No one else,” she breathed, “Only you.”

He brushed his lips over the lovebites he had made on her neck, satisfied with her response. “That’s right.”

“Diavolo, please,” she begged.

He leaned back, his gaze softening as he ran his palm over her hair down to her cheek. “Relax for me, my princess.”

She nodded. He pressed a light kiss on her lips which she returned passionately, the gentle moment turning heated in a second. Strands of her hair stuck to the sides of her forehead due to sweat, and her nails dug on his back as he began to move, unsheathing and burying himself inside her again and again. The moment their bodies found their rhythm, her legs encircled his waist and pulled him even closer, meeting his every thrust with the shifting of her hips.

The increase in the pace made her aware that Diavolo was close to his limit. Guided by his emotions and instincts, he slammed inside her frantically, his hands grasping the sides of her waist to guide her in taking him in, the bed creaking at the intensity of their movements.

As the familiar ripple of fire took over her body, her back arched and her toes curled. She climaxed so intensely that her ears rang, and he let her ride her peak as he chased his own release. She clung to him desperately in a silent persuasion to change his mind and make her stay, yet it was hopeless; this was the last time she was going to be with him. It was strikingly different from the first time, yet the raw affection was the very same, and all that she felt about him in the past year flooded her mind in these moments. With one last thrust, he grunted, his eyes fluttered shut, and his jaw slackened as he filled her with his essence. Tears blurred her vision as she etched this moment in her imperfect mind; the time she knew that no one could ever compare to him in every aspect of her life and the tragedy that she was a different matter when it came to his own.

Diavolo brushed her tears away and kissed her lips so tenderly that she has never felt so cherished, but like a paradox, it was these simple gestures that tore her heart apart and made her cry harder.

The warmth from the fireplace soothed her cool skin from the bath as she and Diavolo huddled in front of it. The flames were their main source of light as Diavolo read a book about the origins of the Devildom with her in his arms, a thick blanket draped over his broad shoulders, his skin against her skin, and their shadows one. Aside from the occasional crackling from the hearth, the only sound she heard was Diavolo’s voice. It was still the same, but he spoke in a low tone only she could hear. It was so serene and affectionate, and she could spend all night hearing him talk like this.

He paused reading as the clock struck midnight, each chime reminding her of her impending return to the human world. As quietness took over once again, he asked, “Why did you want me to read this to you?”

“I love hearing your voice,” she answered, “and I enjoy hearing you talk about the things most important to you.”

“I’d prefer hearing your voice more.”

She took the book from his hands, closed it, and set it aside, reaching for another book in the stack next to it. As she browsed the table of contents, she asked, “Shall I read the story of Queen Rose to you?”

Diavolo responded with a nod against her hair and placed his chin on her shoulder. She cleared her throat and began, the sentiment that she would miss the way he wrapped his arms around her at the back of her mind. He kept silent and followed the text with his eyes as she began her tale.

In the middle of the night, she woke up in Diavolo’s arms. He was sound asleep. She disentangled herself from his embrace, slipped away, and got dressed. Her bag rested on his desk together with the gifts she made for him. All traces of sleep left her body as she sat down and grabbed the fountain pen on the side, writing a letter and spilling her deepest thoughts and feelings for him through the ink. When she reached the closing salutations, she signed the paper with her name and folded it, securing it with a paperweight in the middle of the table to make sure Diavolo wouldn’t miss it in the morning. She cast a lingering glance over the expanse of Diavolo’s chambers, a strange sense of nostalgia heavy in her chest though she was still living in this moment.

It was time for her to go.

She stood and made her way to his bed, her footsteps muted by the carpet. As she gazed at his sleeping form, she wondered what his reign would be like; if it would be anything like how he cared for the Devildom right now, then it would be long and fruitful, she believed so.

“Farewell,” she whispered and left a chaste kiss on his lips, a silent wish for all the best things in life for him. With a final glimpse of Diavolo, she strode to the door and shut it as quietly as she could.

Despite doing her best not to run into Barbatos or anyone, the moment she made a turn in the corridor, a maid who recognized her bowed in greeting. “Is there anything you need, Miss?”

She shook her head. “No, thank you. I’m just heading to the garden for some fresh air.”

The maid nodded and went on her way.

There was no way she would be able to slip out of the castle unnoticed, but she knew what she needed to do and rummaged inside her bag for her D.D.D., dialing the only one she could count on in this situation.

“Why are you calling at this hour? Did something happen?”

“I…” she began, the question sending her to the verge of bursting into tears. “Come pick me up, please.”

Along the deserted street, the eternal magic seal that served as a passage among the three worlds laid beneath her feet.

Beside her, Lucifer stood. Confusion and worry had filled him when he headed to the Demon Lord’s Castle, but upon seeing her weariness as she waited for him in the garden, he had taken heed of her request, both of them slipping out of the castle grounds without suspicion thanks to Lucifer’s status as Diavolo’s right-hand man. He said nothing as he took her to the place where the eternal magic seal was located and left her to process what happened and what was bound to happen, and for that, she was grateful.

Relieved, she turned to him, “Thank you for picking me up and bringing my luggage.”

He nodded. “Do you want to say goodbye to my brothers?”

She had said her goodbyes to them yesterday, and she wouldn’t be able to take any more goodbyes. “I’ve said everything I needed to say to everyone. I’m ready to go.”

“You two were never subtle, you know?”

She and Diavolo must have given him quite the headache. “Well, we did try… but I guess we weren’t.”

“You look lonely.”

“Do I?” She smiled. “Maybe, I am.”

Lucifer sighed. He was blaming himself for the turn of the events, thinking of what could’ve been if he had done something to prevent this from happening. It was too late now.

“No, it’s not your fault. Please don’t think that way,” she assured him with a shake of her head. Yes, he was close to her and Diavolo, but that didn’t mean he was responsible for what happened. It was no one’s fault, least of all Lucifer’s. She wouldn’t be able to forgive herself if he blamed himself for what happened. “It’s just… time for me to go home.”

“I take it Diavolo doesn’t know yet. He’ll get angry.”

“He’ll understand.” At least, she hoped he would. “Let’s go, please, before he realizes I’m gone.”

It wasn’t as if she and Diavolo could never see each other again, but she would prefer not to for a long, long time—for both their sakes. Right now, she wouldn’t be able to bear it if he were to send her off. She would beg him to make her stay, and she couldn’t do that. The ounce of pride she had left wouldn’t allow her to do something so foolish, and perhaps, Lucifer knew and understood.

“You owe me,” Lucifer said.

She wondered if an opportunity to return the favor would ever come her way.

He outstretched a gloved hand, and without hesitation, she took it. With his power, the magic circle glowed underneath their feet, and the next thing she knew, they were standing inside her house, in the living room she hasn’t returned to in a year.

She squeezed his hand and let go. “Thank you for everything, Lucy.”

“And who told you that you can call me that?”

“No one. I just thought you’d let me off the hook since I’m going home and all,” she replied, her lips curving into a smile. “Thank you.”

Lucifer shook his head and smiled back genuinely. “Take care.”

She closed her eyes as the blinding light engulfed him, and in a flash, he disappeared and returned to the Devildom.

As silence took over the room, the smile she had been forcing herself to wear faded into oblivion, the reality catching up to her by the second. Birds chirped outside the window while sunlight passed through the clear glass, its heat familiar yet foreign on her skin. Emptiness filled her being. Her life would never be the same or idyllic or as colorful as the neon lights in the world she left behind.

The road to hell was paved with good intentions. Now that she has returned to the human world, she has also stepped foot on her personal brand of hell, one without Diavolo in it, and it was a life sentence she must bear on her shoulders. Alone.

A very special thank you to @photoproses for editing this work and listening to my ramblings about Diavolo!

And thank you very much for reading this story! ʕ≧ᴥ≦ʔ

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