#He's a bit of a fixer-upper | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

stevethehairington · 2 years

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r i n g s + he’s a bit of a fixer upper? :DD

lex, my love 💕thank you for asking about these ones, i am very excited about these two.

for r i n g s — this one is actually the pwp i've been working on and have shared a teeny tiny bit of here already. here is a lil snip from a piece i just wrote for it the other day:

He starts to retreat, and even though Steve should be thrilled — to be left alone, to be given some privacy to either finish or wallow in his embarrassment — something in his head screams at him to not let Eddie go just yet.

Before he can even comprehend what he’s doing, or why, his hands fly out towards Eddie, and he calls out, “Wait!”

Eddie stops in his tracks. Hovers on the threshold and turns back towards Steve with both eyebrows raised, a mixture of surprise and curiosity.

And shit. Steve did not think this far ahead. Didn’t think at all, really. There’s no plan here, just his big mouth, opening without his permission. He has no idea what to say next.

Except — figuring that out becomes the least of his worries.

Because the expectant look has melted right off of Eddie’s face as he stands frozen in the doorway. His pretty wide eyes are zeroed in on Steve’s outstretched hands — both of his hands.

The rings. Fuck.

Eddie is staring right at them, and there is no mistaking them.

“Are those… are you wearing my rings?” Eddie asks slowly.

for he's a bit of a fixer upper — this one is another chaptered fic idea i had more recently and i have actually gone so far as to start planning the chapters out! i talked about this one in the server a bit a while ago, and it is heavily hallmark movie inspired LOL, buuuut basically the rough idea is steve moves away from hawkins in 1989. his parents have been nagging him for years now to join his father's business, "it's not too late to pick yourself up and fix your reputation, steven", and, well, that's the last thing steve wants to do. he can't. he won't. it is this, plus the fact that the kids have all graduated and are going off to college, which means they don't need him anymore, which means that he won't have a purpose anymore, that propels him out of hawkins, finally.

the final nail in the coffin of his decision to get the hell out is eddie. because after spring of 1986 steve and eddie became friends. good friends. great friends, even. and that friendship only grew and grew over the years. steve doesn't realize until the end of 1988/early 1989 that somewhere along the way those warm and fuzzy feelings he always got around eddie weren't just friendship feelings. no, he's got feelings feelings. eventually steve finds out that eddie likes him too — that eddie is in love with him. and that, shit, that terrifies steve, actually. because it's one thing to play in hypotheticals in his head, and another thing entirely for it to be his reality. Something™️ happens (a kiss maybe?) between them and steve freaks out. he hasn't come to terms with his sexuality yet, doesn't even know what he is because he still likes girls... but eddie... he's confused and he's scared and he's not thinking straight (hah) and it's the last straw. he disappears a few days later.

he doesn't keep in touch with anyone — except for robin, who basically forces him to keep in contact with her. he feels guilty about leaving, so incredibly guilty, for so many reasons, but he'd been at his breaking point.

steve doesn't go back to hawkins. not one single time since he leaves.

until he gets the call that his parents have died. it was a car crash. no survivors. they went quick, the doctors tell him, they didn't suffer. (steve doesn't know how he feels about that. then he immediately feels guilty for thinking that.) blah blah blah lots of conflicted feelings about his parents and his relationship with them and blah blah blah.

in the aftermath, though, he is left to deal with the fallout of their lives — which includes their old house that has now come into his name. steve has absolutely no desire to live in that place. it was never a home to him then, why would it be now?

he decides to sell it.

this, of course, means he has to make the trek back to hawkins to take a look at it, clear out any personal belongings he might want to keep, get it ready for listing and walk throughs and all that. the place hasn't been touched since the "earthquakes" so he doesn't expect there will be much to do aside from clearing out a thick layer of dust.

only, when he gets there he finds the place in much worse condition than he thought. the lawn is an awful mixture of dead and overgrown; a couple windows are broken; the paint is faded; there is plenty of dust, but there is also mold in some places, and the water has long since been shut off, electricity too, and some of the wiring has been chewed through by rats or some wild animal.

basically, the house is a disaster and needs a complete revamping.

it's a much bigger project than steve expected, but he's got the money to do it (his parents hadn't taken him out of the will — a surprise to him), and he supposes he's got the time too. and he has the skillset to do most of the work himself too (thanks to the odd jobs he'd picked up and bounced between since he'd left hawkins). so he decides to fix it up himself.

he tells this to robin, who he is staying with while he's back in hawkins, and robin absolutely will not stand for that. she tells him he's crazy, that that's way too much work to take on alone. it takes a lot of arguing and nagging before robin finally gets steve to agree to hire a professional to help him.

enter: eddie munson.

not long after steve had left, eddie got a job at the local repair and maintenance shop. corroded coffin never took off like eddie had hoped, but his career as a handyman did. he got good at it, worked hard, earned himself a whole new reputation. the owner didn't have any children or grandchildren, so when he passed, he left the shop to eddie. it's the only repair and maintenance shop that's local, and it's all eddie's.

so, when steve sets up the appointment (or maybe robin sets it up for him so eddie doesn't know it's steve until the last minute) and eddie rolls up to get started, they see each other again.

for the first time in ten years.

for the first time since steve left.

immediately, steve wants to explain. to apologize. but eddie jumps straight into business and doesn't give him the chance to. he just treats steve like any ol customer. only colder. he is, clearly, understandably, still upset. still hurt.

blah blah blah

slowly but surely, eddie starts to open back up around steve, to steve. the grudge is let go of (probably after something Pivotal happens... an injury maybe? hmmm), they have a Conversation about what happened. steve gets his chance to apologize. eddie works on forgiving him. they become friends again.

and over the course of fixing up steve's old house, they start to fall in love again.

and at some point, it stops being eddie taking creative direction from steve, and turns into the two of them collaborating, sharing the choices, making decisions together; the house becomes just as much eddie's as it is steve's.

by the time they finish the repairs, steve finds that he doesn't want to sell anymore. he wants to stay.

he wants to stay, and he wants eddie to live there with him. the two of them, together. in the house they built. the home they made together. 💕

((WOOF sorry that got LONG lol but god i want to write this one SOOOO bad, but, again, chaptered fics are scary!! i am Determined though!!))

#asks #nostalgicbones #mack writes #he's a bit of a fixer upper

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partywithponies · 2 years

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My sense of humour is looking at favourite fictional characters who have blatantly committed murder or war crimes or psychological torture but happen to have a vaguely sad backstory or even just look a bit sad sometimes and claiming they Did Nothing Wrong™️. Looking at them commit major atrocities and being like "understandable. nobody's perfect. I forgive them they were just having a bad day 🥰"

#so he's a bit of a fixer upper. so he's got a few flaws

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sherlockig · 2 years

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When Ed and Stede reunite the whole crew should jump up on the deck singing "fixer upper" from frozen like the rock trolls

#frozen #our flag means death #ofmd #stede bonnet #ed teach #So he's a bit of a fixer-upper #so he's got a few flaws #who are they singing about??? both!!!!

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camptw1nk · 1 year

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the urge to call nick and kurt ending up together the blessed ending vs the knowledge that they have unhealthy attachments to each other and that one of them has summoned the devil to commit mass murder and that the other actively chooses to sell his soul to bring his lover back from the dead even though his lover was killed because of the mass murder thing

#so he a bit of a fixer upper plays in the bg #its either all that or kurt and nick go on killing sprees together which is. morally worse #but it is blessed actually bc in both versions? kurt is happy and kissing the boy hes always been obsessed with

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patches-and-her-selfships · 1 year

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everyone thinks i’m crazy...

crazy for you, oh boy...

* = i use a different s/i to ship with this f/o (usually when i ship with a minor and an adult in the same source)

^ = i ship with this f/o in an au

foster's home for imaginary friends

-wilt (status: romantic) (sharing: no) (tag name: sorry i like you 🏀)

-coco (status: romantic) (sharing: yes) (tag name: it's a bird! it's a plane! it's the love of my life!)

poly ship tag: the palm trees are really tall today! 🏀🌴

-eduardo (status: platonic)

-frankie (status: platonic)

-mac (status: platonic)

-bloo (status: enemy)

monster prom franchise

-stu (status: romantic) (comfy sharing: yes) (tag name: i'm high on love! 🗿)

-wanda (status: romantic) (comfy sharing: iffy) (tag name: don't you know that you're toxic? ☣)

poly ship tag: i'm not at the beach this is a bathtub! 🗿☣

scott (status: platonic)

polly (status: platonic)

papa louie

-kingsley (status: romantic) (sharing: iffy) (tag name: king of my heart 👑)

-mr. bomboloney (status: romantic) (sharing: iffy) (tag name: mr. bomboloney tag tbd 🎙️)

-kenji^ (status: romantic) (sharing: iffy) (tag name: hotto dogu! 🌭)

-tohru* (status: romantic) (sharing: iffy) (tag name: wanna share this bubble tea with me? 🎮)

-bruna romano^ (status: romantic) (sharing: iffy) (tag name: bruna tag tbd 🎼)

-timm (status: crush)

-quinn (status: crush)

-marty (status: platonic)

-mitch (status: platonic)

-carlo romano^ (status: familial) (brother-in-law)

-gino romano^ (status: familial) (cousin-in-law)

-edoardo romano^ (status: familial) (father-in-law)

-olga romano^ (status: familial) (stepmother-in-law)

pizza tower (i am aware that the game has some problematic elements and that the developers are not good people, i am critical of the game)

-peppino spaghetti (status: ex)

bfdi

-balloony (status: romantic) (sharing: iffy) (tag name: but when he loves me i feel like i’m floating 🎈)

-cloudy (status: romantic) (sharing: no) (tag name: i’m on cloud nine! ☁)

poly ship tag: boyfriend collector! ☁🎈

-eraser (status: romantic) (sharing: iffy) (tag name: all cake is good cake if i get to share it with you 🧁)

-blocky (status: crush)

-donut (status: qpp)

-gelatin (status: platonic)

-teardrop (status: platonic)

-leafy (status: enemy)

-pin (status: enemy)

nichijou

-mai minakami (status: romantic) (comfy sharing: iffy) (tag name: don’t go prankin’ my heart 👓)

-nano (status: crush)

-yuuko (status: qpp)

-mio (status: platonic)

-hakase (status: platonic)

-sakamoto (status: platonic)

-yuuko's mom (status: emeny)

discolotl! (original work)

pan tera (status: romantic) (comfy sharing: iffy) (tag name: pan tag tbd 🐆)

jam n. jelly (status: romantic) (comfy sharing: iffy) (tag name: jam tag tbd 🚦)

poly ship tag: pan + jam tag tbd 🐆🚦

leche (status: familial) (child)

you gotta keep your cool! (original work)

-miles z. cooldude (status: romantic) (comfy sharing: iffy) (tag name: miles tag tbd 😎)

-nerdy mcdorkface (status: crush)

romance chateau (original work)

-wrench (status: romantic) (sharing: iffy) (tag name: fix this fixer-upper up with a little bit of love! 🔧)

-plume (status: romantic) (sharing: iffy) (tag name: pet the fluffy chicken 🐓)

poly ship tag: motor oil and apple pie 🔧🐓

unnamed source #1 (original work)

-rigel (status: romantic) (sharing: iffy) (tag name:the stars aligned for you and me 🌠)

-asuma (status: qpp)

unnamed source #2 (original work)

-rascal fukazawa (status: romantic) (comfy sharing: iffy) (tag name: i'll stop loving you when hell freezes over 🦝)

-mayonnaise paraguay (status: romantic) (comfy sharing: iffy) (tag name: oh jesus what is that? i think i’m in love with it 💕

-sapphire edwards (status: romantic) (comfy sharing: iffy) (tag name: a royal pain in the ass 🦚)

unnamed source #3

leopold a. d. bird (status: romantic) (comfy sharing: iffy) (tag name: leopold tag tbd 🐞)

minerva "tenny" bird (status: familial) (daughter-in-law)

inanimate insanity

-trophy (status: romantic) (comfy sharing: no) (tag name: you won my heart 🏆)

-pickle (status: romantic) (comfy sharing: no) (tag name: partners in dumbassery 🥒)

-soap (status: romantic) (comfy sharing: iffy) (tag name: you wash away my troubles! 🫧)

-yin yang (status: romantic) (comfy sharing: yes) (tag name: my scrungly boys ☯)

-paper (status: romantic) (comfy sharing: yes) (tag name: let’s be mentally ill together 📄)

poly ship tag: love and smooching in hotel oj 🎥

-cherries (status: familial) (sons)

-bomb (status: qpp)

-tissues (status: qpp)

-cheesy (status: qpp)

-paintbrush (status: qpp)

-lightbulb (status: platonic)

-fan (status: platonic)

-test tube (status: platonic)

-suitcase (status: platonic)

-steve cobs (status: enemy)

-baseball (status: enemy)

-knife (status: ex) (tag name: lookin' sharp 🔪)

-oj (status: ex) (tag name: meet me at the hotel room 🍊)

stardew valley

-elliott (status: romantic) (comfy sharing: yes) (tag name: i would sail the oceans for my love 📖)

-maru (status: crush)

-shane (status: platonic)

-pam (status: platonic)

-kent (status: platonic)

-linus (status: platonic)

-vincent (status: platonic)

-jas (status: platonic)

-morris (status: enemy)

-pierre (status: enemy

curious george

-the man in the yellow hat (status: familial) (dad)

-george (status: familial) (little brother)

encanto

-luisa (status: romantic) (comfy sharing: yes) (tag name: my love can move mountains 🌄)

-the madrigal family (status: familial)

splatoon

-spyke (status: romantic) (comfy sharing: yes) (tag name: screw off love 🪛)

-annie (status: romantic) (comfy sharing: yes) (tag name: you’re not a loser 🐠)

poly ship tag: the hot guy the shy girl and i 🪛🐠

-sheldon (status: platonic)

-crusty sean (status: platonic)

deltarune

-rouxls kaard (status: ex) (tag name: a puzzling loveth ♠️)

-lancer (status: familial) (son)

the sims 4

-johnny zest (status: crush)

-agnes crumplebotton (status: emeny)

cars

-guido (status: crush)

-flo (status: crush)

-ramone (status: crush)

-luigi (status: qpp)

-mater (status: platonic)

jujutsu kaisen

-nanami (status: crush)

saiki k

-nendo (status: crush)

mst3k

-tom servo (status: ex) (tag name: red as a tomato 🔴)

fnaf security breach

-monty (status: ex) (tag name: bogey boyfriend 🐊)

#sorry i like you 🏀#it's a bird! it's a plane! it's the love of my life! 🌴#the palm trees are really tall today! 🏀🌴#the stars aligned for you and me 🌠#but when he loves me i feel like i'm floating 🎈#i'm on cloud nine! ☁#boyfriend collector! ☁🎈#all cake is good cake if i get to share it with you 🧁#fix this fixer-upper up with a little bit of love! 🔧#pet the fluffy chicken 🐓#motor oil and apple pie 🔧🐓#don't go prankin' my heart 👓#i'll stop loving you when hell freezes over 🦝#oh jesus what is that? i think i’m in love with it 💕#a royal pain in the ass 🦚#you won my heart 🏆#partners in dumbassery 🥒#you wash away my troubles! 🫧#my scrungly boys ☯#let's be mentally ill together 📄#love and smooching in hotel oj 🎥#i would sail the oceans for my love 📖#my love can move mountains 🌄#screw off love 🪛#you're not a loser 🐠#the hot guy the shy girl and i 🪛🐠#i'm high on love! 🗿#don't you know that you're toxic? ☣#i'm not at the beach this is a bathtub! 🗿☣#king of my heart 👑

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sashaforthewin · 3 months

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Multi-chapter fic on Ao3

Steve had been enjoying a nice relaxing lounge by the pool despite it being night. He had his hearing aid off and his fruity drink and a romance novel Robin had let him borrow. He was determined to have a good time despite the circumstances.

Someone tapped his foot, scaring the crap out of Steve and making him drop his book and nearly knock over his drink.

It was a fellow cruise passenger and he was saying something. Steve turned his hearing aid back on.

“Sorry, what?”

“I asked why you were out here instead of at the concert,” repeated the man with a smile.

“Oh, um. I’m not actually a fan of metal music. It gives me headaches if I listen to more than one or two songs in a row,” Steve admitted sheepishly.

This stranger was still clearly a metal head, but he looked significantly less scary than most of the ones he had seen so far that day. Everyone Steve met had been nice, but Steve hadn’t felt comfortable telling anyone he wasn’t a fan until now. Maybe because it was just the two of them out here and he was smiling so cutely.

“Not a metal fan? Well damn, not to critique your life choices, but I think maybe going on a metal cruise wasn’t an ideal choice for you? I’m Eddie, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you, I’m Steve.”

There were plenty of deck lounges around, all empty, but Eddie sat down on Steve’s right next to his legs.

“Steve. So Steve, why are you on a metal cruise when you don’t like metal? These tickets were not exactly cheap and there’s no way you missed the theme, it was pretty clearly advertised,” Eddie asked teasingly.

Steve looked Eddie over, noting that he was actually pretty cute. Pretty eyes, nice full lips, dimples, and he was that type of lanky Steve was drawn to. He had good skin and his hair had some volume and texture to it, Steve could work with that. Bit of a fixer-upper, but a better starting point than most of the men that had flirted with him since his last failed relationship. He also had the vibe, so Steve decided this guy would be fine to open up to.

“Well, Eddie, I bought this ticket for my dear friend Dustin for his birthday, but then the little shit went and outed me to my parents. Accidentally, of course, and he feels like shit about it. But still, that got me kicked out of my home so maybe I’m being petty but I decided he shouldn’t get to go on this cruise after all. I forgive him, it really was an accident, but still, gotta teach him a lesson.” Steve shrugged. “And I would’ve gotten the ticket refunded but the money would’ve gone back to my parents and they clearly don’t deserve to get anything back from me. So, instead of trying to figure out how to sell a ticket to a very niche interest cruise, I figured I deserved to just come and treat myself for four days before I have to go back to living in my ex-girlfriend’s basement. It’s actually pretty nice to have the ship to myself while all you guys are in there shaking your heads to loud music.” Steve gestured to the pool and the drink.

“Ex- girl friend’s basement?” Eddie asked.

“Shut up, I’m bi.” Steve smacked Eddie on the arm with his book.

Eddie grabbed the book and looked at it as he replied, “Hey, just checking to make sure I’m not barking up the wrong tree.”

“Oh? Is that what you’re doing, barking up my tree?” Steve said, playfully.

“If you’ll let me,” Eddie flirted back.

“So how come you’re not in the show right now?” Steve asked, gently stealing his book back from Eddie’s grasp.

“Oh, I’m touring with those guys right now, I have heard them play the same set like fifteen times already. I’d much rather be out here getting to chat with you. You know you’re beautiful, right? How come you don’t live with your boyfriend? Or girlfriend?” Eddie asked, quite obvious in his fishing for information.

“I’m single and yes, I do know I’m beautiful, but I still like hearing it. Are you like a roadie or something?”

“Actually,” Eddie said, “I’m the lead guitarist in the headlining band. We play tomorrow night. Can I buy you another drink? Maybe dinner?”

“The, uh, the bill goes to our cabins,” Steve answered, too shocked that an apparently famous musician was asking him out to respond appropriately.

“Baby, I’ll put your entire tab on my cabin if you’ll let me. You are the most beautiful, and dare I say cleanest man on this entire boat. Metal heads are great, but they aren’t really my type.”

Steve takes a sip of his cold drink just to make sure he’s not fallen asleep and dreaming. The ocean is calm and the moon is full and he is most definitely awake.

“And what is your type?” Steve asked.

“Handsome men with soft hands who will let me pamper them,” Eddie said, picking up Steve’s hand and feeling his lack of calluses. He placed a kiss onto each finger tip. “These hands aren’t meant for labor, let me spoil you rotten.”

Well, Steve reasoned, even if this ended up being just a weekend fling, it was going to be worth the price of admission.

#steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington/eddie munson #my fic

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cryptiique · 2 years

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percy: I'm a tragic, self loathing mess and there is no redeeming me

keyleth, vex, elizabeth, pike: challenge accepted

#* ｡✧ ━ ⦅ out of character. ⦆#JUST #everyone's thirsty for the angsty goth gentleman #myself included #🎵 he's a bit of a fixer upper 🎵

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reareaotaku · 5 months

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headcanons for trevor spengler from ghostbusters??

Hmm... I've never personally seen that movie, but I'm pretty sure I know what/who you're talking about

Not good with jokes. He tries to tell you some and they always land flat [But that might have to do more with him not knowing how to act around you because of his crush]

He lied about his name when you made a joke about how silly the name 'Trevor' was when Phoebe was telling you about the guy she met named Trevor

He gets really awkward around you and stutters over his words

Will come to your job when he knows you're working and be surprised when you're there

"Oh my god, Y/n? You work here? Wow, what a coincidence." [Elbows Phoebe when she almost calls him out on the lie]

"Uh, yeah. My dad owns the restaurant" [He already knew that, but still acts surprised]

Grade A stalker

Phoebe called him out on it and he tells her to shut up or he won't drive her anywhere [She quickly shuts up] [She's a little bit of a stalker herself, but she'd never admit it]

He lied to you about his age, because he freaked out and didn't want you to think he's some loser

Though, you do find out how old he really is when he gets arrested

"Why'd you lie about your age?"

You were more confused than angry about being lied too

"I freaked out"

You're still confused, but you decide not to push it any further

"You know, if you needed a ride, you could of asked. I would have given you a ride."

"You have a car?"

"And a license. Plus an up-to-date registration"

"I've never seen you driving a car-" [How could he not know you drive and have a car?? ]

You blush, looking away from him, because you're kind of embarrassed. "Well... I mean, it's, uh... It's a fixer upper kind of car-"

"So, it's a piece of shit." [He hadn't meant to be rude, it just kind of came out.]

You chuckle, "I prefer fixer upper, but yeah... Kind of. It's a '98 Honda Accord. It's really good on miles." [ You then start to ramble, trying to justify the car, because you felt kind of offended by his comment]

"Yeah!" He interrupts you mid rant, causing you to stop and look at him confused and he continues, "I mean- Yeah, if I need a ride, I'll call you"

"Good. It'd make me feel better knowing you're safe."

He's losing his mind when you say that. You care about his safety??? God, his face is probably red as a tomato

Grows a mustache to try and impress you; Saying he's a 'man'

You just think it's funny and he quickly shaves it

#trevor spengler #ghostbusters #ghostbusters: afterlife #trevor spengler x reader #yandere trevor #yandere trevor spengler #yandere trevor spengler x reader #yandere x reader #yandere horror #yandere imagines #yandere ghostbusters x reader #yandere ghostbusters #ghostbusters x reader

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djdangerlove · 17 days

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Thinking about Tommy having a front porch swing on his little fixer upper beach house (that’s where he lives to me) and in the early weeks of dating when Buck is supposed to meet at his house after their shifts, Tommy comes home to find Buck asleep on the swing more often than not. Even after months of dating and a key exchange, he stills finds Buck out there waiting for him when he gets home. In cooler weather, he usually nudges him awake just enough to get him to scoot over so they can cuddle together under the blanket for a little bit. Until one day, he waits on the swing for Buck to get home because he doesn’t want Buck to be anywhere else when he could be here and when Buck walks up the two steps onto the porch he asks him to move in.

#evan buckley #tommy kinard #bucktommy #911 abc

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fraugwinska · 2 months

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What about the reader found and old radio, they thought the radio was broken but it's not, it's just antique.. when they play it at night time alastor broadcast was heard first they feel something is odd.. but they love to listen to his voice, heck they even like talking to each other, because of this encounter alastor talk about it to rosie, she was happy hearing alastor telling her stories but she feel odd when alastor mention that the person he talks to is a human, Rosie giving him advice to not fall for human because they're different species, and it will make him weak etc.

Alastor feel guilty and agree with rosie advice so he's stop contacting the reader from the radio, he thinks that the reader will be fine but no the reader take it personally.. they thought alastor don't want to talk to them anymore.. it drive them mad and lead to suicide..

So yeah angst :D

Oh Anon. What have you done.

I cried while I wrote that - it took two very good friends of mine to encourage me to post it (Thanks to @macabr3-barbi3 and @mysterypotatoink). But I think it's tragic and beautiful, and honestly - I'm kinda proud of it!

TW: Psychological Trauma, descend into madness, loss of self care and suicide - please take care of yourself and do not read if you aren't comfortable with any of the mentioned! MINORS DNI

Here we go.

❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️

Leap of Faith

You carried in the last box from you banged-up minivan. The old thing barely made it to your new home. A little cabin in the outskirts of New Orleans, a little off the grid and surrounded by the peaceful and whirring bayous of Louisiana.

A fixer-upper, just like yourself.

The online auction had intrigued you the second you found it, the photos were a bit blurry and you knew it was a risk to buy a place you've never set foot in, but something in you called you to get it. The price you paid was laughable, barely making a dent in your savings. Moving states sounded scary and impossible, but you felt oddly calm about it.

You didn't have a lot of stuff to move anyway. After all, you only lived with your late grandmother, and she never really cared for material things. Your parents left you at her doorstep, never to be seen again.

Caring for her in her last, sickness-ridden years had been a no-brainer - it felt like nothing in comparison to all she had done for you - but it also had been a bit lonely.

You had your friends, if you could even call them that, but you rarely saw them - guiding your nan through the last months of her life had been demanding and time-consuming. It had left you exhausted and emotionally unavailable, and after a while, calls and texts ceased, until it was just you and her. You felt lost, as if the world was slowly pulling away from you.

When she finally died, peacefully in her sleep, you felt sad, relieved and drained.

Detached from the city you lived in.

Lost.

So you decided to sell what little you inherited, except for a few sentimental mementos, and move away from it all. To start a new life, a happier one, finally one that was truly your own.

You took the final box inside, setting it on the coffee table and wiped the sweat from your brow. You looked around the little cabin: The roof had some spots that needed a patch, and the wood floors were a bit warped, but it was all yours. No more having to share anything with anyone.

The cabin came furnished, a lot of the stuff was old, but still usable. You figured that would change once you settled in and had a vision of what you wanted and needed to buy. The thought of thinking about no one but yourself made you nervous.

But a little excited, too.

The old furniture would do for the moment, but there was a particular piece that caught your eye: an old, vintage cathedral radio, sitting nestled in between a cracked wooden box and a tarnished, bronze candle holder in a bookcase that was a bit out of place in the tiny space. With a tilted head, you stepped closer to inspect it, drawn to it by it's unique character and beauty.

It looked as well-loved as it looked well-used, the mahogany a bit scuffed, the knobs a little worn from years of being turned. But there were golden details etched into the front, and you traced them lightly with a finger, strangely touched and intrigued.

You were certain the old thing didn't work, but when you plugged it into the nearby socket, static erupted from the speakers, making you jump back. You had to smile, though.

Tonight, you wouldn't be alone. You'd have this little device and a little music for good company.

***

"I'm home!" you announced to no one in particular, as you closed the door behind you, your hands full with overfilled grocery bags full of necessities, waiting to fill your empty cabinets.

The day had been hot, but a welcome breeze of the impending night break cooled the inside of your little cabin a bit. With a quiet grunt you set the paper bags down at the small kitchenette. Your groceries were quickly dispersed, and you put on an apron you saved from your grandmother as you got started on dinner.

You hummed as you cut vegetables and boiled water. It had been a long time since you had cooked, really cooked, your nan wasn't much for eating and had no problem living off of simple soups and toast. When you opened your fridge to get some butter, your glance fell onto the radio.

A little music would be nice, you decided, and you walked over, cleaning your hands on the red, frilly cloth around your waist before you turned the dial. The soft sound of static made you hum in contempt - yup. Still works. A little turn to the left, and the room was filled with a soft jazzy tune, the melody a bit grainy, but you didn't mind that at all. You returned to the stove, swaying your hips to the beat as you worked. The music made you feel at ease, and for a moment, the world seemed to be just right.

Just as the onions began to brown in the pan, the song faded out to a voice. You turned your head to the radio, intrigued by the unusual, eccentric accent of the host. It reminded you of the old, vintage films and recordings your grandmother had been fond of - wasn't it called 'transatlantic'?. Whatever it was, it made you smile.

"Now wasn't that a kick in the head, dearest listener? I sure hope you enjoyed the little musical interlude, but it's time to return to the real show! As usual, my name is Alastor, and you are listening to the best jazz, blues and swing music that Hell has to offer!"

You blinked, a little puzzled and yet amused. "Sure is hot as hell today, strange man in the radio.", you mumbled, chuckling as you stirred the bell peppers under the caramelized onions.

"Today we have a very special guest joining my humble broadcast, it seems. Pleasure to meet you, darling, quite the pleasure!"

"Oh who? Me?" you asked, looking theatrically over your shoulder with batted lashes, shaking your head over your own silliness. You weren't used to talking out loud to yourself, or even really thinking out loud. You were always alone, after all, but the little pretend-play was fun. You laughed a bit, waiting for the host's guest to speak.

"Of course you, little dove. Who else would I mean?"

You gasped, and nearly dropped the spoon as you whipped around, eyes glued to the humming, orange glow of the radio in the dim darkness of your living room.

"What's that? You're surprised, my dear? Don't worry, you're not the only one! This is a first for me, too. Never had a human join my program. I must say, I'm quite intrigued! Tell me, what is your name?"

Your eyes grew wide, and the hairs at the back of your neck stood up. You took a hesitant step backwards and hit the hot stove, making you curse under your breath. Was the heat finally getting to you?

"Don't be shy now, darling. I'm not gonna hurt you, cross my lil' old, blackened heart."

"I-I'm..." you began, swallowing as your fingers tightened around the wooden spoon. "My name is..."

"Yes?"

"I'm... crazy.", you mumbled, rubbing a hand over your face and chuckling a bit. You were just going insane, that's all. Must be the stress, combined with the intense heat. And lack of a companion, a tiny voice reminded you. Yes. Must be.

"Hello crazy, this is Alastor." The host laughed, together with a canned audience.

"Alastor...", you repeated, realization settling in - this wasn't a joke, or a trick of your mind.

"At your service, my dear.", the voice cooed. "Now, I believe you still owe me your name..."

***

You weren't crazy.

Or if you were, you didn't mind. Not with Alastor by your side - or, to be exact, in the radio on your bookcase.

After two weeks of ignoring the cursed radio after unplugging it in a wave of panic on your first night, your morbid curiosity got the better of you. You plugged it back in, and turned on the dial. Just once, you told yourself, then never ever again.

And that's how the two of you got in contact with each other once more. Alastor was as chipper as the first time you heard him, and after a bit of back-and-forth, he promised once again not to harm you, and you shared your name with him. The rest was history. He was very pleasant company. For a demon from hell.

You wouldn't classify the conversations you had with him as a real friendship in the beginning, but you did talk. Occasionally. Mostly in the evenings, when you cooked dinner: He'd ask you about your day and would pry eagerly for a little bit of gossip or new information about the modern New Orleans. When he let it slip that he lived in this very cabin in the 1920's, you weren't stopping with questions about what it was like back in his days, which he, in return, answered generously and enthusiastically.

The first few times he would try to coerce you into making a deal for your soul, casually sprinkling the offer into his small talk, but with enough blunt refusals and a few more days of radio silence (pun intended), he dropped the topic and seemed content on just talking. You, in return, found yourself relaxing into his charming company, your brain happily engaged with trying to wrap your head around him, or better, you tried to come to terms with it.

Weeks passed, and turning the radio on in the evenings became less of an occasional lapse of judgment but more of a routine you were looking forward to. You could tell the Alastor felt the same, his banter became less tense and acted, and a little more genuine.

It made your heart swell in happiness, that someone out there seemed to appreciate your company – even if that someone wasn't human.

Apprehension became amusement, and fascination became friendship. Oddly enough, you found common grounds in a lot of things: A love for cooking and good music. Preferring books over films. Red wine over white. A shared aversion of vulgarity, and appreciation for good manners.

Your nights were cut shorter and shorter, you would spend hours chatting on and on, until the deep darkness of night disappeared into a shade of blue on the horizon. Neither of you minded, at least that was what you thought. Alastor never ended the conversations with you. Either you had to say your goodbyes, or you would just fall asleep after hours of talking on your couch, and awake with a pained back to a shut-off radio. Then, after you'd realize that you would have a whole day ahead of you without hearing his voice, the loss would make your chest ache.

Two months into the 'thing', which was still a strange concept you could barely comprehend, the truth of the matter dawned on you: You liked him. Not just because he was a surprisingly amicable voice coming out of your vintage radio, a lively constant in the uneventful life you had made for yourself in Louisiana - he had become important to you, irreplaceable, even. An essential element to your life. You couldn't imagine how you'd gone so long without him, and yet, here you were, lost without him, scrambling through the hours until you could talk to him once more.

"Something on your mind, darling? You're awfully quiet today."

You held your fork and knife still above the salmon you had just been about to eat. It was the first meal of the evening in a long time where you weren't spending the entirety of the preparation time speaking to him, lost in thought about your blossoming feelings. He had gotten excellent at reading you like an open book - you should've gotten used to it after a couple of weeks of him catching on to every little change in your demeanor and knowing just what to say, when you were feeling happy, upset or nervous.

"Oh, um... no. It's nothing Al. Work had me in a wringer today."

"Is it your co-worker Susan again?" You could basically hear his eyes rolling, making you chuckle. "That name must be cursed, every single soul with that name is a menacing pain."

"Maybe,", you muttered, nibbling on a piece of the roasted fish. "This one is mostly just an ornery old bitch."

"Taking the words right out of my mouth, dear." he laughed.

There's was a comfortable pause, with just a gentle background noise of his ever-playing static and an easy, melodic tune coming from his program.

"Is that really all that preoccupies that pretty little head of yours?"

You blushed, picking at the food with your fork. "Bold for a guy who's never seen me to assume my head is pretty."

The radio crackled with pops and feedback. "Bold to assume I can't see you whenever I want, little dove." he said, his voice strangely deeper, tinged with something you didn't catch at the shock of his words.

"You... what?"

"And I can most assure you,", he purred out of the speakers, "pretty is a well fitting word to describe you."

He hummed in approval when your cheeks gained color, as if he knew his comment threw you off guard and made you turn a lovely shade of pink, but it didn't make it any less enticing.

***

"Alastor, if I didn't know better, I would say you have become smitten with this mysterious gal you're blabbing on and about."

Rosie giggled, hitting his shoulder in a playful, friendly swipe. "When will I meet her? Come on now, you can't hide her forever. Or are you afraid she'll like me better?"

She laughed, and Alastor forced a toothy grin. His long time friend was the only one he talked about you with, and he knew she was intrigued whenever she could smell a blooming dalliance, especially with a notoriously abstinent bachelor like himself. Normally, he would laugh at that thought with a healthy dose of mockery, but he found himself to be less and less aversed at the thought - if it would be you. Impossible, of course.

"Nonsense, Rosie dear, nonsense,", he chuckled, taking a large sip from his coffee cup, a heavy hand bringing up a plate stacked with finger sandwiches. "And I'm afraid you won't meet her for a long time, maybe never. Humans seldom traverse to hell in their lifetime, and who knows if the little darling will take on the trip downstairs?"

Rosie coughed in her tea, her blackened eyes wide in shock. "Human? It's a human girl you've been courting here? Oh, Alastor, you old fool."

Alastor scrunched his nose, "Talking, Rosie, talking is all we do. And yes, she's a human. I don't see the quandary in that. It's just a little fun."

"Well,", she huffed with a small, thoughtful frown. "I would've hoped for a little more sense in you." The tall demonesse set down her teacup with nimble fingers.

"You may not call it courting, but if it quacks like a duck, it's a duck, love." Rosie ignored the indignant look Alastor gave her. "You know as well as I do that such a connection is dangerous to entertain. Humans are fragile and fragile things tend to break. And when they do, the owner mostly follows. You need to break this connection off."

Rosie gave him a sad look as his ears flattened against his head. She would've been more than happy for her oldest and dearest friend to have a partner on his side, someone good and honest who really cared about him, maybe loved him even, as unlovable as he was. But she had to protect him from the silly idea of possibly falling for a living, breathing and supposedly untarnished soul, and the heartbreak that would surely follow. "Don't make the mistake of breaking your heart, dear friend." she smiled, a tint of melancholy hidden in the red of her lips.

"I think it's far too late for that."

She offered a handkerchief, but Alastor waved her off, his smile more faint and close to a frown than she's ever seen.

***

The first day where nothing but static noise came out of the radio, you were irritated but just thought: 'Maybe Alastor has something to do'.

The second day of static you grew concerned. 'What if something happened to Alastor? Was he okay?'.

On the third day, you were panicked. 'Maybe he doesn't want to talk to you anymore! Maybe he met someone in hell, someone that he could talk to whenever he wanted and not through an old, dusty radio?'.

"Please talk to me.", you whispered into the empty room. Your knees were pulled to your chest, and you sat on your couch, eyes fixed on the radio in the bookcase. Your eyes stung with the tears threatening to spill. "Please, Al. I miss you." You shook your head, chuckling sadly. It had only been 3 days, but they'd felt like an eternity. The world had seemed silent without Alastor's constant chatter.

When night fell for the fourth day, you were half asleep, eyes red and burning and tears still staining your cheeks. You talked for hours into the void of your house, the radio now moved to sit in front of you on the coffee table, growing more and more desperate as hours passed. Talking faded into pleading, and pleading into begging.

"Please, I'm sorry, if I did something wrong, I'm sorry...", you mumbled into the wooden furnishing, resting your cheek against the top of the machine, eyes slipping shut with fatigue and defeat. A dry sob slipped past your trembling lips, as your hands desperately grabbed the sides of the antique device.

"Alastor please, don't leave me alone here...", you whispered with the last of your strength, before your body succumbed to your exhaustion, your unconscious mind welcomed the darkness.

If you had stayed awake for just a moment more, you would've, maybe, heard the faint shuddering breath beyond the static rumble. But you didn't. So you had no chance at knowing that, Alastor, listening to every word, saw and heard you at your weakest, and all it did to him was stir the embers and give the blaze an opening for the flames of his anger at fate to rage.

Work had called, again. Susan of all people. Threats were made - either come back to work, or don't come back at all. You smashed your phone. It was useless anyway. What was the point without...

Alastor wasn't here, hadn't answered for seven days now. And you had spent the whole time talking, begging him to show himself, just show himself and tell you what you did wrong, just talk to you one last time and then you'd stop, if that was what he wanted. You became obsessed with the orange light of the illuminated screen, imagining the flickers were maybe signs from him.

You stopped eating, stopped drinking, stopped almost anything, you just sat, in front of the radio, unmoving and unwilling to miss the smallest sign of his return.

Every single minute stretched into agony, and every breath that left your lips made a fresh tear roll down your paling cheeks, until your body couldn't produce them anymore. Then, you cried wordless whimpers and moans, even started praying to an unknown entity.

It wasn't as if Alastor owed you anything. It's not as though you thought the two of you were anything other than two kindred souls, one human, one demon, talking to each other. As a result, it wasn't like you had the right to anything from him.

It was strange to consider the connection the two of you shared: Something more than acquaintances, something closer than friends, and yet never fully crossing the line beyond it. The unpenetrable boundary dividing life and death in between.

Your eyes fell on a large, old crucifix on your wall, staring back at you with pity.

For the first time in days, you left the sofa, took it from the wall and burned it on your gas stove, watching the face of the nailed figurine slowly melt in the fire.

***

It had been eight days of excruciating, one-sided silence.

Eight days Alastor cursed his cowardice as he sat, red eyed with claws digging into his scalp, as he listened to you plead for him to talk - To answer. To do anything. Anything, but leave you alone, he heard, as if the words were spoken right in his ear.

Eight days of watching you slowly detriment from the eyes of the shadows he was able to manifest above, tugging on the very fabric of the world to move you, to keep your mind from going where it shouldn't go.

He kept telling himself it was for the better. His shadows murmured persistent reminders that he should find entertainment in your growing lunacy. He was the radio demon, after all. He shouldn't care if this wisp of a human were to perish, should laugh at your wails of agony and despair.

But Alastor never felt less like laughing. Your dried sobs and pained apologies for things you never did wrong in the first place filled his head, taunting and gnawing on him with feelings he thought he was unable to feel: Guilt and Regret.

It was as Rosie had predicted - he was becoming weak. But weakness was something that should be avoided. Had to be. He knew. Being weak, being feeble, would make him vulnerable, make him into the prey his cruel from already portrayed to the world he had to inherit. He couldn't allow it. Couldn't let his feelings for you bring him down to the levels of the sinners in hell he would tear apart and laugh while he did it.

That's why he stayed silent. Endured it, all of it, every word, cry and plea. Stayed invisible and silent, waiting for you to move on, forget him, shut off and leave the radio, never to turn the dial again. For your sake and his.

When the connection broke, on that eight day, Alastor could feel your resignation, your peace with which your pale hands gripped the electrical cord at it's base to pull. And he was suddenly filled with the awareness of something horrible, like a premonition. It set his already battered, aching heart in an ice cold grasp of dread.

His room exploded in green light as he expanded into his full demonic form, his limbs threatening to pull and burst at the stitches and his smile splitting his face almost entirely in half. He had to reach out, had to reform the connection to the radio one last time, even though nearly impossible.

You were about to do something he would never be able to forgive himself for.

***

Your car broke down just where it needed to. You took the radio out of the trunk, knocking the hood two times for a goodbye, the key safely in the ignition. Maybe some other poor soul would find and repair it, make happier memories with it.

You clutched the wooden device closer and started to walk. Indigo blue faded into black as you looked up to the sky that was sprinkled with glowing, shimmering silver dust, stars blinking in the unimaginable distance. There, but out of reach.

Just like him.

Your dry sob stung in your throat, but you didn't really feel the pain. Your eyes were fixed on the path to your final destination, right in front of you.

The Crescent City Connection Bridge was mostly abandoned by traffic at this time of night and provided just enough covered spaces to hide you from some foolish saviors eyes.

You didn't need to be saved.

You didn't want to be saved.

Because you were about to save yourself.

There was nothing waiting for you in the other direction than the one you were going. So, with slow but steady steps, you walked towards the middle of the bridge, settling on a place next to a metal pillar and looked over the railing onto the shimmering waters of the Mississippi River.

Alastor had told you about the river, how he loved to watch the steam boats floating on it from the radio station where he worked at when he was alive. The station was long gone, you didn't even find out where it had been in the first place, but you liked to imagine that you were looking at the same scenery now that he had been looking at when he peered out of his booth in his radio tower.

It made you smile through the tears... You were glad the end was somehow connected to him, even if it was most likely just your naive imagination.

It felt like the device in your arms was emitting static energy, prickling over your arms, hands and fingers as you caressed the mahogany wood gently, feeling as though the radio was shaking in your hands, trying to pull you back from the fenced ledge.

A quiet sob escaped your lips, turning into a giggle and into hysterical laughter. You sat down between the railing, and hugged the radio close, trying to breathe as you closed your eyes, resting your temple on the worn, warm wood.

"It'll be okay, Al.", you said quietly, your voice unnaturally hoarse and rough from lack of use and dehydration. "I'm coming. I'm coming to you.”

With one arm around the radio, holding it tight against your chest, you turned to stand on shaky legs, gripping the railing with one arm and, with one final glance at the stars above you you smiled. You heard sirens in the distance, and some people shouting from a sparkling streamliner passing under the bridge. Time was running short, so you didn't wait to put first one foot over the fence, then the other, taking a deep breath.

"I guess doves were always meant to fly."

And, with that, your body twisted, turned and leaped, falling as the light on the radio, firmly pressed against your heart, began to glow in deepest crimson and swirls of green.

Falling like an angel would descend from grace.

Part 2 for closure

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel fanfiction #fraugwinskawrites #angst #trigger warnings #minors d #minors don't look #minors dont touch #yes I'm crying #you're crying too #we all cry here #no judgement #quickf #quickfic

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cledubs · 25 days

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hey guys guess who’s made a new ghost au. any fantasy high enjoyers in the chat (the tumblr)

anyways basic info for said au (which is a fun little thing that was spawned from conversations me and my bsfs @scalpho and @nenekkasa had)

takes place in the modern world in england ish, no magic except for ghosts. bad kids centric because . yeah it’s a fantasy high au so. historical but also we’re not trying to be perfectly historically accurate, we’re just having some fun. we just love some ghosts

gorgug is a guy who’s going to a local college (around 20 yrs old) and his parents have recently bought the creepy abandoned manor because they decided to do a little fixer-upper project on it

while living in the house, our guy gorgug befriends the ghosts of some people who had died on this property!

fabian aramais seacaster: noble from the mid-late 1600s. died in a duel (technically yes but he’s lying a bit about the specifics) in his home. family constructed the manor. early 20s

kristen applebees: townfolk from the mid 1600s. burnt at the stake under the accusation of witchcraft and betraying the church of helio. early 20s

adaine abernant: died of a sudden unknown illness soon after blatantly refusing her family’s expectations of her in the late 1800s. the abernant family had purchased the manor after the seacasters died out. late teens/early 20s

riz gukgak: shot and killed in a gunfight during a detective mission in the 1950s. manor was involved in the case he was investigating. mid 20s

figueroth “fig” faeth: famous rockstar who got too carried away in the addiction that comes with fame. partied in the now-abandoned manor. mid-late 20s.

and now gorgug has to deal with five ghosts that only he can see while also trying to just live his daily life

(if you’re interested in this au/have questions about it you can check the tag for more information! :3 )

#asks are encouraged!!#this is the only post that will be maintagged i promise #fantasy high #dimension 20 #gorgugs haunted house au #pls send asks we love to talk about this au 🙏🙏#gorgug thistlespring #riz gukgak #fabian seacaster #kristen applebees #fig faeth #figueroth faeth #adaine abernant #the bad kids #any asks can be sent to me scal or dia btw!!

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drabblesandimagines · 7 months

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Home

Leon Kennedy x female reader I just wanted to write some damsel in distress nonsense with Death Island Leon, but imagine whoever you like! Fluff - though mentions of blood, smatter of death.

Coming to, you feel as if you’re hungover - disorientated, nauseous and a sore head - but that can’t be right, you didn’t drink last night.

It takes a moment to localize the throbbing pain only to the side of your head rather than all over and, as you catch sight of blood smeared against the white tiles of the kitchen floor – something you were desperate to change as white shows up everything - you remember.

You’d been working in the home office. Leon had set it up for himself originally – you’d never been brave enough to research what the price of the beautiful mahogany desk must’ve been, but you’re always sure to use a coaster to avoid marking it. He used a laptop, so he’d insisted you utilize the space instead for your desktop when you moved in over a year ago. It was a nice house, on a quiet, suburban street – he’d bought it as a fixer-upper, a bit of a passion project. The rooms were all in various states of completion but he wanted your opinion and input.

“This is our home,” he’d stressed, before pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Plus, you’ll be here more than me…”

You’d heard of the conspiracy theories surrounding the Raccoon City incident. Who hadn’t stumbled down that rabbit hole before? Leon had confirmed it in vague, half-told recollections of the night a few months into your relationship after an argument about his commitment issues, and you hadn’t pressed further than that since. He told you the bare minimum so you were aware of what his work now entailed, why he had to go away for weeks at a time, why he was so desperate to keep his work and personal life separate for your safety and protection.

He accompanied you when he could to family and friends’ celebrations, charmed them all into forgiving him for his flaky appearances, but they could all see how happy you were since the two of you had got together.

You’d been wearing noise-cancelling headphones as you worked to drown out the next door neighbour’s relentless building works that had started on Monday – a basement leak meant the foundations were being fixed and the noise was horrendous - and had gone to the kitchen to make an ill-advised afternoon coffee and…

Nothing.

Well, the building works have stopped which is a positive, but that doesn’t negate the blood on the floor and your thudding head.

“Mrs Kennedy, I presume.” A man, well-dressed in an awful tight-fitting suit kneels down in front of you. He doesn’t look familiar - blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, a bit of stubble, looking tired, mid-40s, you guessed. You’re confused by the way he’s addressed you – you’re not married, there’s no ring there - and he clocks the bemused expression at once. “Or perhaps you’re his whore, waiting for him to return to your little love nest, hm?”

There’s no good answer or witty comeback so you keep silent, instead trying to raise your hand to feel your head, gage how bad it is – head wounds bleed a lot, you knew that much – but your arm doesn’t comply. Your gaze finds the plastic of the zip-tie cutting into your wrist, holding it snugly against the arm of the chair you’re now seated in - dragged in from the dining room.

“Ah, yes.” He cups your chin, tilting your face back towards him in an effort to get you to focus on him. “A necessary measure. I need you to play the damsel in distress.”

“Leon’s not here,” you reply, quietly, words feeling thick on your tongue though it’s not a lie. “He’s away with work - I don’t know when he’s going to be back.”

“Oh, he’s due home very soon. I couldn’t make such a pretty thing wait for days on end.” He lets go of your chin only to place his hand on your thigh, giving it a light squeeze. You try to jerk away from his touch but find your ankles have received the same treatment as your wrists, though tethered together as if to stop you standing.

“I apologize about your head,” he stands up then, a smug look on his face as he towers over you. “I did tell my men to be gentle, but it appears one misunderstood.”

You shuffle in the chair in a pitiful attempt of relieving the pressure on your wrists. “Who are you?”

He clucks his tongue. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

“Kennedy’s ETA is four minutes, sir.” A gruff voice states from behind you.

“Excellent.” Your captor smiles. “I suppose he was hoping to surprise you with his arrival, hm? Nice that we can turn the surprise around on him.” He snaps his fingers at one of his subordinates, “You can gag her now.”

A hand yanks your hair, forcing your head back and you gasp only for a wad of fabric to be stuffed behind your teeth. You try and push it out with your tongue on instinct but another bit of fabric is forced between your lips, keeping it snugly in place as it’s knotted at the back of your head, causing you to whimper – or at least attempt - when he brushes up against your head wound.

There’s a hive of activity around you – the three grunts getting into position, checking their ammo. They can’t just plan to shoot Leon outright, surely. Why would he need a damsel otherwise? Your captor grabs the back of your chair and drags it, positioning it in line with the hallway door, meaning that you will be the first thing he sees. He places his hands on your shoulders and squeezes.

“Showtime.”

Your heart is pounding so loud it’s all you can now hear – maybe it’s so loud Leon will hear with that incredibly sensitive hearing he has before he opens the door, know something’s wrong and get the hell out of here.

No such luck, though. The building work next door hasn’t resumed, so you can hear him cut the engine in the driveway, hear when the Jeep door opens and closes, hear the jingle of his keys in the door. He has his eyes cast down when he enters, immediately turning to the lock the door behind him out of both security and habit.

“Sweetpea?” He sounds upbeat, happy as he calls for you and it breaks your heart all the more when he turns, eyes meeting yours. “Fuck.” He breathes out, taking a hurried step forward, hand automatically reaching for his pistol still holstered on his belt. A loud click pierces through your left ear, cold metal prods into the side of your temple and Leon freezes in place.

“Uh-uh, Kennedy. Unless you wanna see your lovely lady’s brains splattered all over the floor, I’d drop that right now.”

Leon doesn’t hesitate, holding his hands above his head and dropping the pistol to the ground, hitting the wooden floorboards with a thunk.

“Keep those hands up and kick it over.”

Leon complies, kicking the pistol so it skids down the hallway, swiftly collected by one of the grunts.

“Dante.”

“Oh, I’m flattered you remember little ol’ me. Come - join us.” The gun leaves your temple but the fear remains as Leon slowly strides up the hallway, hands still in the air. “Pull Kennedy up a chair and make sure he’s comfortable.” A grunt ducks into the dining room and emerges with one the armless chairs, placing it down heavily on the kitchen tile as Leon enters. He’s swiftly smacked across the face with the butt of a gun, followed up by a punch to the stomach, causing him to double over. Another grunt grabs his arms, yanking them behind his back and you know by the way his biceps tense that he could break out of that hold easily enough, but he’s choosing not to.

You feel horrible that you’re the reason why he’s not.

He’s pushed down onto the chair and his wrists are quickly secured behind his back with a zip tie through the wooden slats. He lifts his head up to reveal a bloodied lip, but his eyes are immediately on you as he speaks.

“She has nothing to do with me and you, Dante.”

“Oh, I know that.” He scoffs, digging his fingernails into your shoulder once more. “But your little sweetpea is so useful in making sure that you remain on your very best behaviour.”

“You’ve got me now, okay?” Leon shrugs his shoulders in demonstration. “Let her go.”

“Aw,” Dante tuts. “Did you think you had her out of harm’s way, Kennedy? Kept your personal life underwraps? Granted I couldn’t quite confirm her name, but here we are all the same. Pretty little thing – shame she had to get wrapped up with you.”

“What do you want?” You can tell Leon’s annoyed, though he keeps his voice measured.

“The Apollo files.”

Leon raises an eyebrow, scoffing. “I don’t ha- Ugh!” The grunt in front of him had pistol-whipped him once more, his nose now bleeding a little in consequence.

“Next time you tell a lie, your woman is going to get the same treatment.” You grip the armrests in apprehension and Leon once again tenses as he notes your discomfort.

“Okay, okay! They’re in the attic. One of the storage boxes up there – there’s not many. Against the south wall.”

“Good boy.” Dante chuckles, ruffling his hand through the agent’s hair condescendingly. “You two - with me,” he points at two of his men, before turning to the third. “You, keep an eye on the lovebirds.”

“Be careful where you step up there – I haven’t put in a permanent floor. Been busy.” Leon retorts.

“Aw, boys, he’s worried we’ll hurt ourselves.” He grabs Leon by the chin then, squeezing his cheeks. “We’ll be right back. I wouldn’t want to keep this lovely lady waiting any more than she has to.”

He shoves Leon’s face to the side and heads out to the hallway, the two grunts following as the third remains in position to the side, gun in hand.

“I’m so sorry, sweetpea, but I’ll get you out of this – I swear.“ Leon says softly, turning his head to the side to look at you. “Okay?”

You nod – there’s little else you can do – but you know you’re shaking. You hate yourself for doubting him, but you can’t see how the two of you are getting out of this in one piece. He doesn’t say anything more, his eyes flitting from one direction to another as he calculates his moves for what feels like hours.

The building work next door resumes – a loud drilling echoing around the kitchen. The grunt winces at the sound and Leon gets to his feet, arms still bound around the dining chair and headbutts him, sending him stumbling back, blood gushing from a broken nose. Leon spins then, slamming the chair against the marble countertops, splintering the wood and releasing himself from the chair. He then jumps again, tucking his legs impressively close to his chin, though letting out a strangled grunt and his bound hands are now in front of him. He lifts up his knee, tenses his biceps and slams it down, the zip-tie splintering across the floor – all in the time it takes the grunt to come to his senses and aims his gun blindly, sending bullets thankfully in every direction but yours.

Leon ducks and dives, swiftly grabbing the grunt around the neck with an arm and holding it tight, cutting off his air supply until he goes limp in his arms and he grabs hold of the man’s gun, quickly checking the cartridge with one smooth downward motion.

A bullet sails over his shoulder as one of the grunts returns from upstairs and Leon quickly takes him out with a headshot. You divert your eyes then, not wanting to see. It’s them or you – you know that – but it doesn’t make the act easier to witness.

It is barely a second before another gunshot rings out, followed by a second - Dante and the remaining man at the kitchen doorway, though the grunt goes down as quickly as he entered due to Leon’s return fire.

Dante’s face is furious, his gun aimed squarely at your head and he pulls the trigger. Leon sidesweeps the chair legs from under you, sending the chair toppling backwards and you with it, your head smacking once more against the tile and making your ears ring and vision dance with black. The bullet soars over your head and into the kitchen cabinet.

There’s another gunshot, a horrible, squelching sound, and then a series of grunts and groans – flesh on flesh – but you can’t look up, can’t see what’s going on as a succession of gunshots ring out and there’s the sound of a body hitting the floor.

There’s the clatter of a drawer being opened frantically and then, suddenly, Leon is above you – his shoulder bloody – and a knife in his hand. He lifts your head up gently, cutting through the back of the gag and pulls it away from your mouth, fishing out the fabric that had been making you feel close to choking.

“You’re okay, I’ve got you.” He says softly as you catch your breath, taking glorious mouthfuls of air. “Stay still, okay? I’ll get these off you.” He presses the blade against your wrist with a careful flick and you’re released from the first of your restraints. He makes quick work of your other wrist and the ones around your ankles, pulling you up into his arms, cradling you in his lap.

“I’m so sorry,” he mumbles, rocking you back and forth. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

“Leon, it’s-”

“Don’t say it’s okay. It’s not okay. I promised to never get you mixed up in this. I don’t know how they found this place, how they found you. I’ve been so fucking careful, baby.” His voice breaks, along with your heart.

“I know you have.” You try and soothe. “It’s not fair, but it’s not your fault, sweetheart. I love you.”

He presses his lips to yours then, kissing you softly. “Love you too – so much. Feel so selfish.”

“Uh-uh, no – you deserve to be happy. I want to make you happy.”

“You do, sweetpea, but-“

“If I can’t say it’s okay, you can’t go down this road either and we both can’t pout about it.”

He sniffs, rolls his eyes and you finally remember the blood patch on his shoulder.

“Did you get shot?” He shakes his head. “Grazed me. I’m fine. You, however, need a full check-up.”

“If I’m having one, you’re having one too. We can have a date to the emergency room.”

He laughs – it’s nice to hear, to see the smile reaching his eyes. “I owe you a much better date than that.”

“Nah – maybe they’ll put you in a hospital gown.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“What?” You bite your lip.

“The ones that don’t tie at the back?”

“Oh, don’t they? Interesting.”

He kisses you again then, with a bit more passion than before. “Baby, you do not have to get me in a hospital gown to see my ass.”

“Who said anything about seeing your ass? Get your head out the gutter, Mr Kennedy.”

Leon rolls his eyes once more, getting to his feet with ease with you still in his arms. He pushes your face into his chest as he walks towards the front door.

“Leon, no, you need to rest your shoulder. Put me down - I can walk.”

“Don’t want you to see.” He murmurs. “I’m gonna get you in the Jeep, call work quickly – they’ll come sort this mess – then straight to the hospital.”

You keep quiet then, closing your eyes and inhaling his scent as you nuzzle your head against his chest, a realisation hitting you.

“We won’t be coming back here, will we?”

He pauses, fiddling with the keys in lock.

“I’m sorry. I know you were finally feeling at home here and-”

“No.” You cut him off. “Home is us together – wherever. Okay?”

“Yeah.” He opens the door. “You’re right. Home is with you, sweetpea.”

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