you can call ᴋᴀʟᴏꜱ, or ᴍᴏʀᴏꜱ. i'm just trying to forget i exist.
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hi... anon from your engie post here btw... couldn't help but notice you havent gotten many requests... I wanna fix that problem. Can I pretty please get anything involving my beautiful mans engie? The fluffier the better. I wanna cuddle that man until he gets sick of my bs
you're in luck, my next post is an engie fic <3 i hope you'll like it sweetheart, thanks for the support
summary: a late night at the firing range forces you, a weapons maintenance technician, to cross paths with leon, the top dso agent. there's an undeniable pull between the two of you. but who will be the first to pull the trigger?
tags: weapons maintenance tech! reader x agent! leon, sfw, slow-burn (at least my attempt at one lmao), coworkers to lovers, mutual pining, eventual smut (just hold onto your panties okay), implied age-gap (no specific ages stated so its really up to your interpretation)
word count: 3k
a/n: the job came to me out of nowhere. since capcom makes shit up as they go, so should we lmao. and while i love fics where reader is leon's handler/assistant or a fellow dso agent, i want to explore other professions that overlap with leon's (and not repeat the same writing), so hopefully i can think of some other ones! :3
this is ch. 1, i'm thinking of having 4-5 parts total
Drab walls of the DSO's office surrounded you, their dark shade rivaling the night sky outside. The overhead lighting was harsh, failing to add any warmth to the atmosphere.
As a Weapons Maintenance Technician, you were used to cold circumstances. The job was a tedious and unforgiving affair.
You were responsible for accounting for inventory, inspecting weapons, performing diagnostics, and so on. You primarily worked during early mornings and late nights, the job forcing an odd schedule upon you. Highly classified missions were what threw you off schedule. Agents could be deployed at any time, and in those moments, your schedule was all over the place. It led to you being unfamiliar with DSO agents; they were a foreign concept, your professions sharing parallel paths, never crossing.
Your days dragged on, but you'd take the monotonous lifestyle over any of the other employees who directly dealt with BOW's. Swerving into the firearms closet, a clipboard and company laptop in hand, you began your work. Fortunately, the easiest task was left for the end of the night: an inventory check.
But tonight, something was evidently amiss.
All shotguns were in place except one, the place where the weapon was supposed to be staring back at you in mock amusement. The hollow space it was supposed to be occupying was missing. A faint shot echoed a distance away, resolving the short-lived mystery.
The shooting range was in close quarters with the firearms inventory. It was only reasonable to be set up this way, with easy access. Leaving your clipboard and laptop in the weapons closet for safekeeping, you made your way to the shooting range. A faint annoyance arose, and you paced yourself. Not only would you have to ensure the weapon was accounted for, but you’d have to double-check its condition and usage. It was uncommon for you to hold a grudge or dislike against any agent—you never interacted with agents much to begin with— but the resentment was growing. Who in their right mind practices shooting in the middle of the night?
You were quiet when you slipped through the entrance, the repeated gunshots cloaking any sound your footsteps made.
A broad, shadowy figure stood a few paces away. You could only catch a glimpse of the mystery man's side profile from the firing lanes.
His face wasn’t aged by time; rather, hardship and pain engraved themselves into his skin. Nevertheless, you could tell the mystery man never suffered a loss of beauty from his youth; that much was evident in your first glance.
His pretty-boy looks were, however, overshadowed by his rugged handsomeness. Every part of him was defined. His jawline, his massive biceps,
For a moment, you just stood there, captivated by the mystery man’s fluid moments. It wasn’t often you were able to witness any of the agents in action, but you could tell something was different about this one.
You were in awe of how a man could be simultaneously beautiful and handsome.
A small part of you felt like a schoolgirl crush was forming, but that was curtailed when you realized you had work to do. Plus, who exactly was this man?
You watched in the shadows until something more salient than a gunshot ricocheted across the firing room.
“You just gonna stand there and watch?” A smooth, deep voice interrupted the quiet.
His eyes met yours. Gunmetal blue.
He lowered the gun slowly, removing his headphones.
When he felt the weight of a pair of eyes on him, Leon expected it to be a rookie agent. A handful of new agents tended to overwork themselves, as if to prove they should be in this hellhole with him. Most of them liked to shadow him. A combination of wanting to follow in his footsteps, become a renowned agent, or simply pursue the man.
One look at you unraveled his hypothesis. Your posture showed a level of experience and skill no rookie had mastered yet. Your hair was dutifully guided away from your face in an elegant, stylish bun. Leon preferred women with their hair down, but he found himself admiring your look nonetheless. Similar to him, you were also dressed in black. Though your outfit lacked certain aspects that defined an agent. It was too sleek, almost loose, and casual. It was devoid of any clutter, physical or mental. Everything about you was light. Your garments, your expression, and your aura. Despite this, there was a sharpness to your silhouette, as if you knew more than you let on.
“And just who might you be?” He probed as if you were the one encroaching on his space.
“Weapons Maintenance Tech. The reason your gun never fails you during your missions.” You answered without missing a beat.
He let out a noise between a scoff and a laugh. A smirk found itself on his face. “I guess I owe you a thank you then.”
He began emptying the shotgun, indicating he was done for the night. You couldn’t tell if it was out of politeness or if he had been there for longer than you assumed. He was being thoughtful, though, attempting to ease your workload as he polished the gun to hand back to you. You found your grudge against DSO agents diminishing.
“Surprised we haven’t crossed paths earlier.”
You let out a half-shrug. “I work odd hours. It makes more sense for us not to cross paths. You getting some late-night practice in?” You took the gun and the remaining ammo into your hands.
It wasn’t just any gun; the man was handling a shotgun with a devastating recoil. His physique suggested levels of strength you couldn’t fathom, but the evidence was in your hands. He had piqued your interest in more ways than one.
“Practice?” He shot you a look as if to say, ‘Practice? At this age?’
“Who knows? Maybe you’re getting rusty,” you simpered.
So not as professional as he thought.
“I’ll have you know I’m not as rusty as I look. Leon S. Kennedy.”
The man introduced himself, and you offhandedly thought how cute it was of him to address himself with his full name like that. You returned the pleasantries with just your first name.
You hummed, looking over at the targets he shot. All clean hits.
“Not bad,” you said with a playful smile.
“Not bad? Well, I’ll be damned to know what qualifies as a good shot in your books.”
You grabbed the shotgun and ammo, reloading a few shots. Three consecutive bangs rang out, the smell of gunpowder refilling the air.
Leon's eyes widened, and an eyebrow cocked up. You had hit his shots. You had shot… exactly where he shot.
He let out a half-smirk, half-scoff. "Well, color me impressed."
"Looks like you still have room for improvement. Keep practicing, Kennedy."
Before he could respond, you had already turned around and exited, leaving Leon alone with gunpowder residue.
Now alone, Leon shook his head, a small smile on his face. Just who the hell were you?
~
The next few days dragged on as usual. You were settled in the breakroom in your department. Your team was too niche to have its own faction, so you coincided with the Logistics and Operations department. You got to meet all kinds of personalities there, but your go-to for check-ins and updates was Jessica, one of the Operations Managers.
The pair of you were seated at one of the break room tables. Jessica had opted for black coffee, her usual. Today, you decided you have some strawberry yogurt, a light snack to get you by.
"Funny thing happened the other day," your voice rang out, slightly muddled from the yogurt.
She hummed, probing you to continue.
"There was an agent at the firing range at around 1 am. Using the RSh-12, of all shotguns. Can you believe that?" you scoffed.
"Those guys are a different type of crazy." She took another swig of her black coffee. "The shit they go through. I'd leave them be."
Hushes of horrors of bioterrorism traveled through departments. Only employees directly involved with B.O.W.s could attest to what nightmares existed beyond the normal realm. It painted DSO agents as some mythical legends; consequently, you never knew the exact nature of their work.
You rolled your eyes. "It's not like I bullied the guy out of the building. Besides, he was so smug about it. Maybe he was blowing off steam? Using the gun as a therapist? Either way, he clearly knew his way around." Your spoon scraped against the bottom of the yogurt container, the friction of plastic releasing scratching noises.
Jessica donned a downward smile. It was rare for you to be irked over a coworker, let alone random agents you barely interacted with. "This agent, what'd he look like again?"
Jessica was far more extroverted than you, the older lady making her way around. She likely knew who he was. You’d give her details to indulge her, of course. Not because any part of you was curious about the mystery man from a few nights ago.
“For starters, he had a side part, light eyes, and-“
She sputtered. "L-Leon"
You raised a quizzical eyebrow. “I didn’t even give you the full—“
She scrambled to set her coffee cup down, interrupting you once more. A long sigh followed. "Dear," she rubbed her temples "Please don't tell me you have no idea who Leon Kennedy is.”
Your blank face met her exasperated expression.
A harsher exhale escaped her this time. She pushed her chair uncomfortably close to yours. "Raccoon City. Rescuing the President's daughter. The man who-"
She didn't need to list any more examples in a harsh whisper. The yogurt was long gone, but you found yourself choking on it despite this.
Somehow, through your mundane and redundant work schedule, you had forgotten one of DSO's— no, America's top agents.
Your cheeks warmed. Usually so thorough and technical in your work, you felt embarrassed at your oversight.
You racked your brain for the memory of when you met Leon. Were you actually being rude? It seemed mutually playful, and from what you could recall, there was no scowl or irritation throughout the interaction.
The memory of teasing him about needing practice and leaving abruptly flashed in your brain. You grimaced.
Was it worth it to seek him out and apologize? Or would you just be stroking his ego instead?
Your expression must have shown a faint flicker of worry because Jessica was rubbing your upper arm in comforting motions. "Hey, don't sweat it, honey. He's not as scary as he looks. He's a real neat guy."
Maybe you'd leave it to fate after all. If the two of you crossed paths again, you'd bring it up. But again, it was unlikely— DSO agents and techs like you rarely overlapped.
~
Today was troubleshooting Thursday, the workload focusing on repairing malfunctioning weapons; your specialty being firearms, of course.
You were alone in the metalworking workspace, sunlight filtering through the wide windows, the serene lighting contrasting with the work at hand. A wave of tranquility washed over you.
It was nice to be alone sometimes, away from the frantic buzz of your coworkers. Although crowded with tools lining the walls around you, your mind remained clear. Here, you were able to think and move freely.
Fortunately, the number of diagnostics to run today wasn't overwhelming. Tools and malfunctioning pistols littered your wooden workspace.
Each gun told a story. An agent’s drive to serve, an employee grappling with a last resort, or a weapon that was pushed to its limit. They were all from different paths of life, united by the need to be solved. Disregarding the nature of your work, it was almost poetic.
As you tinkered around, faint thuds echoed in the hallways, and subsequent footsteps would follow. You never paid any mind to them when you were in the workshop. People knew to leave you alone; you were rarely disrupted during these moments.
Heavy footsteps, presumably from someone wearing combat boots, scattered through the hallway.
It wasn't until the footsteps were right outside your space and a series of knocks with the door swinging open that you found your illusion of peace falling apart.
Deja vu bubbled up inside of you, an outlier throwing off your tedious schedule, and your heartbeat quickened, already suspecting who the culprit would be.
Gently placing your tools down, you lifted your head to meet a pair of blue eyes. Leon S. Kennedy.
"Hey, I've got a—" his dialogue was cut short when he registered your face.
Leon rarely ventured into any weapon repair spaces; there was an assistant for that. But today, he had a special request and wanted to personally discuss his needs, gun in hand. The last thing he expected was to meet the elegant technician from a few nights ago.
Once again, you donned a refined, chic bun. Much like female field agents, he had guessed the hairstyle was best suited for your kind of work as well.
Your clothes weren't as dark and mysterious today, nor your expression as cool and calculated. As a matter of fact, you looked as bewildered as he. Except he could feel sheepishness radiating off of you, likely from catching you off-guard in a space that was clearly meant for your solitude.
"We gotta stop meeting with guns around."
He cracked a joke, albeit a lame one, to ease the tension.
You could feel your shoulders relaxing and found Jessica's words ringing true. He did seem nice.
"Hard not to," you replied. You took notice of the gun in his hands. "Did you need help with something?"
“Yeah,” his forearm rotated, an attempt to display the firearm. “Was hoping someone could take a look at it.” He met your gaze in a silent request.
You acquiesced and stretched your hand out. Leon gently placed the firearm in your palm.
"It's my handgun, had it for years, but I'm looking to upgrade it now. Think you could help me out here?" he detailed his request.
You gave it a once-over, a SIG Sauer P320 handgun. "It's definitely doable. We have the parts and can customize it for you. What exact customizations would you like and when do you need it by?"
Straight to business. It was an attitude held by most in the office, but you wore it better than others, Leon thought.
The pair of you had a back-and-forth, discussing his customization needs, the timeline, and that you'd be sure to document Leon's request, as he abstained from using an assistant here. You were relieved that your interaction with the DSO agent was going far smoother this time around. Perhaps there was no need to clarify the misunderstanding from last time.
"Alright, then. You can have an assistant pick it up by tomorrow morning. I'll have it ready for you."
"Appreciate your help here. I'll be sure to practice once it's been upgraded."
Your face warmed at his reference. "I didn't know—I had no idea you were that Leon S. Kennedy."
“That Leon Kennedy? There are others?” Another lame joke.
A scoff escaped your lips. "I'm being serious. It was an honest mistake, and I'd like to apologize for my—"
"Do you usually go around telling random DSO agents to practice?"
You were taken aback by the question. "Well, no, but I—"
"Don't sweat it. You had the skills to back up your teasing, at least." He turned, making his way to the door. "I'll pick up the Alligator Snapper tomorrow morning," he declared, once again choosing to forego an assistant.
The door shut, your retort stuck in your throat.
~
Friday morning rolled around, and you were restless in the workshop once more.
You reminded yourself he was just another agent, but Jessica's revelation kept plaguing your thoughts.
He clearly wasn't just any agent. The man had practically founded the DSO. Not to mention his mysterious past from surviving Raccoon City to rescuing Ashley Graham, the man had survived every nightmare and its adjacent horrors.
The doors swung open, curtailing your thoughts. Leon stepped inside, practically encompassing the entire doorway.
“Agent Kennedy," you announced, standing up to greet him.
“You can drop the formalities.” Leon found your greeting amusing. He was a DSO agent, not a Colonel. Did Weapons Techs really not interact with agents that often?
“Okay…” you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “Kennedy." The formality had hardly been dropped, the line of professionalism unwavering.
You grabbed the gun case and handed it over to Leon. You went through the trouble of containing his upgraded handgun in a gun case. Your thoughtful thoroughness pleased Leon.
"Thanks again," he grabbed the handle of the case, his fingertips faintly brushing over your knuckles. He threw a piercing glance your way, "If I need any upgrades in the future, would you be the person to contact?"
"Well, no. I don't primarily deal with firearm upgrades.”
“I see,” Leon replied, all too aware of the case’s rough handle against his dry palm.
“But I can make an exception here."
A faint flicker of surprise swept across his face. Perhaps the line of professionalism here was more flexible than he thought.
“Alright then. You’ll be my go-to Technician from now on. I’ll keep in touch.” Leon departed, leaving you alone in the firearms workshop once more.
The remainder of the day was a blur. You mindlessly completed the day's tasks, rattled by the morning you had.
Your mind lingered on Leon's persistent refusal to employ an assistant and deal with you directly instead. The continued absence of any assistant or ‘buffer’ in your communications with Leon was apparent. The man kept seeking you out, and you wondered how long it would be before you caved and sought him out for a change.
Once the workday was over and your head hit the pillow that night, your ears traced paths of gunshots, gunpowder faintly filling your nostrils. When you closed your eyes, a sea of gunmetal blue consumed you.
a/n: its the middle of the night and i just wanted to get the first chapter over with and post it RIP. usually summaries r the first thing i do but i had trouble thinking of one here, so its subject to change!
You don't have to force yourself to bounce back so quickly. I read something recently that said "when you come in from a rainstorm, you don't expect yourself to be dry and warm right away", and it really resonated with me. It's okay to take time to dry off and warm up. Take the time you need to process what happened to you.
on that night, to celebrate a yearful of provisions and prosperity, it is time to thanks the old gods. still, one might wonder... can you believe in what could lurk in the dark... or stand right behind you?
✧┈┈┈┈┈┈✧┈┈┈┈┈┈✧┈┈┈┈┈┈✧┈┈┈┈┈┈✧
ᛉ ┈┈┈┈┈┈ DAY 3 into the fire god of night
CONFLAGRATION you are one of the year's blessed one, it seems. after all, only few are chosen to lay by the bonfire and offer yourself to the god. will he burn you to ashes or will you be proved worthy?
ᛉ ┈┈┈┈┈┈ DAY 10 a mortal's plea eren yeager
VENERATION the time has come, eren is to dance to the gods. pressure is nothing on knowing his performance will dictate the fate of his village. can he do good when he's so rotten?
ᛉ ┈┈┈┈┈┈ DAY 17 biting the bullet simon
FEASTING the feast is here, it is time to offer to the gods your appreciation for their blessings by the very labour of the year. but is simon's offering enough to earn your help again?
ᛉ ┈┈┈┈┈┈ DAY 24 flickering light damien
ILLUMINATION night has fallen, the spirits mockers are gone, and yet, damien's light won't stay peaceful. can he fight his dread and make the light protect his soul through the night?
ᛉ ┈┈┈┈┈┈ DAY 31 running out of time leon s. kennedy
DIVINATION leon's fate has been decided-the gods' words are unchanged. he will not live through the next year. what left has he got to do before death finds him, if she's not already in his shadow?
┈┈ @bibelotcat
iron lung is about drowning in guilt its about feeling like youve wasted your life its about the greater good its about the difference between living and survival its about mark e plier's big fucking bazongas holy shit dude
iswm: life is full of infinite possibilities! :) every choice spawns a new universe that's full of even more possibilities! :) every single thing you do is important! :) you have agency! :) you have the chance to fix things! :) life is ours to choose! <3
iron lung: you have no choice. you're fucked no matter what. you can either give up and die, or you can try to survive a little longer and contribute to something that's bigger than you and won't help you in any way. but also there's no guarantee that any of your actions will matter. no one cares about you. you're on your own. good luck.
My toxic trait as a horror fan is that I will never ever ever ever ever tire of grief horror. The idea of grief driving people to do dark and unimaginable and truly horrific things is just so fucking raw and so fucking real to me and it fucks me up every single time. I don‘t care how many times I see it done in different ways or in the exact same way, it always hits for me. I am an absolute simp for any and all grief-based horror concepts and I forever will be.
Literally the only post I've ever seen from you is the one asking for requests and frankly I will take any opportunity to humbly beg for anything engineer x reader I love love love that sad wet puppy of a man so so much
Mark is insane. Everyone could tell. Celci especially. In fact, she would go into details about that time with the coffee heater— but let's not dig into that. The fact of the matter: the Head Engineer is completetly insane, so much that only one person is known to make him behave.
The Captain. Now, one might say, the crew should be glad, finally to have someone refraining this madman from putting more explosives into every devices that did not need nuclear power. They're probably relieved to hear the crazyman's old friend appointed as their leader was not only capable and famous for it, but also Mark's leash.
What? Everyone is still worried after finally getting the colony safe? Celci will tell you what's worrisome about a new trip into space: the Captain's even more unhinged than the Head Engineer.
And those two together? She's still surprised there's only been one major catastrophy on the way here—or that they managed to fix it themselves.
"Does the Captain knows something we don't?" Celci asks Mark one night, alcohol lighting everyone's filter. She glares as she watches the beautiful and/or handsome leader playfully talking with Burt. "Is that why you behave? They blackmail you?"
The idea alone makes Mark snort in his drink, eyes locked on your laughing face.
"Blackmail? I got nothing to hide. And I know how to behave!"
"We both know that's not true," Celci turns to her frienemy. She will never admit she respects him as an engineer, madness aside. But she also knows holding back for him is like standing suitless in space. Deadly.
She watches as the man is unable, or just unwilling, to look away from you. His eyes even wrinkle more as you glance his way, his smile turning more giddy. She almost grimaces at the pure love.
"When?"
That simple word gets his attention. He freezes for a second then finally meets her eyes. It's merely for a unspeakable gaze. But it's enough for Celci.
"... Always."
It's few but so much at the same time. Mark talks his jaw off, but he's always secretive. Celci doesn't need to know about the first time his eyes saw you, stumbling on the seat beside yours because he was late to his first class. She doesn't need to know he felt awful to sit someone so impressive even without a word, how your eyes stricked him down without even meeting his, how you paralysed him when you did.
She did not need to know the shame that filled him when his first diagrams slipped over the table, falling over your notes, walls filled with explosives revealed unwillingly. The way your eyes widened before taking in the ship's drafts, making his heart sink.
He knew the rythmn, he didn't want to hear such a pretty face belittle him, hurrying to steal them back—
But you laughed.
His heart leaped, swinging back in his throat as your pen didn't tear his papers but instead added ideas for more explosives in corners he didn't think off.
Everyone knew how insane he was and how you enabled him; but no one needed to know it was because you allowed him to be himself that he willingly followed you through hells.
Because you saved him.
So when Celci asks him again, he simply smiles. Because she already knows by the way he looks at you that that first estatic shock you sent him all those years ago was but the first of a continuous set that would never end.
i need to make some money and i don't want to post my books through amazon so... i think i'll make them interactive/visual and post them on itch-io... 🤔 i'll do a short one at first to get the hang of it, a little horror thing i'll let you know when i'm done
DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE I NEED TO SEND SMTH FOR DAVE BC IVE WATCHED THE SHOW TWICE AND AM LISTENING TO THE PODCAST RN
Okay SO the idea is to be briefly based on DARK and SPINE by WesGhost (peak artist btw). The song being about a mutually toxic relationship faking stability.
It just feels so right for Dave as he himself is a little toxic because of his struggles with communication, a bit of self-esteem, his nightmares, self harm (more evident in the podcast rather than the show tbh), and overall self destructive behaviors.
The reader could be similar in a way to that, in a sense that they also have self destructive behaviors, struggle with commitment, and denial of their feelings for Dave. Pretending it's just a FWB situation or a quick hook up despite the fact that they both have feelings for one another, they just both refuse to admit it.
I want smth angsty with a sprinkle of fluff and maybe a happy ending (please this man needs a happy ending hes been through enough already)
here you go sweetheart, thank you for your patience!! i wish i could have put out something longer and more detailed but i'm dying in the heatwave so smooch smooch <3
Dave didn't expect the new world to be… Like this. He didn't expect to survive at first, to be honest. But now on this idyllic island, far away from a deadly sleep and all their previous horrors… Dave couldn't find in himself to feel safe.
He could barely even sleep, for fuck's sake.
Every time he closed his eyes, Dave would see the Moobles, Katie, Matteo, the dead people he stumbled upon, his childhood-- He groaned, standing up. Leaving his room, he didn't even think as he headed to yours.
After all, when night became too dark to hide from his thoughts, only you managed to distract him long enough to fall asleep.
He felt guilty at first. He loved Katie, he truly did. It felt wrong to lean in your bed, to have you gasping above him. It felt wrong to moan your name when it used to be hers. It was wrong to compare the two of you, even unconsciously.
But as time passed and denial left for anger... He found himself so, so resentful.
And what started as a mean to forget about everything with the only person left he could feel vulnerable with was now turning into something Dave struggled to explain. And so he entered your room without even knocking, and with no surprise, you seemed to be expecting him.
This became a trend of sort… Him, entering your room; you, lifting your blanket. His lips, finding that soft spot on your neck with his hands on your hips; your legs, wrapping around his waist with your hands in his hair.
The two of you drowning the new reality of the world to find it easier to fall asleep in it.
It started a few nights after making it to the island. After being bandaged up and your heads a little clearer after some much deserved sleep- Dave and you found each other around the fire in the middle of the night. Both of you woke up in cold sweat, terrified to have fallen asleep only to remember, now, it was safe to.
But being safe didn't mean feeling safe.
"Do you think about her?" You had asked him quietly, nursing your broken leg by the fire. It had been wrapped carefully by Linda, scar already ugly but healing under it. A memory of the crash of the plane your skin would make you remember forever.
He sat quietly at your side, considering the question. Friends already asked him, and it felt both fake and overwhelming, but with only you and the flames... He had allowed himself to feel.
"I do," He admitted in a whisper. His eyes didn't leave the warming flames as he held his knees to his chest. "I... It's probably too soon to process everything though. I keep expecting her, Matteo, anyone, to show up, then..."
You didn't reply. You didn't need to. You had simply lifted your hand to softly squeeze his knee.
Silence was comfortable as you both let adrenaline dull in your tired bodies. Minutes turned into hours, and despite your dry throats, you found yourselves comfortable for the first time as both of you sighed and let yourselves be tired.
"We should go to bed," Dave had whispered, leaning his head against yours as you leaned against his shoulder. It almost reminded him of Katie but your smell was different from hers.
You didn't lift your head from him, and he didn't force you to.
"Do you think we'll be normal again?" Your voice had froze him. He'd considered it, his eyes taking the shadows of the flames on your face as you stared at the fire. Your eyes were heavily bagged, everyone's were, but he found himself liking to see this side of you.
He had admired Linda and you for holding on to your sanity while Matteo, Katie and him spiralled. And now, to be able to support you like you supported him after Katie…
"Maybe," He leaned his cheek back to the top of your head, following your gaze. "I guess... Only time can tell. Normal might be different."
"And it's okay?"
He didn't reply. Was it? He didn't know. Fuck- He knew nothing. But it had to right? It had to be okay. It had to be for the best. It had to, or else, all of this would have been for nothing. Or else…
"Dave," Your voice coaxed him out of his spiralling thoughts, your eyes meeting as if you were the only two people left in the world. Perhaps you were, at this point. Everyone else were either dead or asleep after all. "Can I ask for something selfish?"
"Anything," He didn't even think as he answered. Did he ever? "What is it?"
Now, he didn't know if it was your gentle eyes or your soft touch on his arm, or just the fact that you were the only one left to make him feel okay with being so rawfully broken without shame. He didn't know much, as he already stated. But he knew as you asked him to lead you back to bed, you were not just asking for someone to cuddle to avoid your night terrors.
And if he was honest, perhaps he accepted because he too was selfish and needed that break from his mind.
What was normal, anymore?
This was. For a few nights at least.
When no one was awake, and when no one could see you crack under the pressure of learning how to live in this new life, Dave and you would hold each other to forget about it all.
You'd come to his room, or him to yours, you'd tire your bodies enough to fall asleep, and if by bad luck, either of you woke up screaming, the other was here to hug and dry their tears.
You became each other's normal.
Dave knew this situation wouldn't last. Or rather... He dreaded it wouldn't.
After weeks, the hurt in his chest turned to a numb one. The thought of Katie no longer sadden him--it angered him. He refused to compare her to you the first times. He completely blocked her out of his mind as he nipped your skin and held you against him.
During the day, he'd feel guilty, but then, he'd think, Katie would understand. Katie broke up with him far before this shit show started, and beyond a kiss… Did they even kiss? Guilt ate at him as he realized he was starting to forget about them.
Katie and him.
It'd been his last reason for years and today… Today he wondered whether you'd meet him in his room before he dared to come to yours.
This is wrong.
This had to be wrong, he know, but he couldn't help it, couldn't fight it. Not with the way you breathed his name, how your arms held to his neck, the intensity with which you made him feel far more alive than Katie ever did.
Perhaps you were both selfish in this. Linda, bless her heart, didn't speak on it, but her eyes said far more than any words could. The glances she'd give the bruises they gave each other, the desperation whenever one couldn't find the other, Linda had seen it far too many times at the hospital.
"This can't end good," Was all she told one evening, meeting David on his way to your room. He had paused, tempted to play stupid, but Linda was as important to him as you were to him. If he could find in himself to lie to Katie, he couldn't with the sole persons who knew the old Dave.
"That bad?" He tried to joke, but Linda could see the guilt and apprehension in his tired eyes.
"I know you think this is better than..." The nurse's eyes dropped to his chest for a second, the memory of the scars unspoken even now. "I just hope you know this pretend can't go on forever. One is bounded to end up hurt, if not both of you."
"Worse than we already are?"
Linda wished Dave was joking but they both knew how broken they believe they felt.
"You're giving each other blindfolds over the situation," Was all she said as she left Dave in the corridor. "Don't wait too long to address the mess before you."
Damn Linda. Damn her rough but genuine kindness, her care for them both.
That night, Dave remained awake after painting your skin with love. Love. He couldn't say that, not when he still grew angry at the memory of Katie. It wasn't fair to anyone. Not her, not you, not him. After love, what love could you feel for him?
He was a mean to an end, just like you were.
That was why neither of you address the way you remained locked together after passing over the edge, the way your lips lingered a little too close to one another, the disappointment to let go of the other, the delay to part and turn your backs on each other.
It was just a way to unwind, he repeated like a mantra in his head, clashing with Linda's concerned eyes, the marks you just left on him, his anger for Katie. He was just here to sleep better- Even if right now, he felt more awake than he should.
"... I can't sleep," Your voice surprised him.
He slowly turned, looking at your bare back. Hickeys peaked from your shoulders, the mark of his fingers imprinted on your hips and waist. You laid on the other side of the bed like Katie used to. Here, but so far away from him, not acknowledging him until you needed him.
No, don't do that. Don't compare them. Katie was-
"I keep expecting the nightmares," You surprised him again. He blinked softly as you hesitated but rolled, blanket wrapped around you as you struggled to meet his eyes in the low light. Your lips were still swollen from your bites. He hated how much he wondered how they tasted. "Don't you?"
"... Yeah," He barely spoke higher than a whisper. Your eyes met his more easily as he did what he could never with Katie: be true. "I'm scared if I do...I'll just wake up in that plane again. See her. Or worse, never do. I... I spent so long trying to spare her, I'm founding out I still have so much to tell her."
"Like what?"
Silence filled the air, the two of you facing each other from the bed's extremities. It was odd, the quiet vulnerability between you. What worried David worse was that Linda might be right. Because in that moment, as he couldn't word the weight in his chest, deciding to close his eyes and just act on it... He didn't know if daring to press his lips to yours was just the push to the edge of never wanting to stop.
He didn't want to open them back up and see whatever you two had crumble, disappear, or never exist again. He didn't want to think about the awful things he'd say to Katie just because she left him when he needed her.
Especially when you reciprocated his kiss, sending his skin on fire as your hands pulled him closer again for more, making him feel like he wasn't a broken toy but another soul deserving of attention and love.
Love.
Damn this word. But damn, if he didn't love the way you trusted him to make you feel good, to make you forget from the horrors you swore you couldn't, to be the only one for you to depend on. After that night, Dave came to stop caring.
He longed for your touch, your kisses, you, you, you-- Until, of course, he'd break it. That was his life, right? Everything Dave touched, no matter how carefully, no matter the feelings, no matter the intention, he broke everything.
He was broken.
So when you asked him one night what was on his mind, he broke you too.
"Katie," He blurted without thinking, too use to be raw around you. It was only when he realized what he said, the way you froze, the sudden push away, that he regretted his dense mouth. "Wait-"
"Sorry," You were already pulling away from him, not letting him add context to his response. You broke from the cuddles that now followed every intimacy between you, making him even more guilty. "I shouldn't have done that."
One is bounded to end up hurt, Linda said. Why did Dave never listen?
"Wait," He repeated, catching your wrist as you stood up.
"I don't want to add salt to the wound-" You wobbled on your bed leg, and your wince made him flinch.
Broken, broken, you're broken, you'll break her like you broke Katie.
"I'll leave," You ripped away from him. "This wasn't a good idea."
"Wait, that's not what I meant!" He went after you, hands to his chest in fear he'd break your arm like he did Katie's. "Please, just listen-"
"It's okay," You cut him off, hurriedly dressing back up. "It was only temporary, right? I'm glad for you."
"You're misunderstanding-"
"Am I?" You stopped. He loathed how beautiful you looked, with your messy hair, your pants unbuttoned and your shirt half over your chest. "This wasn't about getting over her?"
"I-" He stepped back, confused by the smile on your lips but the heartbreak in your eyes. "Yes, at first, but-"
"Then, it's done?"
"Yes, but-"
"Then there's no need for that anymore," You concluded, grabbing your shoes and leaving his room quicker than ever the first few times you slept together.
Dave could only stare at the closed door, the sight too alike Katie's departure. The only difference is that then, he didn't chase after her. He let Katie go. Tonight? Dave was a selfish, selfish man.
... if not both of you, Linda's words echoed in his mind.
"I said, wait!" He busted out of the room, struggling to lift his pants to his waist. He didn't even care for his shirt, running to find you a few steps away, confused but eyes so teary his feet stuttered.
"Dave-" You were ready to argue, brows frowning, but he didn't let you. Hands to your jaw, he kissed you until your back hit the wall. You were stubborn, as stubborn as him, but the both of you knew each other like the back of your hands by now.
Hands that tried to push him off now pulled him closer by his jeans, gasps mixing as you struggled to breathe but couldn't tear from the other. Desperation guided you as Dave pinned you to the wall, forcing you to rely on him.
Not that you needed much cohersion.
"I did think of Katie," He growled against your lips, hands already on your hips to stop you from leaving him. In fact, he pushed you until you two were back in his room. "About how much I love her. How much I'm sad that she's gone."
He could feel your body tense under his hands, both enthralled and rageful to melt under his touch. Your teeth bit his lips when he kissed you again, but he didn't mind the pain, not when you were not avoiding him. He could take the ignorance over the pain, for Katie. But you? Oh, you made him the most selfish.
He would take hurt over nothingness any day from you.
"About how much she broke me," He grew angry, but it also felt good to voice it. Especially with your taste on his tongue. "About how she couldn't accept me whole, even the broken parts, even when it's inconvenient."
A whine pulled out of you as his hands lifted you up, making you sit on top of him.
"This started as a distraction," He confirmed, cheeks flushed and pupils dilated as you stared at him so beautifully. "Maybe it still is--but I don't want to lose it. Please, don't leave me too."
He had to fight himself not to crash his lips on your skin, to suck at those soft spots that made you moan so beautifully, to hold you tight and never let you go. Not to just steal you away so it would be just the two of you in this broken world.
"I'm not her," You finally managed to speak, but angry but also sadden.
"I know," He didn't hesitate, hands gripping the back of your thighs harder. "You don't force me to pretend. You don't jump at my scars. You call me out on my shit, but you support me. You made me feel seen, and not taken care of."
The tension between you two both settled and grew as the unspoken dared to be spoke.
"I'm not her," You repeated, finally letting yourself relaxed in his hands. Confident and trusting him in a way Katie never managed to. Dave's heart soared, lips finding the corner of yours. He wasn't sure what that meant exactly -- or perhaps he did.
I'm not leaving. I'm not scared. I don't want you to pretend. I love you unconditionally.
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