#pining for each other and yet forever apart

[evilmageclub]

PROPAGANDA TIME everyone look at my favourite divorcees i drew them instead of trying to do well in my exams so u have to look

'You see his hand gripping Samothes’ hammer. Then you hear his ring- his wedding ring, hit the metal of the anvil as he runs his hand over it. And then you see him lift the hammer in his hand. And he goes to work.'

"You're unfinished, but I can… I can see his touch in your design. You're beautiful like he was."

☀️🍷

samot forged his wedding ring into a sword designed to avert the world-ending catastrophe he knew he would cause. samothes spent one thousand years in sword heaven (different sword, dont worry about it) reminiscing to everyone about his beloved ex-husband who manipulated their son into killing him. they are haunted by each other mythically. to compare any other divorce to samot and samothes' is to hold a candle to the sun. if i have to commit 500 counts of voter fraud just to get this win for my blorbos my beloved despicable gay gods i will do it

Round 2, Side A2: Softboots (Puss in Boots) vs SamSam (FATT)

[mariasont]

hi hi hi!!! i know you’re working on the bau sleepover buttttt i was wondering if you could write a aaron hotchner x reader fic where like what happened to garcia, reader gets shot and she’s in hospital and they don’t know if she gonna be okay and stuff. her and hotch have this mutual pining for each other and when she gets shot he kinda spirals. after being released, hotch takes her to her apartment and stays with her until they catch him and stuff. i know this is really long, thank you!!!

Some Profiler You Are - A.H

a/n: hi hi hi thank you so so sooo much for requesting <3 i kind of took this a more fluffy route and focused more on the recovery so let me know if you like it :)

masterlist

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

pairings: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

warnings: reader was shot, comfort, angst like a teensy bit, fluff, changing of bandages, kinda shitty ending per usual

wc: 2k

"Do you want to sit down?"

No, you really didn't. After spending the last six hours in a state of near-motionlessness, sprawled across various surfaces, the last thing you wanted was to do was sit down. Your legs had taken on the consistency of overcooked noodles, so you made the grave mistake of misreading the quiet of the house as Hotch's absence, a mistake punctuated by the garage door's sudden rumble.

You should have known better than to assume he would leave you alone for even a second. Now, you were face to face, his scrutinizing eyes boring into yours, arms crossed across his wide chest. He was in a casual zip-up--a rarity that you never imagined him wearing before practically moving in with him. But you really did enjoy this relaxed side of him, he wore it exceptionally well.

Taking work off was a concept you knew was foreign him, yet here he was, not at his desk, hovering over you like a concerned parent. The entire office, yourself included, gaped at him as if he had sprouted a different head when he told them. His next move was even crazier--he insisted you stay with him while you recovered.

You protested. A lot. Shocker. But he wouldn't take no for an answer. Again, Shocker.

You winced as you stepped forward, your hands automatically gravitating to the bandage that spanned around your thigh.

"You can't baby me forever, Hotch," you murmured, though your conviction wavered under the dull throb in your leg.

You braced yourself against the counter, trying to mask the discomfort you were sure was etched all over your face.

Filling the shoes of the communications liaison for the FBI post-JJ's shift to profiling, you signed up for a life of managing the media narrative, being the conduit between local and federal levels, and choosing the cases. You provided assistance in ways that aren't glaringly obvious.

What you didn't sign up for is getting shot.

The movies, the stories, even the firsthand accounts from coworkers--none of it could brace you for the raw, blistering pain of a gunshot wound. It fucking hurt. And the recovery? It was a different kind of torture, and you'd even argue that it was worse.

"It's not babying, it's common sense," Hotch countered.

He was frustrated. You had that effect. He stepped closer, his hand dragging down his face. "You took a bullet. It's still in your leg. It's perfectly rational for me to want to prevent any unnecessary strain on you."

"Feels dramatic," you shrugged, but he was right, like always.

Your grip on the counter tightened, knuckles growing white as you struggled to keep the pain under wraps. His brows lifted in response.

"I'm fine, really, Hotch. I hate this. You're probably dying to get back to work--don't let me be the reason you don't. Despite popular belief, I'm quite capable of fending for myself."

"I'm aware," he said, his attention briefly shifting to your bandaged leg. You were wearing shorts, a choice that felt less than appropriate, but practicality trumped formality under these circumstances. "Work will survive without me. I'm not sure I can say the same about you."

Your laughter was short-lived, swiftly turning into a stifled grimace as your footing slipped. Hotch's reflexes were quick, his hands steadying you--one against your ribs, the other just shy above the hem of your shorts.

"Point in case."

"Poking fun at a wounded woman? Shame on you, Hotch," you chided, your lower lip jutting out in a pout. His eyes darted to it momentarily.

He didn't move, his hands staying put, stirring a gentle, jelly-like feeling inside of you.

This was an odd sort of comfort, the kind you're not supposed to feel with your boss. You shouldn't be talking to him like this, shouldn't be in his kitchen, and certainly, his hands shouldn't be where they were. But the ache in your heart didn't seem to care about shoulds and shouldn'ts.

Hotch's presence was hard to ignore. He was reducing the space with every word.

"You're hardly acting like a wounded woman," he pointed out. "You should be in bed."

You tilted your head, sliding onto the barstool to carve some much-needed space between you. The scent of his cologne was intoxicating, and you needed distance to gather your wits before you did something that HR would definitely not look kindly upon.

The action was a mistake, a fact that became painfully clear as the feeling of something stabbing into your leg took hold. You tried to muster a smile, but you were sure it came across as a snarl. The last thing you wanted was to inflate Hotch's ego by showing that maybe, just maybe, he was right.

"Shit."

You followed his line of sight, landing on the fresh red seeping through the bandage and staining your shorts. Oh. That's not great. Don't think you can fool him with this one.

Hotch didn't hesitate, his response outpacing your own surge of panic, which was incredibly fast, because you were panicking and frankly not that great with blood. His hands were on your skin, easing the hem of your shorts upward to lay bare the wound you had stupidly  underestimated.

You're never going on a date again.

I mean, the only reason you even went was to get your boss of your mind. Since the first day, you'd been hopelessly drawn to him--how could you not be?

But there are a couple factors to consider.

Firstly, he was your boss, and the whole notion of a coercive relationship dynamic seemed problematic.

Secondly, there's the age difference; it had never been an issue for you--perhaps a reflection of your daddy issues--but you knew it would raise some eyebrows.

And thirdly, he didn't even like you back. That was, of course, the biggest issue. If not for this, the other concerns could definitely be overlooked. 

Before this whole incident, he barely acknowledged you beyond was professionally required of him. You knew you hadn't been part of the team long enough to bond--though you weren't sure Hotch did bond in the usual sense, but the point was made.

You were fairly sure you hadn't made much of an impression on him.

"Hold still." That was a tall order, considering it hurt more than a mother fucker.

You found yourself glaring at him--not that he was to blame, but you needed to anchor your frustration on something, or someone. Unknowingly, your grip had latched on the fabric of his zip-up, but he seemed unfazed. He grabbed a clean cloth from the drawer, pressing it against the wound, only furthering the colorful vocabulary going on in your head.

"Fuck, Hotch."

You didn't make a habit of cursing in front of your superior, but the sharp sting forced tears to the brink, your body going rigid as you snapped your eyes shut. 

His other hand found its way to your uninjured thigh, giving it a firm squeeze--a clear attempt to divert your attention. It worked for a second. "I'm sorry, just keep this pressed here, okay?"

He motioned toward the cloth, and you complied, too drained to consider otherwise. Your brows knitted, and you bit into your lip until you tasted something metallicy, your mind desperately racing trying to think of anything other than the blood flowing freely from your thigh.

"Where are you going?" You knew how panicked you sounded as he turned away, stepping towards a cabinet. 

He rummaged briefly before holding up a first aid kit. Catching the brief alarm in your face, he quickly returned to your side, his hand finding the crook of your neck as you instinctively clutched at his shirt once again.

"If you dare say I told you so, I swear, Hotch, fists will fly," you ground out through clenched teeth.

He laughed, and now that did distract you, your eyes zeroing in on his perfect teeth. It was a rare display, and it only served to aggravate you further. Of course he had perfect teeth.

"I didn't say anything."

"I could feel you thinking it," you said, your voice rough as you willed the moisture in your eyes not to fall. "Maybe I should be a profiler."

"Definitely."

"Sarcasm doesn't suit you." You were lying. Everything suited him. He stepped back, and you reluctantly peered at the wound, only to find a neatly sutured leg. "Where did you learn to do that?"

"In this job, you learn to be handy with more than just a gun.”

You’d love to know what else he’s handy with.

He pulled your leg up to rest on his as he took a seat on the opposite stool.

Your body was buzzing, from the closeness, from his hands on you, and also from the pain, but you were trying to ignore that. He grabs a new bandage from the counter, hands trailing up your thigh so slowly you thought you might pass out. He was so gentle. There was no other word for it.

"How's it feel?"

You paused. Eyes fully locked on his precise movements as he wrapped you up. You were closer than you realized, practically sharing the same breath.

"Fine."

"Yeah?"

You nodded, and he finished up his task, his hand lightly patting your thigh to show he was done. You didn't move your leg from his lap, and he didn't move his hand.

"I couldn't sleep for three days."

"What?" Your brows were furrowed, your focus sharpening on his face as the words left his lips.

"When I found out you had been shot." He cleared his throat, his thumb making gentle rotations on your calf. "I couldn't close my eyes without seeing red for days. I wanted to kill the son of a bitch who did that to you. I almost did."

You weren't sure how to process this information, or why he was telling you. "You and me both."

"I'm serious." And you could tell he was, his eyes narrowing slightly as his hand firmly encircled around your leg. You felt a lump in your throat form as heat rose from your neck to your ears. "Do you know what that was like? I felt like my heart stopped."

"Why?"

"Why?" It was more a scoff than a word. He blew out a breath, his fingers pinching into the space between his eyebrows. "Is it not obvious?"

Your heart was beating a lot faster. You wanted to say something, anything but your throat was dry and every time you opened your mouth you found it snapping shut.

Hotch's expression softened ever so slightly, his voice low and bouncing off the walls as he spoke. "Because I'm in love with you."

Your breath stalled, as if every ounce of oxygen had been vacuumed from your lungs. The air felt heavy, almost tangible.

You stared at him, heart skipping a beat.

"That's not funny," you said. It wasn't. You weren't in the mood for jokes, and your brain couldn't comprehend he might be telling the truth. "You...you don't even notice me."

He shook his head. "I notice everything about you." His thumb stilled on your calf. "I'm your boss," he said, as if that explained everything. "There are rules, protocols. I couldn't...I still shouldn't..."

The confession stripped the room of its warmth, leaving a raw aching silence in its wake. You searched his face.

"When you got shot," he continued, "I realized that if I lost you, I'd regret not telling you how I feel for the rest of my life."

"Hotch, I..."

He leaned closer, causing your words to catch in your throat. His hand moved from your leg to your face. You were speechless, the world narrowing down to the man in front of you, to his eyes, the warmth of his hands.

"Say something."

"Are you kidding me?" Your heart was pounding like it was trying to escape from your chest. "I've been in love with you since I started. How could you not see that?"

He looked taken aback, as if your words were the last thing he expected. "Well—,"

But you didn't let him finish. "Some profiler you are."

You were practically climbing into his lap, hands framing his face, pulling your lips to his.

He chuckled against your lips, the sound vibrating through you. "Easy," he murmured, "don't make me fix that bandage again."

You laugh, the sound muffled by his mouth. He tasted like cinnamon and coffee. "Shut up, Hotch."

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna

[solarmorrigan]

Written for Day 3 of @steddie-week

Prompt: Mutual Pining | Rated: E | Additional Tags: Modern AU, Masturbation, Sexual Fantasy, Hypothetical Top!Eddie/Bottom!Steve

-

Need more trope reversal with gay!Steve and still-thinks-he's-straight!Eddie obliviously pining after each other

Like, Eddie isn't into guys, but it's fine that Steve is. It's cool! Eddie is super supportive! He even helps vet Steve's dates. And whatever anyone (coughRobincough) says, he is not overly invested in Steve's love life. Sure, he might judge potential partners a little harshly, but it's for one of his best friends! Steve is great, and he deserves the best; it's not Eddie's fault so many guys fail to live up to standards.

Meanwhile, Steve is quietly dying, because he's been into Eddie since forever, but Eddie is straight, and he has to sit there and listen to Eddie extol his virtues and talk about how he deserves someone great while not being romantically interested in him whatsoever. But Steve also never claimed he isn't pathetic, so he'll take what he can get; maybe dating a guy who Eddie deems worthy will be almost as good as getting to be with Eddie himself?

Anyway, that train wreck is happening, and it all sort of comes to a head one night when Steve comes home to their shared apartment from yet another date, visibly frustrated and a bit disappointed, and Eddie isn't one to say I Told You So (much), but he had told Steve so. He'd said he hadn't liked the look of the guy's profile picture; Eddie has a sense about these things.

But still, he asks, "Bad date?"

Steve shrugs. "It wasn't- terrible."

"Oh, high praise."

"Well, it wasn't!" Steve gives a little laugh. "I mean, he was... nice."

"He bored you, didn't he?" Eddie can't help himself. "I told you he would be boring, who uses a picture of themselves in a suit for their profile on a dating app?"

"He wasn't boring, he was just- nice," Steve hedges. "A little too nice."

Eddie raises his brows. "Like... suspiciously nice?"

"No, not- we just weren't compatible," Steve says, still frustratingly vague.

Eddie is silent, staring at Steve, willing him to go on.

"In bed," Steve finally elaborates with a sigh. "The sex sucked, man."

"Ah." Eddie nods sagely. And then, because - okay, not because he's overly invested in Steve's love life, thank you very much, but because he's a good friend, right? And a good ally. And - yes, fine, he's also a little curious, sue him, but because of all of that, he asks, "You don't like 'em nice?"

Steve snorts. "I'm not saying I like people to be mean, it's just - I mean, it's kinda hot, you know? Having a guy who can push me around a little - take over so I don't have to think. Like, people just kind of assume I want to be in charge, that I'm gonna take over and-" Steve shakes his head, "I dunno, that's just not really what I'm into."

Eddie nods; this is definitely important information that he needs to have, obviously, if he's going to help Steve find The Perfect Guy. And he can't imagine why anyone wouldn't want to give Steve exactly what he wants - he would be so pretty, pressed into the mattress, clutching at the sheets, scrambling for purchase, for a way to channel the pleasure as he gets fucked. Who wouldn't want that?

Like, objectively. Objectively, Steve is an attractive guy, anyone can see that, so objectively he'd probably look hot while getting railed within an inch of his life. That's just science. Surely any guy who also likes guys would be into that.

Eddie realizes he's maybe been silent for too long. "So you're a pillow princess, huh?" he teases, trying to will away the image he's got in his head of Steve begging for some guy's cock, faster, harder-

"Fuck off." Steve gives Eddie a shove, but he's laughing a little. "I am not. I'm definitely not opposed to doing some work to get what I want."

The Steve in Eddie's head that for some reason won't go away shifts from arching his back while on his hands and knees to sitting in some probably undeserving guy's lap, riding him like a fucking pro, head thrown back in ecstasy, and Eddie very much needs to go now, needs to go address the completely unavoidable boner that's come up because they're talking about sex. That's just what happens sometimes. Unavoidably. Totally normal.

"Well, I'll keep that in mind. While we're hunting for your dream guy, I mean," Eddie says quickly, levering himself up off the couch and making for his bedroom as quickly as he can without being suspicious. "Sorry the date was a dud. We'll find your man, though, Stevie, despair not!"

He barely catches a glimpse of the odd look Steve is shooting him before he shuts his bedroom door. He can't think too much on it, because his brain is busy with other things - things like initiating the most confusing jerk-off session of Eddie's life.

But they were just talking about Steve and his preferences in bed, alright? It doesn't have to mean anything that Eddie's suddenly imagining it's his lap that Steve could be bouncing in, whining and crying out as Eddie thrusts up into him, hitting him just right. It doesn't have to mean anything that he imagines putting Steve on his back, imagines Steve's legs wrapped around his waist, imagines holding Steve's hips so hard he leaves finger-shaped bruises, imagines fucking Steve until he's sobbing and still begging for more, because Eddie understands what Steve needs, Eddie can give him what he wants--

It doesn't have to mean anything that Eddie comes harder into the slick clutch of his fist, imagining it's Steve's tight ass, than he has in ages.

It doesn't have to mean anything, but Eddie gets the feeling that maybe it does.

And shit, he may have to do some self reflection.

(Meanwhile, if Steve retires to his own room to have some private time with his favorite toy, fucking himself like he wishes Eddie would, shoving his own fingers in his mouth to keep from calling out his name, that's his business. And if he didn't admit to Eddie that the biggest reason the date had sucked had simply been because the date wasn't him, well - that's Steve's business, too.)

[chxrrywxvss]

now give Logan and Reader a beautiful wedding, babies and a house with white picket fence on the Canadian way of living 🤧

HELP MEE here is my sincere apology for my last post

Every Inch Of Me

“My kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder.”

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Afab!Reader

Word Count: 3k

NOT PROOFREAD.

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm golden hue over the clearing nestled in the Canadian Rockies. The air was fragrant with wildflowers, their colors vibrant against the backdrop of towering pines and majestic mountains. On this perfect day, everything felt imbued with magic. You stood at the end of a makeshift aisle, heart racing, your hands trembling slightly as you clutched a bouquet of white lilies and lavender.

As you took your first steps toward Logan, time seemed to stretch and bend. Each footfall echoed with the love that had carried you both through so much. Logan stood there, waiting for you, his rugged features softened by the gentle light and a look of pure adoration on his face. He wore a simple dark suit, but the way he held himself—strong, yet vulnerable—made him look more handsome than ever.

Friends and family surrounded you—some you had known for years, others who had traveled from far and wide to witness this moment. Among them were familiar faces from the X-Men, each one smiling, their eyes glistening with happiness. You could see Storm, dressed in an elegant gown, her joy radiating like the sun; and Scott, adjusting his tie nervously as he exchanged glances with Jean, who beamed with pride.

As you walked down the aisle, every gaze felt like a warm embrace, but it was Logan’s eyes that captured you completely. They were a storm of emotions—love, joy, and a hint of disbelief. You could feel the weight of the moment pressing down on you, a blend of excitement and nervousness swirling in your stomach.

When you finally reached him, the world around you faded into a blur. The officiant’s voice was a distant hum as you and Logan locked eyes, the connection palpable and electric. “Do you, [name], take Logan to be your lawfully wedded husband?” The words washed over you, and with a breathless nod, you responded, “I do.”

Logan’s expression softened further, and you could see the man who had fought so hard against his past, now standing before you, ready to embrace a future filled with love. “And do you, Logan, take [name] to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

His voice was steady, but you could feel the depth of his emotion. “I do,” he said, his gaze unwavering, as if he were promising you the very world itself

With vows exchanged and rings slipped onto fingers, the officiant pronounce you husband and wife. The moment was surreal, and as you leaned in for your first kiss, the cheers from your friends and family erupted around you, echoing through the mountains like a joyous song. It felt as though the earth itself rejoiced with you.

As your lips met, you melted into him, feeling the warmth radiate from his body. This was it—the culmination of countless battles, both external and internal, that had brought you here. In that kiss, you tasted the promise of forever, the union of two souls who had weathered storms together and emerged stronger.

When you broke apart, his forehead rested against yours, and you could see the unshed tears glistening in his eyes. “I can’t believe we did it,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

You smiled, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “We did it together, Logan.”

With laughter and tears mingling, you turned to face your loved ones, their faces beaming with joy. The celebration began, filled with music, dancing, and heartfelt speeches. You and Logan shared the first dance, surrounded by twinkling lights strung overhead. As you swayed to the music, he held you close, his heart beating in sync with yours.

“I never thought I could feel this way,” he murmured, his breath warm against your ear. “You’ve changed everything for me.”

Tears brimmed in your eyes, and you tightened your grip around his neck. “You’ve always been worth it, Logan. You’ve always been worth fighting for.”

—-----------------------------------------------------

The day had finally arrived. After weeks of searching, you and Logan stood in front of your new home, a quaint white picket house nestled against the backdrop of the majestic Canadian Rockies. The sun bathed the landscape in a warm glow, and the air was crisp with the scent of pine and fresh earth. You could hardly believe it; this was the place where you would build your life together.

Logan turned to you, a mix of disbelief and joy on his rugged face. “Can you believe we actually did it?” His voice was husky, filled with emotion as he took in the sight of the house. “This is ours.”

You nodded, tears welling in your eyes. “It’s perfect,” you whispered, feeling a rush of excitement. You stepped forward to touch the white picket fence, running your fingers along the smooth wood. It felt like a promise of all the memories you would create here.

As you walked toward the front door, Logan’s hand found yours, and together you opened the door to your new life. The inside was a blank canvas, the walls waiting to be filled with laughter and love. Sunlight streamed through the windows, illuminating the wooden floors, and you could almost hear the echoes of future footsteps.

“What do you think?” Logan asked, glancing around the living room, where a fireplace stood at the far end, its mantle waiting for family photos and decorations.

“It’s beautiful,” you replied, imagining how cozy it would be during the winter months, the two of you snuggled up by the fire with a cup of hot cocoa. “We could put a big, comfy couch here,” you suggested, pointing to a spot just opposite the fireplace. “One where we can all sit together.”

“Yeah, a big one,” he said, nodding thoughtfully. “And maybe a couple of armchairs. We could have a reading corner for the kids.”

Your heart swelled at the thought. “And a bookshelf filled with stories. I want to read to them every night,” you added, picturing Logan sitting in that corner, reading to your future children as they nestled against him, their eyes wide with wonder.

“Definitely,” Logan agreed, his expression softening. “I want them to know all the stories I loved as a kid. And maybe some of the ones I never got to hear.”

You took a moment to soak in the atmosphere, a sense of permanence washing over you. “This is where we’ll have our family,” you said, your voice trembling with emotion. “Can you imagine? Kids running around in the yard, playing in the snow, climbing the trees…”

His eyes sparkled as he pictured it, too. “I can see it now. A little girl with your smile, and a boy who’s just as stubborn as me,” he said with a chuckle.

You laughed, the sound light and airy, but it quickly turned into a heartfelt sigh as you thought of the future. “I want them to have adventures, Logan. To explore this beautiful place, to play in the mountains, to know that they’re safe and loved.”

Logan stepped closer, wrapping his arms around you. “They will be, darlin’. You and me? We’ll make sure of it.” His voice was low and sincere, the weight of his words resting comfortably in your heart.

With a gentle squeeze, he pulled back and surveyed the empty room once more. “What about the kitchen? We need a big table. Somewhere we can all gather for meals.”

“Yes! A big, rustic dining table where we can have family dinners,” you said, your excitement bubbling over.

Logan chuckled, the sound deep and rich. “And I’ll be the one cooking, right?” He raised an eyebrow playfully.

“Of course!” you laughed, picturing him in an apron with flour dusting his cheeks. “You’ll be the best chef ever. Just don’t burn the pancakes.”

“Hey, I can handle pancakes,” he said, feigning offense, but the warmth in his eyes told you he loved the idea. “And I can teach them to chop vegetables. We’ll have a whole cooking crew.”

You stepped back to take in the space more fully, your mind racing with possibilities. “What about the backyard? We could have a swing set, maybe a little garden. I want the kids to learn how to plant flowers and vegetables.”

“Definitely,” he agreed, his enthusiasm matching yours. “I can build a treehouse, too. Just like I always wanted when I was a kid.”

You could see it clearly—a wooden structure nestled in the branches, a place for your children to escape to, to dream and play. “They’ll love it. Just imagine them up there, playing pirates or explorers.”

Logan’s expression turned serious as he looked at you. “You know, I never thought I’d want a family. Not with everything I’ve been through,” he admitted, his voice dropping to a whisper. “But with you, I see a future. I see them.”

The two of you stood in that empty room, the weight of your dreams and aspirations swirling around you. You could almost hear the laughter of children, the footsteps echoing through the halls, the warmth of family dinners filling the air with love. In that moment, you felt a profound connection—not just to Logan, but to the life you were about to build together.

As you stepped out onto the porch, the mountains stood tall in the distance, a silent witness to your journey. You turned to Logan, your heart brimming with hope. “This is just the beginning, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he replied, pulling you close. “The beginning of everything.”

—-----------------------------------------------------

Logan stood outside, the crisp mountain air filling his lungs as he swung the axe down, splitting the log with a satisfying thud. Each strike resonated with a rhythm that mirrored the steady beat of his heart, a heartbeat that felt more alive than ever since you had come into his life. The chill of the approaching winter nipped at his skin, but the warmth of home—and you—drove him to keep working.

He paused for a moment, wiping the sweat from his brow and glancing back at the house. The white picket fence surrounded a place that had become a sanctuary, a home where laughter echoed through the halls. He could hear you inside, probably preparing lunch or tidying up, the sound of your movements a sweet melody he had come to adore.

Just as he was about to lift the axe again, he heard the front door swing open. He turned to see you rushing toward him, a sparkle in your eyes that sent a rush of warmth through him. He raised an eyebrow, a smirk forming on his lips. “What’s got you in such a hurry, darlin’?”

Before he could even process your words, you launched yourself into his arms, knocking him backward onto the soft earth. The impact was unexpected, and he landed with a thud, the air whooshing from his lungs. He looked up at you, a mix of surprise and joy flooding through him.

“Logan! I’m pregnant!” you shouted, your face lit up with excitement, eyes sparkling like the stars above the mountains.

For a moment, time froze. The world around him faded, and all he could focus on was you—your smile, the way your hair caught the sunlight, the sheer joy radiating from you. The enormity of your words sank in, and a rush of emotions crashed over him like a wave. He felt the weight of the past lift, replaced by a joy he had never imagined possible.

“Pregnant?” he echoed, disbelief mingling with elation. He blinked several times, trying to absorb the reality of what you had just said. Tears prickled at the corners of his eyes, a vulnerability he hardly ever allowed himself to show.

You nodded enthusiastically, your laughter bubbling up like a spring. “Yes! We’re going to have a baby!”

Unable to contain himself, Logan pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you, burying his face in your neck. The scent of you—warm, comforting, and utterly intoxicating—filled his senses. “Oh, God,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “This is… this is incredible.”

He could feel the tremors of his own body as he held you, the strength of his arms contrasting with the fragility of the moment. You pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, and he saw the glistening joy reflected in yours. “I didn’t know how you’d react,” you confessed, your voice softening.

“React?” he said, a laugh escaping his lips, a sound he hadn’t made in what felt like ages. “I’m… I’m just so damn happy.”

Tears began to flow freely down his cheeks, and he didn’t care. He was overwhelmed, raw with emotion, the weight of his past, of his fears, melting away in the face of this new life you were bringing into the world. “You’re serious?” he asked again, his heart racing.

“Absolutely,” you said, your voice cracking slightly as you grinned down at him. “I’m going to be a mother, Logan. We’re going to be parents!”

With a sudden surge of energy, he flipped you over, pinning you playfully beneath him in the soft grass. “You’re not just saying this to get out of chores, are you?” he teased, though the joy in his eyes betrayed the lightness of the moment.

You laughed, a sound that filled the air with warmth. “No way! This is the real deal!”

Logan’s heart swelled as he stared into your eyes. In that moment, he understood the depth of the love you shared. This wasn’t just about the two of you anymore; this was the beginning of a family, a legacy that would carry your love forward. The thought filled him with a fierce protectiveness.

With a sudden seriousness, he leaned down, resting his forehead against yours. “I’ll do everything I can to protect you both,” he vowed, his voice low and steady. “You have my word.”

“I know you will,” you whispered, your breath warm against his skin. “And I’ll be right there with you.”

As he pulled you into his arms again, the weight of the world felt lighter. The mountains stood tall around you, a testament to the strength of your love. In that moment, Logan knew that he would face anything for you and the life you were about to build together.

“Let’s go inside,” he said eventually, pulling you to your feet and planting a kiss on your forehead. “We’ve got a lot to plan.”

“Like what?” you asked, a mischievous glint in your eye.

“Like what color to paint the nursery,” he replied, grinning. “And how to keep this little one from turning into a troublemaker like their old man.”

You laughed, and as you both walked back toward the house, hand in hand, Logan felt a profound sense of peace wash over him. He wasn’t afraid anymore; he was ready to embrace the future. Together, you would create a life filled with love, laughter, and the pitter-patter of little feet.

—-----------------------------------------------------

Life in the mountains wasn’t without its challenges. Logan’s past often cast long shadows over your bright days. He struggled with the demons of his history, moments when his temper flared or when the weight of his past threatened to pull him under. But through it all, you stood by him, reassuring him with your love.

One evening, after a particularly tough day, Logan sat on the porch, staring into the distance. You could see the storm brewing in his eyes. “I’m not the man you think I am,” he said, his voice heavy.

You sat beside him, taking his hand in yours. “You’re my husband and the father of our children. That’s all that matters.”

“But I’ve done things… seen things that haunt me,” he replied, anguish lacing his words.

“I know,” you said softly. “But that doesn’t define you. You’re here now, and you’re doing your best. Our kids don’t see the past; they see the man who loves them.”

His gaze softened as he looked at you, the turmoil in his eyes slowly giving way to understanding. “I don’t want to hurt you or them.”

“You won’t,” you promised. “We’re a team. No matter what comes, we’ll face it together.”

“Now, come on. The kids want you inside for dinner.” you smiled and stood, taking his hand.

—-----------------------------------------------------

As the years rolled on, the mountains witnessed the growth of your family, each day filled with new adventures and cherished moments. You built snowmen in the winter, hiked through vibrant autumn leaves, and spent lazy summer days by the lake. The love that filled your home was palpable, a warm glow that could weather any storm.

One crisp autumn evening, as the leaves danced in the wind, Logan pulled you aside. “I’ve been thinking,” he began, his voice steady.

You looked up at him, heart racing. “About what?”

“About us. About everything we’ve built together.” He paused, his eyes searching yours. “I’m not afraid anymore.”

Those words hung in the air, a promise and a confession. You felt tears prick at your eyes, overwhelmed by the depth of his love and the journey you had taken together.

“Logan…” you whispered, your heart swelling.

He stepped closer, cupping your face in his hands. “I’m not afraid of my past. I’m not afraid of losing you or our kids. You’ve shown me what love really is, and I’m ready to embrace it all. I’m not afraid anymore.”

In that moment, you knew that whatever trials lay ahead, you would face them together. The mountains stood tall behind you, the stars beginning to twinkle overhead as you shared a kiss, sealing your promise of love. With Logan by your side, you were ready to conquer the world.

—-----------------------------------------------------

Years passed, and your children grew, but the love between you and Logan remained as strong as ever. You often found yourselves reflecting on the journey—a wedding in the mountains, a home filled with laughter, and the beauty of family.

As you and Logan sat together on the porch, watching your daughter and son play in the leaves, you leaned against him, feeling content. “Can you believe how far we’ve come?” you asked, smiling.

“Yeah, it’s been a hell of a ride,” he replied, his arm pulling you closer.

“And I wouldn’t trade a single moment,” you said, your heart full.

“I love you,” he murmured, planting a soft kiss on your forehead.

“I love you too, Logan. Always.”

And as the sun set behind the mountains, you knew that everything would be alright.

[softshuji]

𝟒:𝟐𝟕𝐏𝐌 | 𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐈 𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐔

Title: Maybe, somewhere in another life.

Summary: Rindou and you believe you have forever to confess to each other, but on the eve of the Haitani's biggest fight, you realize time is slipping away and that things are about to change. Reblogs Appreciated!

Cw: fem!reader, tenjiku era Rindou, reader wears heels, dresses and makeup, semi-suggestive, pet names (princess, pretty thing), mutual pining, vague mentions of violence but that's it! Back to masterlist here.

Rindou has been fiddling with the ends of his hair for nearly 20 minutes now. The blue has faded a little, and he absent-mindedly makes a mental note to re-dye it when he can. Perhaps, he thinks, you might even help him this time. He’d like that. 

He sees the light in your room flick off and then hears the jingle of keys as you leave and bound down the steps from your apartment complex.

Both of you are young and the summer of that year is swelteringly hot, the sky a sheet of deepest blue. You’re silly, innocent in ways neither of you quite know yet and you assume you have all the time in the world to figure things out, to figure each other out. 

Rindou watches you fiddle with the strap of your heels, grinning sheepishly at him over the tall and overgrown hedge and he suppresses a small and hesitant smile when you practically skip over to him.

You jump, throwing your arms around him, your hair tickling his nose as he pulls you into the hug and his chest rumbles as he chuckles. His shirt is soft against your cheek, the ends of his blue and blond hair dancing on your skin. He smells of strawberries and clean linen, of a warm summer morning and endless possibility.

‘Miss me?’ You pull away and the sun’s stark rays hit your eyes at such an angle that the outline of his body is a glittering yellow. 

‘You weren’t sick for that long,’ he replies deadpan, rolling his eyes, with the beginnings of a smile curling at his lips all the same.

‘It was two weeks!’ 

‘See? Not that long,’ he says, outright grinning when you pout and unwillingly his eyes shift to your lips, the bottom one pulled in by your teeth. It is not the first time he has thought about kissing you. Not the first time he’s thought about biting down on your lips, his hands moving along your sides, dipping his head till your nose brushes his and he feels your hot breath against his mouth. 

‘So you didn’t miss me?’ You fold your arms over your chest in mock outrage. You have these little games between you, inside jokes and quirks, tiny moments that flit through your friendship and then fall between your fingers. It’s been that way for years between you, and the friendship has always felt easy and good, a cool breeze in the swarming heat, water in the desert.

‘I didn’t say that, did I Princess?’ And he is lucky, he thinks, that the warm heat of this particularly hot July, is a good cover for the red tickling his ears and cheeks, that it gives him an out for just how flustered he feels in your presence. Every time you lean in and he catches the faintest trace of your perfume still lingering on your skin and his vision swims just a little as the scent settles on his tongue.

You are both young and in love and neither of you know that yet either. You both wrongly think your feelings are one sided, unrequited, and yet this friendship of tentative smiles and secret glances, of days spent under the stars, is too precious for either of you to risk doing anything for. 

The bike dips as you sit, your hands finding purchase on the smooth planes of his abdomen and you fail to catch the shuddering breath, the hiss that escapes his lips when your legs tense and your hands squeeze too hard around him. The muscles in his back shift and slide as he leans forward, revving the engine and then speeding off, the wind whipping your hair, blowing the hem of your dress up enough to expose your thighs. Despite that, despite the glare of the sun and the stickiness of the air, you hide your face in him all the same, relishing in the way his heartbeat thrums under your cheek, the slip of his muscles under his skin. You wish you could be even closer than this, that you could touch him, cradle his face, press your lips to the curve of his shoulder.

‘No need to hold on so hard Princess, you won’t fall off!’ He yells over the rush of the wind and the blare of car horns, increasing the speed when you squeal and bunch your hands into fists, grabbing his shirt between your fingers.

It’s a common pastime for the both of you, to ride around late into the night, the street lights turning the tarmac a coppery burnt orange, the air now refreshing and cool, the moon opalescent and shimmering white in a clear sky of stars. You go for hours, the silence punctuated only by the revving of the engine and the dangerously loud drumming of your heart.

The hot afternoon gives way to a rosy dusk and the sunlight bleeds into the horizon, a splash of red and orange. The clouds are pink, scattered, and the remaining light makes Rindou’s eyes flash lilac and pale violet when you look at him. And you’ve known him for so long that you don’t mind the way his eyes linger on you when you adjust the hem of your sundress because his gaze is warm when it falls on you. Warm, genuine and you know if you asked him to stop, he really would.

 Perhaps this is all too much effort, too meticulous, too extreme for two people who call each other best friends but Rindou was the sort of person you felt it was right to make the effort for. 

Those nights, days, months even, when he’d hit up a convenience store at midnight just because your voice on the phone was punctuated by barely repressed sobs. When the solitude and crushing weight became a little too much to bear and Rindou was always there, his voice sometimes laced with sleep, rubbing the grit from his eyes, just to see you again. He’d knock tentatively on your door, muttering a muted ‘Princess?’ before slipping in and curling against your body under the weight of the comforter. It had always just felt natural for him to slot against you, to breathe in the scent of your hair, wrapping his arms around you, tight enough to shatter the aches and pains, to will the hurt away. 

Ran would call sometimes as the two of you were giving way to sleep, listening to the whir of the air conditioning unit and the thwack of branches against the wall outside.

‘Where are you?’ he’d say, and you would hear the jingle and clatter of keys through the receiver.

‘I’m with Y/N,’ Rindou would reply, his eyes closed and fluttering with the heavy weight of fatigue, lashes dark and long under the moonlight.

‘Right.’ Ran would smirk knowingly on the other side, undoing his braids with one hand and cupping the receiver to his ear. ‘Well, see you in the morning then. Have fun!’ And Rindou would groan and dash the phone onto the bedside table as he descended into sleep.

He parks beside your house again, the bike hidden by a tall cherry blossom tree, whose branches are dotted with rosy pink petals and extends a hand to help you off the back. His shirt is clinging to him, the sweat not just from the hot and sticky summer air but from the tight coil of nerves winding around his ribcage, a consequence maybe of being near you.

He holds your hand in his as you lead him to the entrance of your house, his thumb painstakingly brushing over every knuckle, so gently, so tentatively, as if you are a porcelain doll he’s afraid to crack. You glance down and the silver sliver of scars on his palms, his knuckles and arms, catch the light of the sun dipping on the horizon. 

From here, the skyline is a shimmering line of lights winking at you, and the streetlight just beyond your house splutters to life.

‘Thanks for today Rin,’ you say and turn to face him, your eyes level and his hand still in yours. You glance left and then right, your ears alert and trained for the hum of your parents approaching car. But you’re safe for now. 

A hesitant smile pulls at his lips and he looks down, kicks absent-mindedly at the lush grass beneath him. 

‘Do I get anything?’ he says and lifts his head to flash you a cheeky grin. 

‘For what?’ 

‘For today obviously and for bodyguarding you every day.’ He raises an eyebrow and smiles outright, the sun filtering through the blond strands of his wispy hair. He shimmers gold again and the sun, in all its glory, dances on his skin.

‘Last time I checked I didn’t ask you to.’ You roll your eyes and your nose crinkles as your gaze softens. That’s the point though isn’t it? You didn’t ask him to and he did it anyway. Just like you didn’t ask him to buy the expensive necklace on your birthday that had your initials in gold or open the honey jars when you were sick, or carry you sleeping on his back, resting your head in the curve of his neck. All of these, he just did, because he is so irrevocably him, so full of contradictions and complexities and strange wonders. Your Rindou, always yours.

He steps closer and you see the smooth column of his throat lift up and down as he swallows the lump there.It’s now or never Haitani, he thinks. Come on, you’ve been in gang fights, and you’re afraid of a kiss?

He hears Ran in his head, feels his Brother pushing him gently as he sucks in his bottom lip, his stomach tight with nerves, and he’s so anxious he thinks he might pass out if he doesn’t just do it.

‘Rin?’ Your eyebrows crease when you can’t read the emotions on his face, the way he looks terrified and yet breathtakingly beautiful, the way his pupils shift and dilate and his lips part as if he’s going to say something. ‘Are you okay?’ 

Faintly, in the distance, rising over the city skyline, the night’s first star winks at you, a coruscating silver. Venus, the morning and evening star, that shines so brightly that it is the first to appear and the last to leave at dawn. 

His eyes fall to your lips, tantalisingly close, and he knows all he has to do is bridge the distance, tilt his head and let it happen, that you probably taste of cherries and promises, of summer nights and new beginnings. God he shouldn’t want it this much. But he can’t help it. He can’t help that you’re pretty, kind, that he wants his name on your rib cage and his tongue  to explore your mouth, that he wants to spend hours with his hands on your body.

‘Y-Yeah,’ he says, and as you hear the drone of a familiar car, the moment passes and Rindou curses himself for what must be the umpteenth time today for not being braver and just taking the plunge.

‘Well.’ You rock on your heels and flash him an earnest smile. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah? Same time?’

He nods and his chest deflates with disappointment, resentment at himself and at the bubble of longing that threatens to break him every time he’s near you. 

You wave over your shoulder, blowing a kiss at him as you slip into your house and Rindou shoves his hands into his pocket, kicking at the grass as he turns towards the direction of home, seething with anger at himself. 

Both of you are young and you think there is plenty of opportunity, that you know the future, that everything, despite the scruples of life, can stay the same, that you have plenty of time to fall in love.

You are wrong. 

The next day, you bound from your front door, looking left and right as you usually do, before crossing to the hedge that separates your house from the cherry tree outside.

You’re early, and so you don’t expect him to be there just yet. You pop your head around, look down the lane, the summer heat scorching the back of your neck, half expecting to see the flash of blue and blond hair rapidly approaching you but to your dismay, there is nothing but the smell of burning tarmac and the heat.

You wait. And the hours drain by. Lunchtime to afternoon, afternoon to sunset, and there is a funny feeling in your chest that can only come with the anxiety of having had all your calls to his phone go straight to voicemail.

You try Ran and are confronted by the beep beep of the automated voice telling you ‘the number you have called is not available.’

Something in you deflates, even more so the next day when Rindou fails to show up, the spot by the cherry tree just as vacant as it was before. You wipe your sweaty palms on the hem of your sundress when you knock tentatively on their door, hoping that at some point, either of them will crack it open and you’ll be greeted by Rindou’s fuzzy bedhead, hearing him mutter under his breath as he searches for his glasses. 

But again, the sun settles on the horizon and the moon climbs high into the sky. Like that, the days pilfer on by, and no amount of asking around brings you any closer to finding the truth. Your heart cleaves every night, and when you look at the moon, you wonder if he’s doing the same, if wherever he is, he’s safe and perhaps happy, that maybe he simply just didn’t want to know anymore. It hurts, and the pain brings a fresh tundra of tears but you could live with that, you think. The thought that maybe he just moved on, because it was a safer alternative to what your heart told you, that perhaps messing around in gangs had finally caught up with him. Your tears blur your vision when you think about the concept of a world without him, without the promise of kissing him, of feeling him curve against your spine on the cold nights. 

And like that, a year comes and goes. Then two. Then ten.

And as much as you want to spend forever thinking about him, trawling through the country, overturning every single crevice to find him, you know life goes on, and it won’t wait for you to finally accept what in your heart you know to be true, before it thrusts you back into the fold.

You graduate, you have a few boyfriends and girlfriends, you move out, and it seems like for a time, you are content. Perhaps not happy, but content, and at this point, you’ll take what you can get. An apartment in a high rise, a stable job that pays semi-decently, friends you see occasionally for coffee.

And the loneliness of a lifetime. Because no matter what you gain, the gaping hole of the loss never heals, and sometimes he is there in every blue sky, and every shimmering star, every appearance of the moon.

You think about him often still, at least once every day, and always with a soft spike of sadness in your heart. Your best friend, your moon and stars. The smile previously on your lips drops again as you trudge through the snow and you’re not sure why today of all days you feel like crying for him, why your heart aches with such longing to feel the smooth planes of his stomach under your hands, to tuck his hair behind his ear, to kiss his wrist and watch the blush faintly colour his cheeks. 

‘God, get over it,’ you mutter to yourself, wiping your nose with a sodden tissue now softly mildewed by the cold air. You sniffle, suppressing the sob, opting to wipe your eyes with your gloved hands, your feet slogging through the thick layer of snow and it feels like you’re pulling the weight of the world with you as you do.

You slip, your feet tumbling out from underneath you. You squeeze your eyes shut, preparing to hit the hardened snow face first, throwing your hands out to break the fall.

Which never comes.

‘You need to be careful.’ A hand around your wrist, the other lifting you by the elbow, strong and firm, the warmth of it seeping through your coat. ‘You could have gotten seriously hurt.’

The shock of losing your footing has your head disorientated and your eyes are wild as you struggle to regain your footing again, the streetlight casting a pale orange glow on your panicked silhouette. You grasp onto the hand and right yourself, blowing hair from your eyes, partly ashamed for having fallen in the first place and partly embarrassed at having done it whilst crying.

‘Thank you,’ you say and stand, dusting off the delicate flakes of snow from the hem of your coat. ‘I’m a little clumsy, I’m sorry.’

‘It happens.’

You look up. 

Into a pair of lilac eyes flashing with hues of violet, irises outlined in gold from the reflection of the streetlight. 

At first, he only stares, his brow creasing as he rifles through the memories of the last ten years and you can almost see the cogs turning in his head, the shift and slide of the film of memories playing.

‘Y/N?’ he says, his breath a cold plume, wavering and uncertain, the mist curling from his pink lips. 

You think your chest might explode, and it takes a starved and choked breath for your vision to stop swimming enough to formulate a response.

You shake your head. ‘You’re not him. You can’t be.’ You take a step back, feel the snow crunching under your boot, your back brushing against the lamppost and you glance at the your shadows lengthened along the ground. Your heart climbs up your throat, threatens to push its way out of your mouth and the sensation is dizzying. Your head spins, a pulsing pain that creeps up your temple.

This is a sick joke. Not even you could have come up with this. 

‘Rin?’ Your lip wobbles and you realize absent-mindedly, he still has your wrist in his grip, his eyebrows furrowed as he searches your face for some element of recognition. You’re still not sure it’s him, it really truly can’t be can it? He’s gone, he left, he died and you suffered and mourned him for years. You screamed at the wall and left yourself to rot, wishing you could join him in death. You deliberately kept the news out of your life because you couldn’t let it confirm what you already felt to be true.

‘Y/N….’ Not a question this time. His lips part and his eyes widen when the weight of the truth crashes down on him. 

‘Y/N,’ he says again, as if tasting your name for the first time in eleven years and oh how you’ve missed it, the way your name sounds on his tongue. Like sugared lemons and starlight.

‘You…’ And your tongue is a rock inside your mouth, slack, heavy and unmoving. ‘You changed your hair…’ 

He laughs, albeit hesitantly, his grip on your wrist softening. He takes a step forward and as he moves into the light, you catch the vague shape of a tattoo on the smooth column of his throat. 

‘Yeah,’ he says and rubs the nape of his neck, the pink and purple strands of the wolfish mullet he’s sporting lifting slightly with the sharp breeze. ‘I had to change things up a little.’

You bite your lip and tentatively step forward, lifting your hand to touch him, to feel the realness of him under your fingers. You tentatively brush the hair from his forehead, tracing the high cut of his cheekbones, his full lips, your thumb skimming the tattoo at the base of his throat. Anything to feel the realness of him, to feel the warm blood pulsing under his skin. 

He flinches. You wonder at what manner of horrors he has seen, what he could not tell you that he suffered.

The question on the tip of your tongue is a boulder, and as much as you want to ask, you’re still afraid of the answer. Would it hurt more to know or not know? Would it change anything?

You swallow thickly. ‘What happened Rin?’ Where did you go? Why did you leave? 

He looks down, kicks the snow at his feet, and the action has your chest tightening with nostalgia. In your mind you see the grass, the cherry blossom tree long since cut down, the house and the hedge you tried to hide behind.

‘The day after,’ he says. ‘I was arrested. Both me and Ran. When I came out, things had changed.’ 

‘How?’ 

‘I couldn’t involve you anymore.’

The gravity of it descends on you and you want to argue, to say it wasn’t his choice to make, to say that he owed you an explanation when he was released. But in your heart, you know it makes sense, and perhaps that sort of understanding can only come from two people who’ve known each other like you have because you know you’d have done the same. Sometimes one must be cruel to be kind.

‘I waited…’ You don’t mean for it to sound so needy and desperate, for the tendrils of heartbreak that have built up over the years to leak into your voice, but they do and your eyes well with unshed tears. ‘I waited for so long, Rin. I thought you’d died.’

His life had never been a secret to you. You’d known what he was involved in, the gangs, the violence, the multitudes of criminal activity that was only spoken about in hushed whispers. You’d stayed anyway, because a dangerous life with him was better than a safe one without.

‘I’m sorry…’ he says and he knows the words have no weight, that they can’t begin to undo the years of pain he’s put you through, the longing, the yearning, the nights he couldn’t be there when you’d needed him. Maybe he says it just as much for you as he does for himself, for what he denied himself, for pushing down his ache to have you, to love you. 

‘Oi! Can you hurry up?! Mikey’s going to have my ass if we’re late!’ A man with pink hair shouts in your direction, leaning on the open car door, his scarred mouth curved in a grin. 

Rindou turns back towards you, his parted lips trembling with cold, his jacket doing very little to protect him from the sharp winter chill. He is still as graceful as ever, still a star you can only graze with the tips of your fingers.

‘Y/N I- I have to go,’ he says and the words cut through the both of you. There is so much you have yet to say, so much pain you have yet to voice. Despite this however, despite the heartbreak of the ten years, you know you’ve already forgiven him, that you’d done so the minute he left and would have done no matter the circumstances. You love him, he loves you and although it isn’t enough, that this is a case of the right person at the wrong time, you know the outcome on your part would be the same. You’d wait a thousand years if he asked you to.

‘Wait-’ You grab his sleeve with your trembling fingers, ‘Don’t…’

‘I have to.’ 

Can we go back to the way things were? You want to ask. Can we ever be like that again?

‘I only mean,’ you say, casting your gaze to the sky, as if searching for the words in the stars. ‘Don’t be a stranger yeah? Come say hi, when you get a chance. Please.’

Yes you are desperate, the both of you are, and it would be so easy to grab onto that red string of fate and let it pull you along to each other, as it has always done. But you know in your heart, that some things are changed forever, that there is no more trailing after him, no more of him borrowing your light like the moon does to the sun. 

Your heart splinters when he gives you a shaky smile and you have a visceral urge to kiss the corner of his mouth, to ghost your lips over his neck, your warm breath on his collarbones. Just like before, the moment passes and the moon passes behind a cloud again, cloaking you in semi-darkness.

‘Of course. I’ll always be your bodyguard won’t I?’ he says, grinning outright now, the edges of his smile tinged with barely concealed sorrow. A thrum of watery pain lances through your heart. 

‘Yeah…You will.’ A tear slips, sprints down your cold cheek and disappears into the fabric of your scarf.

He turns, walking back to the car, looking over his shoulder at you still under the streetlight, watching him with your scarf between your fingers, small and fragile and as big a crybaby as ever and he thinks that this is the moment his heart breaks, when he leaves you for a second time. He lifts a hand to wave, uncertain, cautious and meticulous as he’s always been.

He could go back, he could run towards you like before, and you’d barrel straight into his arms and he’d pick you up with ease, twirl you around and slot his lips against yours like he should have done. 

Even as he thinks this, he knows how unrealistic it is to drum up the stuff of daydreams, that even if he does stay in touch, the past is a dead body long buried. The life he leads now is even more dangerous than before. 

He slips into the car. 

‘Ready?’ The pink one asks from the driver’s seat. 

‘Yeah,’ Rindou says and casts a final glance at you, still standing there, waiting as you always have and the guilt churning in his stomach is a parasitic worm.

‘Who was that girl?’ 

Rindou narrows his eyes at the pink one through the rear-view mirror. ‘Why?’

‘She’s a pretty thing isn’t she?’ 

‘Don’t even think about it, I’ll rip your throat out.’

Sanzu snickers and raises his hands in mock surrender. ‘Why not? Could show her a thing or two.’

‘Are you begging to die or something?’ Rindou bites his cheek and resists the urge to look back again.

You watch the car speed off, see the purple mullet through the back window, and you wonder if this is what heartbreak really feels like, to have him and then not. 

Perhaps in another life, you might have got it right, might have been able to have what others took for granted.

At some point, the moon moves from behind the clouds and the snow is pearly white under its light, flakes gathering on the hem of your coat, your collar, your lips. It lights the way as you traverse home, ice and snow and sleet crunching under your feet. The moon and stars, the only witnesses to your shared pain, as they always have been.

a/n: I have no explanation for the tragedy of this on halrin anniversary, please accept my deepest apologies !!!!

taglist: @reiners-milkbiddies @mxnjiros @prettyiolanthe @sugusshi @snakegentleman @haitaniapologist @lonnie19 @nafarsiti @bejeweled-night-33 @ranscutedoll @the-travelling-witch @orchid3a @rottingreveries @qiiuusoup-xo @hoetani @sinfulseashell @welcome-to-the-internet-it-sucks @obitohno @sweet-seishu @burnishedcrown @saintokkotsu @nikokopuffs @sin-and-punishment @deskaisers @mochimiyaas @bertholdts--butt @theaonlax @blackfire2013 @wotakuhime @severellamahottub

Let me know if you would like to be added!

[rebelfell]

The Third Date

Eddie Munson x Anorgasmic!Reader

When you move back to Hawkins after graduating college, you find yourself reconnecting with an old friend in a new way. Your first two dates with Eddie Munson are everything you’d ever dreamed, but the next one has you unraveling.

Part One│Part Two

cw: childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining, deceased parent, mentions of poor sexual experiences, some drinking, sexual anxiety, making out, fingering, panic attack, eddie being sweet and reassuring, fluffy ending.

I was kinda in my feelings and needed Eddie to tell me all the right things. Sue me.

18+, MDNI 7k

You used to like this mirror.

It was vintage. Full length with an ornate gold frame, swirling embellishments on the top and sides. Not to mention it was a fucking steal at $10 from an estate sale. You’d liked it enough to make it one of the scant number of things you hauled all the way back to Hawkins when you moved out of your shoebox apartment in the city.

Right now, though? You kind of hated it. 

Usually, standing before it made you feel stately and elegant, even if all you had on was ratty denim shorts and a threadbare t-shirt riddled with holes and bleach stains. Yet here you were in one of your favorite outfits, hair meticulously styled, face glowing and dewy after spending an hour on it, and all you felt was ridiculous.

Not the mirror’s fault, technically. But it was the messenger. It told you at every twist of your hips, at every outfit change, at every pluck and tug of your clothes, that you were never going to look right—that you were never going to feel right. And it mocked every failed attempt to do so.

You inhale, breath shallow and shaky as you try yet again to calm down. It’s just a date, you tried to remind yourself. It’s just a date and he’s just a guy. There’s nothing to be worried about. 

Except it wasn’t just a date.

It was the auspicious Third Date.

And it certainly wasn’t just a guy…it was Eddie.

This was something you’d been waiting for forever. For longer than forever. For longer than you could count. Eddie Munson was your oldest and dearest friend. Growing up, you were like each other’s second heads—facing the worst of what small minds in a small town in Indiana cooked up. You stood, middle fingers brandished like swords, dreaming of a wider world.

It felt strange to think this would only be your third date when you’d basically been dating since you were thirteen. You went to movies together, wasted weekday afternoons at the record store, lounged on the gravelly bank of Lover’s Lake reading well-worn paperbacks—Two Towers for him, Dorothy Parker for you. He begged you to sit in on Hellfire when he started the club your junior year and only had three members, himself included. He’d sneak you into the dive bar where his band played Tuesday nights, and you would immediately stick out among the five drunks who assembled every week. But as long as all you ordered was ginger ale and swore up and down you weren’t a cop, the bartender let you sit there all night to watch him.

Nights never ended the way “real” dates did. No hands being held as he walked you from his van to your doorstep; no kisses under flickering porch lights scored by a cricket symphony.

He never touched you too much, always quick to withdraw his hands when they lingered on your hip or back or arm. That would change, though, if he smoked or drank a bit and his cuddly side came out. Secretly, you longed for these times. You reveled in having his chin rest on your shoulder or his arms wind around your waist to hold you close. It never felt gross or crossed the line into groping like with other, lesser, guys looking for something to fondle. With Eddie, it felt more like he was showing you how he wished he could be all the time.

At least that’s what you let yourself imagine. 

He always apologized the following day, just short of castrating himself over it. It made you want to slap him. Slap him and then kiss him and slap him again. How could he not get it? How could he not see how goddamn in love with him you were? How could he not feel the same way? You waved him off, assuring him he hadn’t done anything wrong. All the while thinking, you fucking idiot, and not even knowing if you were referring to him or yourself.

Then came graduation. Or rather, your graduation and his sullen admission he wasn't eligible, which lead to the longest, most difficult conversation of your lives so far. It wasn’t even a conversation so much as it was you swinging wildly between reactions—scolding him for not telling you sooner; grasping at the straws of extra credit assignments your teachers would never assign; volunteering to stand guard while he broke into the administration office.

Eventually, though, you had to face the reality of losing him and it left a prominent break in your heart. Your acceptance letter to a school in Indianapolis that used to make you feel weightless, like you could finally fly out of here, now felt more like chains dragging you away.

You had half a mind to take him with you. You must have rehearsed the speech you wanted to make something like fifty times. Screw Hawkins, you’d say. Screw their closed minds and their disdain for anything even a little different. He could get his GED—you’d help him, happily. He could find work in the city and take community college classes or go to trade school. The two of you could live together and watch slasher movies every Friday night, falling asleep on his chest when you got tired just as you’d done all throughout high-school.

Of course those thoughts inevitably spiraled into what would happen once he started dating. A bigger city meant a bigger pool of people, all with the potential to realize the kind, sweet, caring boy who was bursting with passion for his fantasy games and music and his other rich interests was actually a massive catch and not a social pariah. In no time, it would be someone else falling asleep on his chest and you watching them be carried to his bed.

You couldn’t bear the thought of that. Maybe even moreso, you couldn't bear the thought of asking him to come with you and him saying “no.”

So, you went alone. You packed up your car with the barest necessities, you kissed your dad goodbye and said you’d see him at Christmas. But it was Eddie who saw you off, taking you into his arms and holding you there with your head tucked under his chin. You buried your face in his chest, tears leaking onto the patches you’d helped him sew on his denim vest. He told you how proud he was and how much he was gonna miss you. He said to write. To send pictures.

All you could do was sniffle.

At college, you tried expanding your horizons. You joined a couple clubs to make new friends and started going to parties. You met people like Carl. And even though he was handsome and seemed nice enough, you turned him down when he asked you to dinner. It wasn’t until much later, when your roommate scolded you for doing so, that you even felt some doubt about it. What was even the point when you knew he wasn’t what you wanted?

Except what you wanted might never be yours.

That first trip home to Hawkins was wildly unnerving. You knew it hadn’t actually been that long since you left. But why did it feel so strange that everything felt exactly the same? Had you really changed so much already that your home no longer felt like home? 

Even seeing Eddie again felt like rupturing old wounds you thought had successfully scabbed over. You withdrew from him without even realizing you were doing it. He knew something was wrong, but didn’t dare voice it. His greatest fear loomed: you were done with Hawkins. 

Done with him.

It took a while to strike the balance between the old and the new. You’d run away so fast and tried to overwrite everything in your life, returning to Hawkins felt like entering a fantasy world. And Eddie became like an apparition, a specter of everything you missed most. 

You started writing to him more, sharing stories about your classes, gossip in the dorms, drunk adventures in the city. And he wrote back, telling you all about the new members of Hellfire who also happened to play instruments and were eager to replace the members of Corroded Coffin who had graduated and moved away. Eventually, the letters became more like a diary. 

You could confess things you’d never imagined telling anyone—stuff about your mom and how you’d spent every day wondering if she’d be proud of you; how you worried about your dad and wondered if he would ever get over her; how you feared you might never find love like theirs and even if you did, how it might be taken away from you like it was from them.

And he confessed back to you. Amidst his ideas for new D&D campaigns and song lyrics, he gave you deeper insight on things you knew already—his father’s sordid criminal history and his mother’s inability to cope, which led to her dropping Eddie on his uncle’s doorstep at the ripe old age of eleven. Reading about Hawkins through his eyes made it feel more real and less like a dream you’d woken up from. It kept that connection open, a bridge between your worlds, so  you could experience college and all the new things it had to offer, but still felt connected.

Then the end of your sophomore year brought more bad news. 

Again, he wasn’t eligible. Again, he wasn’t graduating.

You’d not been able to let go of that fantasy of him joining you at school. Every time you walked across the quad, leaves crunching beneath your boots, sunlight dying as it dipped behind the old brick buildings and cast everything in a hazy golden autumn glow, you imagined a pair of clean, white sneakers next to yours and a ringed hand squeezing your fingers.

He promised you this was his year. Swore it, in fact. ‘86, baby! he’d scrawled big and messy under his signature at the end of one of his letters. And maybe it would. He said he was doing better—army crawling his way towards a D in Mrs. O'Donnell's class, already planning how he would snatch his diploma and flip the bird at the principal as he walked the stage.

He was certain enough it made you start to believe it too.

You never dared to broach the subject of what he wanted to do after graduation. He hadn’t mentioned applying to any colleges or looking for work. The rest of the band was graduating with him. Maybe they’d all move here to get more exposure. Maybe they wanted to record a demo they could pass out to record companies. Or maybe Eddie wanted to go solo.

The lack of information made you antsy. Was he being decidedly cagey about his plans? Was he hiding something? Or was he just afraid of disappointing you again?

It was nearing the end of the school year when you finally broke. You had to see him.

For once, your spring breaks were going to overlap. You blew off your classes on Friday to make the drive and managed to get to Hawkins High just as the final bell was ringing. His van still sat in the parking lot and you pulled in alongside it to wait, practically jumping out of your skin with excitement. Thirty whole minutes crawled by before you finally spotted him.

He emerged from the woods at the back of the practice sport fields, chattering with ease to maybe the last person on earth you would have expected to see.

Chrissy Cunningham was just as pretty as she’d always been. She was a couple years behind you and Eddie in school, but everyone knew of her from the moment she made the varsity cheer squad as a freshman—a staggering feat no one else had ever managed. She still had the same bouncy ponytail, the same enormous eyes and cherubic cheeks you imagined must ache at the end of each day from her constant smiling. And she was somehow smiling even wider than normal at whatever Eddie was saying as he grinned back at her.

It made your stomach churn thinking what they could have been doing to have her smiling like that. You knew he’d started dealing for Reefer Rick to earn extra money, but in what universe would the queen of Hawkins High be struck with the urge to buy a bag of skunky weed? 

Unless it wasn’t weed she was after at all.

Panic doused your body. You jammed your key back in the ignition and sped out of the lot, praying he didn’t see you. You drove straight back to school, tears streaming down your face for the entire journey, making you hate yourself more with every salty trail that stained your cheeks. Because what else did you expect? For him to pine for you like you did for him? For him to be like you and not date anyone, ever? To keep everyone who even attempted to get close at a distance? Reserving a space in your heart for someone who might not even want to fill it?

You loved him more now than you ever had. Even without seeing him every day, even without having him constantly at your side. If anything, it had gotten worse. Your feelings piled up within you just as his letters did in your room. They all lived in a box under your shitty dorm bed to be pulled out over and over and over so you could parse every line for hidden meaning. Crying at his words, so heartfelt and honest you didn’t even notice the grammatical and spelling errors.

By the time you got back to campus, you felt raw and spent. Your face was streaked with tears and you were breathless from crying. For days, you walked around campus like a ghost until you bumped into Carl, the only other soul not off on some debaucherous Spring Break trip. And when he asked you for seemingly the hundredth time if he could buy you dinner…you said yes.

It came in the mail a few months later. Your address scribbled messily on an invitation to the Hawkins High Class of 1986 graduation. Eddie had included a photocopy of his final grades and written “proof it’s not a clerical error” with a little smiley face in the corner.

You called him that night to tell him how proud of him you were. And you were proud of him. So unbelievably proud. But when he asked if you were coming, you lied. You said your boyfriend’s parents would be in town and that he wanted you to meet them. You told him how sorry you were, all the while thinking Chrissy could congratulate him enough for the both of you. 

And in spite of yourself…you let yourself pretend you heard a little dejection in his voice when you used the word “boyfriend”—fictitious as it was.

The truth was, you’d only been officially dating Carl for a couple weeks. And he was perfectly nice. He’d kissed you and it felt fine. It didn’t quite live up to what you believed it should feel like, but maybe that was a good thing. Maybe what you imagined wasn’t realistic. Maybe what you thought it should be wasn’t feasible.

Maybe you just had to let that go.

And dating Carl was simple and uncomplicated. It served a purpose. It made you feel at least like you weren’t languishing in a wasteland of your unrequited feelings. It made you feel like you were trying. Sure, the sex wasn’t great. But you hardly expected it to be good for you. 

You’d hooked up with the odd guy here and there over the years. It was a pattern that began with some guy you met downtown whose assignment was to keep you occupied while his friend put the moves on your roommate. You were a little drunk and a lot lonely, so you’d gone along with it. It was quick. A little uncomfortable. It certainly didn’t make you eager to repeat the experience. But at least you could say you’d done it.

Part of you thought maybe it would get better, but it never did. 

Even guys you thought were decent at first were quick to gloss over the preamble and lead up, jumping straight to stuffing themselves inside you with no regard to your winces of discomfort. It didn’t take long before you started to assume you had to be the problem. Even by yourself, it took you ages to reach any sort of precipice. And even when you did, even when you felt your heart rate rising and your body heaving in response, the pay-off was…underwhelming.

With Carl, you thought it could be different. Maybe you needed a deeper connection; maybe you needed a few times to get comfortable with someone to properly ascend that peak. But the more you did it with him, the less attainable that seemed. Maybe you were just broken. 

You also tried not to dwell on the fact that the only times you ever got close were when you pictured a different face hovering over yours; when you imagined your fingers twisted up in dark, shaggy curls; when you visualized pale skin littered with tattoos and sinewy arms caging you in; when you lit that one candle you only bought because it reminded you of Eddie’s cologne.

The decision to move back home turned out to be less a decision and more a necessity.

A whole year out of school and you’d had truly terrible luck finding a job—at least a decent one that actually wanted to pay you. Carl, ever the charmer, wondered why you even wanted to work when you’d just wind up quitting when you got married. Really, you appreciated it. It was exactly the kind of comment you needed to jolt you out of a relationship that had been on autopilot.

You were a mess. Lost. Aimless. Barely treading water. Wishing you could call the one person you knew would cheer you up, but unsure if it would only result in more heartache. In the blink of an eye, it had been over five years since you left home and it was starting to feel like your only accomplishments were breaking up with your boyfriend and buying a mirror.

Then came the call from your dad.

He’d taken a nasty fall at his hardware store. He was fine, for the most part. But he was now significantly weaker and would have to have surgery as well as physical therapy after. And he certainly couldn’t run his store anymore. It had never run particularly smoothly to begin with and his books left something to be desired—another thing you’d be helping with once you moved back. He never outright asked you to do so, but he also didn’t have to.

The only good news was the bad news: a massive fire that disintegrated Starcourt Mall had led to an influx of renovations to the downtown area. In the wake of the mall’s destruction came a resurgence in small businesses that breathed life back into the desolation the mall caused.

It was in this newly resurrected downtown where Eddie was making his mark. He had opened a hobby shop where he still hosted his weekly D&D games with a lot of the kids who had originally been in his club. His store became like a beacon for all the kids (and even some of the adults) in Hawkins who felt there was no place for them. Eddie gave them somewhere to belong and celebrated all the things that made them targets of ridicule to everyone else.

It was also your first stop on your first day back.

The whole shop was so Eddie. As you walked inside and took in the decor, it seemed entirely possible he had just moved everything from his bedroom at Wayne’s right in here. He’d even rigged the entrance with a speaker that played the guitar riff of “Enter Sandman” when someone came through the door. 

You wished you could bottle the moment he came out front, your arrival signaled by the song.

“Holy shit…”

The box of miniatures and figurines he’d just finished pricing in the back fell to the floor with a thump and a rattle of plastic parts. He barely registered it, though. With round, unblinking eyes he stared, too stunned to move a muscle until a smile cracked his face wide open.

In just three long strides he crossed the store and swept you into his arms, lifting you up and whirling you around. “You’re here!” he gushed, arms crushing you around the middle in the most exquisite pain. “You’re really here!”

“I told you I was moving back!” 

You laughed heartily in his ear as he placed you back on the ground, telling yourself it must have been the unexpected lift making you breathless and not how the sunlight coming through the windows hit his eyes and made them shine like molten honey. He kept you close, letting his hands rest on your arms and squeezing them like he had to be sure you weren’t a mirage.

“I thought it was one of those ‘too good to be true’ things,” he said sheepishly, a pink blush creeping across his cheeks. “Had to see it to believe it.”

“Well, believe it,” you sighed.

You were already prepared for the loss of his touch, for when he would shamefully retract his hands, but he never did. He held you comfortably, his thumb lightly brushing over your skin. He let you go reluctantly, not regretfully, letting his fingertips trail softly down your arm.

“It’s so good to see you,” he said, his voice coated in warmth. “I missed you so much.”

You nodded, your throat pinched as you tried not to cry. “I…I missed you too.”

Eddie’s smile grew even bigger, his eyes seeming to dance with excitement. “Well, we have to celebrate,” he said. “I close up shop at six. Meet me back here and we’ll go to the Hideout?”

You stalled, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you considered. Almost on instinct, you’d nearly agreed right away. Old habits and what not. But did you want to fall immediately back into your old patterns? Hawkins had changed so little since you left, it felt too easy to slip back into the trap. Could you really go right back to hopelessly pining for him as you’d done so long?

“Come on,” Eddie urged, flashing those doe eyes he knew you couldn’t resist. “It’s one drink.”

“Okay, okay!” you laughed. “One drink.”

One drink turned out to be three. Starting with your first legal drink together at his old haunt while a different band of hopeful kids fumbled their way through clumsy Metallica covers.

“Please tell me we were never that young,” Eddie sighed, taking a swig of his beer.

“You’ve never been young,” you teased. “You came out of the womb a crotchety old man.”

A little later, you absconded to the corner booth and tucked yourselves away from the rowdiness of the growing crowd. You were flushed from the alcohol buzzing in your bloodstream and from how close Eddie was sitting. It felt just like old times, except it was nothing like old times.

Because this time, he was flirting with you. And not being subtle.

You thought maybe you were imagining it at first, but it only became more obvious the longer the night wore on. There was a whole new confidence and intention in the way he talked to you. He’d never been shy, never had any trouble drawing people in, but there was a fire lit behind his eyes tonight you’d never seen before. And you were the sole object of that blaze.

“So…still with Carl?” He finally asked, after bolstering himself to do so for the last three hours.

You took a long sip of your drink, eyes never leaving his over the rim of your glass. The liquor made you bold, the burn at the back of your throat adding smokiness to your voice.

“No-pe,” you said, popping your lips on the final syllable. Eddie smiled wolfishly and leaned in.

“Good,” he purred. “Cos that would have made it real awkward when I asked you out.”

He took you to dinner two days later. Rang the doorbell and smiled at you as he stood on your porch wearing a black button down under a darker black velvet vest. His black jeans were a new- looking pair of the same kind he’d always worn, sans the ragged holes over his knees.

Despite the thin material of your sundress and the balmy weather outside, you were sweating with nerves. The breeze played with your skirt as he walked you to his van and the coolness of it on your clammy skin made you shiver. But when Eddie suddenly darted ahead of you to open your door and turned around with his hand held up to help you inside, it made you melt. 

The gesture filled your body with warmth, chasing away any hint of a chill.

After dinner, he suggested you walk a block or so to a bar where Eddie liked to play pool. And as you did, his hand reached for yours and he threaded your fingers together. You stared down at it, stunned. How many times had you wished he would do that? How many times did you imagine the heat of his palm against yours mixing with the coolness of his chunky silver rings on his fingers? It had always seemed so impossible and he’d just done it.

Like it was nothing. Like he’d done it a thousand times before. Easy. Natural.

He held your hand all the way into the bar, only letting go of you to accept a tray of balls from the bartender when Eddie requested a table. With a couple of beers in hand, you followed him to his favorite one that was tucked away in a little alcove, practically private.

You set down the beers and watched as he racked the balls, gaze lingering on his long frame and chuckling at the way he shimmied his hips as he leaned over the table to break. “Eyes on me,” he told you, playful smile revealing his teeth.

It was a redundant request, because it was entirely impossible to look anywhere else.

Eddie had filled out quite a bit since high-school. He was never an athlete by any means, but evidently a regime of guitar playing and dice throwing was enough to maintain decent tone. You stared at him unabashed as he walked around the table, lining up his shot. His vest now flapped open and he’d rolled up his shirtsleeves to reveal the familiar smattering of bats under his elbow and the puppetmaster etched inside his forearm. It made you wonder how many more tattoos—new ones you’d not yet seen—were hiding under the rest of his clothes. He smirked at you, smug as he leaned over the table, thoroughly enjoying the way your eyes followed him.

“See something you like, sweetheart?” he drawled before sinking a bank shot.

You rolled your eyes, trying to fein being unimpressed. “Trying to distract me, Munson?” you asked, chalking the tip of your cue in a much more sensual manner than necessary, letting your fingers lazily stroke the stick as Eddie watched transfixed. He huffed a laugh at the display.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

Evidently, both of you were equally distracted. Most of your games lagged for a mutual inability to sink more than one shot in a row as the other did their best to pull focus. It was far easier for you, having only to lean forward slightly across the table from him to reveal a healthy dose of your cleavage. That, coupled with a coy smile and batting eyelashes, spelled disaster for Eddie. Everytime you did it, he’d scratch his shot and chuckle dryly at his own hubris.

He took a different approach, choosing instead to stand as close to you as he could as you lined up your shots. His musk and cologne filled your nose, a tantalizing woodsy smell that made your head spin as you struggled to keep your eyes on the ball. He rested his hip against the table, handcuff belt buckle glinting as it reflected the light from the lamp hanging overhead.

You could practically hear the childish taunt of not touching you, not touching you.

“Just take your shot, baby,” he cooed, low and husky. The sound made your heart hammer.

A couple hours of teasing and toying later, both of you were ready to explode. Your glasses sat empty on the nearby table, neither of you terribly interested in a refill. And as Eddie sunk the eight ball again, his eyes flashed to the tray for the balls rather than going to re-rack them.

“I guess I should get you home?” he asked.

A little sullen at the idea, you nodded and returned your cues to a rack on the wall while Eddie brought the balls back to the bartender and settled the tab. Only when you were walking back to the table to get your purse and passed a pair of men who reeked of tobacco did something occur to you: Eddie hadn’t taken a smoke break once.

“Did you quit?” you asked, staring at him with wide eyes. He smiled as he drew nearer to you, relishing the way your chest heaved as you reacted to his closeness.

“Took a couple years, but yeah,” he said. “Sometimes I still need a little help, though.”

He tugged his shirttail out from the waistband of his jeans, causing his belt and the chain on his wallet to jingle slightly as he lifted his shirt to flash a strip of his stomach. You’re so distracted by the action and the cut of his v-muscle it takes a few seconds to register the beige nicotine patch stuck on his hip. You stared at him and then back at it, fingers itching to reach out and touch.

He leaned in, his face the closest it had been to yours all night, his voice hushed so only you could hear. “For when I’m really nervous,” he said.

Streetlights and stars blurred as you stepped out of the bar and he whirled you into the alley. The rough brick scraped your back and snagged on your dress as you were flattened against it and you gazed up at Eddie, string lights overhead shining brightly in your eyes.

“Are you ready?” he asked softly. “Are you ready for this to start?”

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight his eyes trained on your face. Your hands settled lightly on his waist and you gave an impatient tug as you nodded. It was all the invitation he needed. 

His mouth met yours like the sun met the horizon. The softest kiss you’d ever had deepened gradually until you were grasping at him, fisting his shirt in your fingers. Your lips felt molded together, pliant to the other’s movements, but still insistent as they chased one another.

Control shifted subtly between you, taking turns drawing the other in and pulling back. More teasing, more toying. Yet you never denied each other long, unable to stay apart.

God, this was it. This was what it was always supposed to feel like.

It could have been hours you stood out there kissing and laughing, but you’d never have known. The only thing that alerted you to the passing of time was when the lights inside the bar shut off and the employees filed out for their final smoke break before heading home.

Giggling like terrible criminals begging to be caught, you and Eddie hugged the shadows and made your way back to his van. You rode home with your panties soaked, subtly shifting in your seat, trying not to think about the arousal pooled between your thighs. And at home, back in your room, you were so tempted to dip your fingers into the slickness as you thought about Eddie’s breath on your lips; how the ends of his curls tickled your sternum when he leaned into you; the way his scent lingered on your skin after being pressed between his body and that wall. 

But you didn’t dare risk the disappointment that would follow when your pleasure receded like waves being drawn into a riptide; when you backed down from the edge of that cliff, feeling even emptier after not reaching that peak. Again. No, you couldn’t spoil this night with all that.

You saw him more throughout the week. He started popping into your father’s store almost as soon as it opened, offering you coffee and a kiss. And he spent the first hour of the morning with you at the front counter, propped up on his elbow with his chin resting on the heel of his hand.

“Don’t you have anything better to do?” you asked, swatting him with a folded up newspaper after you finished doing the jumble together.

He just shrugged with all the casual ease of somebody whose own shop didn’t open until 11. Or noon if he was hungover. “What could be better than hanging out with my favorite girl?”

Favorite girl. The words lived in your brain all day. It made you positively giddy every time you thought about it, even causing you to accidentally enter a customer’s 15% discount as 51% and not even bother correcting it. The loss on a value pack of paint brushes and trays seemed a paltry fee for the smile that spread across old Mrs. Gershwin’s face when she saw her total.

Eddie started calling every night at 9:30, practically on the dot, and it didn’t take long for you to get in the habit of settling into your bed around that time so you could pick up the receiver in your room before the ringing disturbed your dad dozing in his recliner downstairs. 

“So when do I get to take you out again?” he asked, clearly not oblivious to how it made you melt on the other end of the line. 

You blushed your way through making arrangements for an early movie Saturday followed by dinner. Then, before beginning the long process of saying your goodnights, you paused to ask him the thing you’d been wondering since that night at the Hideout.

“Eddie…are we really doing this?” you asked, torn between giddiness and trepidation.

“I certainly am,” he hummed into the receiver.

He talked the whole way through the movie and still had more to say at dinner afterward. 

It didn’t bother you, though. You loved listening to him talk. Your ears had gone so long without his rambling, it was more like music than words. His feet toyed with yours under the table and after you ordered dessert, he excused himself to use the bathroom only to slide into your side of the booth when he came back. You giggled over tiramisu and cheesecake, your sides pressed together from shoulder to ankle. Later, the tastes of your desserts would mix in your mouths as he kissed you deeply in his car dropping you off.

Everything about it felt so alive. So ripe with the promise of what this could turn into, what it had already become. In two dates with Eddie, you felt more connection than you had in two years of dating Carl. Not that it was fair comparing them. Nothing and no one could ever compare to this.

It was a Wednesday when he made a new proposition. You had already crawled into bed and swathed yourself in blankets to wait for his call. And after the few customary minutes of talking about your respective days, he brought up his idea for Friday night.

“Would you want to come over here for dinner?” he asked.

“You…you mean like your place?”

“I was thinking mine, but if your heart is set on a neighbor’s, I’m sure breaking in wouldn’t be too difficult.” He’s smirking so hard you swear you can hear it over the phone. 

“I guess yours will do,” you chuckled. “Does this mean I’ll get to see The Hair in person?”

Eddie was living with Steve Harrington, which had taken a commanding lead for being the most confusing thing you’d learned since returning home. Apparently they’d been brought together by a shared friendship with Dustin Henderson, one of the kids from Hellfire Eddie had taken under his batwing during his third and final senior year. Dustin had spent months insisting both boys would get along if they only gave the other a chance until his badgering paid off.

Now, the pair shared a tiny apartment downtown, walking distance from Eddie’s shop and only a short drive to Family Video where Steve was now the manager. And Dustin evidently couldn’t go five minutes without congratulating himself for bringing the two of them together. Eddie liked to joke that they were now co-parenting the little shithead (affectionate).

“Actually, Steve is out of town this weekend,” Eddie said, struggling to contain his excitement and keep his cool. “So, we’ll have the place to ourselves.”

Breathe, breathe, breathe. “Oh, yeah?” you said, voice spiking just an octave too high.

“Yep. And, um…you could stay over if you wanted? If that sounds good to you?”

Stay over. You knew what that meant. There was something gut wrenchingly endearing about the way he asked—the innocent peal of his voice. But there was no doubt in your mind what he was getting at. This wasn’t going to be like crashing on his couch after a movie night or pouring yourself into his bed after a Corroded Coffin show that lasted to the wee hours.

This would be something new. Something completely different.

“That sounds great,” you said, finally.

And it did sound great. It just also sounded a little terrifying.

Admittedly, you hadn’t been on many dates in your life. But television and film had successfully indoctrinated you with knowledge of that classic Third Date milestone. And it made sense. He wasn’t some stranger. You’d known each other for so long, it stood to reason things would continue to accelerate between you.

And was that such a bad thing? 

This was Eddie, after all. He was your best friend. He was your other half. You weren’t sure if  you even believed in soul mates, so to speak, but if they did exist you couldn’t imagine anyone besides him in that role. He had stoked life into the coals within you that you were certain had burnt into a lump of ash. You never felt with anyone the way you felt with him. 

So if you were gonna do this, you were gonna do it right.

You went shopping, fighting off anxious nausea as you perused the racks of lingerie in the far corner of a little boutique. Averting your eyes from the more salacious options, you settled on a matching set of midnight blue embroidered with silver thread to look like stars. It was made of thin mesh that gave the illusion of coverage, but revealed plenty through the sheer netting.

It also looked a little like something a wizard might wear. And for obvious reasons, you had a feeling Eddie might like that. 

Securing your purchase you thought might make you feel more prepared, but it only caused your thoughts to unravel further. This was the first time Eddie would be seeing your underwear and it wasn’t even your own. At least it didn’t yet feel like your own the way your drawer full of less suggestive garments did. What if he thought you looked ridiculous? What if he laughed or got turned off because your thighs were too big or the pudge of your stomach grossed him out? Worse yet, what if you failed to live up to the implications? What if he saw it and assumed you knew what you were doing, only to be woefully disappointed by your skills? Or lack thereof?

It was impossible to reconcile the two wolves fighting for dominance in your mind. On the one hand, it was wildly exciting: the thought of finally getting to be with him and touch him and have him touch you back. At the same time, though, you were overwhelmed at the prospect. What if it changed things between you? You’d always thought you wanted more than friendship with him, but what if in that pursuit you lost the person you treasured more than anything in the world?

And then of course there were the normal fears. 

After so much unfulfilling sex, you couldn’t help but be fearful your body would betray you as it always had. It was hard not to pin all your hopes on this and you didn’t want to add any more pressure to this night than you already felt. But even if you backed off that peak and failed to reach the summit, surely the ascent would feel just as nice as long as it was with him. 

Right?

This was what you tried to tell yourself as you turned one last time in front of your mirror. 

Literally everything about this night was making you uncomfortable and it hadn’t even begun yet. The lingerie that felt fine when you bought it was tight and itchy on your skin, and it felt glaringly obvious you were wearing it under your clothes—like a diaper or a straightjacket.

You’d shaved, even though it made you feel like a creepy bald Barbie, and even though you found the concept kind of disturbing. Whose brilliant idea was it anyway that to be sexy you had to look like a child between your legs? And you always wound up completely bare because you could never get it even and kept having to take more from each side until nothing was left.

Still, you did it. Because that was what everyone did, right? That’s what he would expect?

Shaking your head, trying to fling away all your thoughts, you busy yourself packing your small overnight bag. It was the same one you must have brought over to Eddie’s a hundred times over, but for the first time you found yourself doubting it. Would he think you were high maintenance for wanting your own toothbrush and a change of clothes? For bringing something comfortable to sleep in? Would he think you were a weirdo for not just sleeping naked? God, what if he saw it and figured you’d been sleeping with so many guys, you just kept it packed all the time?

Panic creeps up the back of your neck. It burns hot on your cheeks and makes your heart pound in your temples until you’re so dizzy you have to lean against the door with your head bent.

Breathe, you think. Breathe, breathe, breathe. 

Frustratingly slowly, the thrumming in your chest subsides. You managed to bring yourself down off the ledge and find your center—Eddie.

Eddie would make everything alright. 

He always did.

Part Two

[sanguineterrain]

Hiii, discovered your fics on AO3 and they’re very my jam! If you’re still taking requests, could I suggest something where Jason rescues you, an angsty hurt/comfort? Maybe they’re pining for each-other and maybe confront/confess their feelings, or are already together, up to you.

No worries if not 😊😊 Thanks for the good words ❤️🖤

Hey I know you! Thanks for leaving nice comments over yonder 🥰 Idk if I really delivered on this prompt but I hope you like it anyway lol 😅 I combined this prompt with another I received about Jason and the reader fighting before the reader is hurt/kidnapped.

jason todd x fem!reader. tw: creepy men, crime alley, injured reader, jason shoots people (🎶whatta mighty good man🎶)

****

"If you don't know who this is, you shouldn't be fucking calling. Leave a message after the beep or whatever."

Beeeep!

"Jay, it's me. Can we please talk? You can't ignore me forever. I want us to fix this. I—" You swallow hard. "I miss you."

You sigh, rubbing your forehead as you think of what to say. You've already left three unanswered messages. There's no more for you to say. You just want things to be fixed.

You want your best friend back.

"Okay. Call me when you can."

You hang up and pocket your phone.

The fight was stupid. Jason doesn't respond well to being pushed, but you pushed him anyway. You wanted to know where he disappeared to at night. You were sick of the secrets, of always feeling like you were three steps behind, left in the dark.

If you really cared about me, you would tell me where you go.

Jason had stilled, expression cold.

I don't owe you anything.

Your voice had turned wobbly then.

Jay, don't I mean anything to you? I want you to trust me, I want this to be a normal friendship!

He'd put on his jacket and collected the few things he left in your apartment.

You're right. You deserve normal.

You haven't spoken since. At first, you thought Jason left for a few hours to cool down. So you gave him space.

But then hours turned to days, and now it's been a full week and a half since you'd fought. Last night, you broke down and cried. This is it. You've lost him for good.

Part of you fears the reality is darker than him just leaving. You've long suspected that whatever Jason goes out to do is probably illegal since he's always out at night.

What if you're called down to the police station to identify a body?

All those things left unsaid. Jason will never know you love him.

Screw this. You're going to his apartment.

It's late. It's really late, and this is actually not the best idea to carry out at eight o'clock at night in Crime Alley. There's a reason Jason always insists on hanging out at your apartment or at a cafe.

A man whistles at you down the street. "Goin' somewhere, girlie?"

This was a bad idea. Jason might be the one who has to ID a body tonight.

You can't remember which of these apartments is his. But you can't call him. He can't know you're here, not yet.

"You shouldn't be here, lady!" a kid shouts at you from a fire escape. "He don't like new people on his turf!"

You don't take the time to figure out who the kid means. Crime Alley is known for, well, crime. The sooner you can locate Jason's apartment, the better.

A group of men light cigarettes down the road. You pause and turn around. In the process, you stumble over a garbage can.

That instantly draws their attention.

"Well, what have we here?" one jeers. "You lost, sweetie?"

You run.

You don't care if it makes you look afraid—you are afraid, and you're beyond caring. You shouldn't have come here.

You turn abruptly. You have no idea where you're going, but maybe if you act like you do, you'll throw them off. You take another turn, then another, and you look behind you to check if—

Wham!

You crash into a body. A muscled body, one that forces you backwards.

White, glowing eyes that smolder inside a red helmet meet your own.

Jason's never warned you about the Red Hood. He just tells you to stay away from the area altogether. You don't really need to be warned about Hood anyway. You know what he's about. You know you've probably just sealed your fate tonight.

"What the fuck?" he asks, modulated voice rough.

"I'm sorry," you babble. "Please don't hurt m—"

Gunshots ring out, and you realize you've just stumbled into an active gunfight. With Red Hood.

Fuck your luck.

The gunmen have spotted you, and they take great pleasure in using you as a distraction; they fire at you instead of Hood.

He shields you with his body, blocking the bullets. It works until a flash grenade is thrown, and you're separated from Hood, ears ringing. You hit the ground hard from the impact, scraping your hands and arms.

Someone's arm wraps around your neck, and you're suddenly dragged backward. You scream, scratching at the arm, and a fist thumps your head. You blink at the pain, too dazed to keep fighting.

"We had a deal, Hood!" your captor shouts, arm tightening around your neck. "Let us go or she dies!"

"Negation's over," Red Hood snarls, and shoots all four men.

You cry as the shot echoes too close to your face and for a moment, you fear you've been shot too. The now dead man slips off of you, collapsing in a heap on the ground.

Your ankle protests when you step on it. In the chaos of the fight, you hadn't realized you sprained it. You trip and fall on your butt, scrambling away from the pooling blood.

"What are you doing here?" Hood growls at you, stalking closer.

You start to cry, edging backward.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt your fight, please d-don't kill me—"

You press down hard on your wrist and that hurts more than your ankle. You cry harder at the pain, grabbing your wrist.

Red Hood gets closer, and you try to scramble away with one arm and one leg. He kneels down and holds your good arm in place so you can't move.

"I'm sorry!" you say again, tears thick on your lashes.

"Fuck," Hood says roughly, and unlocks his helmet.

Your eyes widen as he pulls it off.

"J—"

"I told you to never come to this area, and you come alone, in the fucking dark, without a weapon? What the hell is wrong with you?" Jason snarls.

"Please don't yell at me," you whisper, covering your face with your hands.

You're shaking, adrenaline turning your stomach. A moment later, you throw up.

"Shit," Jason says and puts a hand on your stomach to help you sit back up. "Shit, I'm an asshole. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell."

"I thought you died," you say, daring to look at him. "You weren't answering my calls, and you only go out at night. I thought..."

Jason immediately looks avalanched by guilt. He cradles you to his chest.

"Fuck. I'm sorry. I should've—I thought it would be better, leaving."

"I didn't want you to leave," you cry, arms curling around his neck. "I love you so much, Jay. I was so scared. Don't leave me again."

Jason's breath hitches. You freeze, suddenly sure you've screwed it all up.

"Jay—"

"Y'love me?" he asks, cupping your cheek.

You nod emphatically.

"Even though I'm..." He gestures to the helmet.

"I'm just happy you're alive," you say. "I missed you so much, Jason."

His arms tighten around you. "God, I missed you too, baby. I was going crazy not talking to you. I'm sorry I ignored you. Wasn't right of me. But don't ever do this again, okay? If I hadn't been here—"

He takes a shuddering breath and kisses your neck. You nod against his shoulder.

"I promise. Just don't shut me out again, please."

Jason's quiet for a moment. You can feel him thinking.

"This isn't gonna be normal," he says. "If-if we do this. This is part of me. Who I am."

"I don't care," you say. "I love you, Jay. Every part. Whatever that entails."

[galaxy-fleur]

˗ˏˋ Thoughtful Care ˎˊ˗

Pairing: RE2R!Leon/gn!reader. Summary: After escaping the hell on Earth that was Racoon City, you are now stuck in a dingy motel room that will be your safe haven for the time being. As you and your little group try to get your bearings together, you get a chance to spend some much-needed alone time with Leon after your eventful night together. As it turns out, tending to one's wounds is a more intimate experience than you thought. Word Count: <17k words; AO3 link. Notes: One use of Y/N, switching POV, some mutual pining, kissing, you take care of Leon's wounds, brief discussion of Ada, Claire and Sherry cameo. Credit: divider by @/saradika-graphics.

Life is a mysterious thing. You haven't ever considered yourself to be someone particularly special. You were always just an ordinary person, with a pretty ordinary life, and ordinary problems someone your age would typically be dealing with. You never once thought of that as something worthy being upset about. Being ordinary meant having your life in order. It meant that your daily routine was comfortable for you. Pleasant. Safe. Small daily problems that keep your mind occupied are really not appreciated enough. There is a very fragile feeling of peace in worrying over not being late to work tomorrow, or what to buy for lunch.

A very fragile feeling of peace that was forever broken for you in a single, horrible night.

You definitely never anticipated yourself to end up in the middle of some deadly outbreak straight out of a horror movie. Sure, you may have joked around with friends on how you would do in a horror story once or twice, but that was the extent of it. Jokes. Make-belief. You can indulge in fantasies about anything while you are safe and sound, however insane those fantasies may be. It's a completely different story when you are suddenly forced to shoot someone who is neither dead nor alive.

There were some that you even recognized.

A cute baker boy you remember complimenting on his new haircut during your visit to Racoon City a few months back.

A young teacher fresh out of college who shared many meaningful conversations with you near the Orphanage.

An elderly neighbor you once helped cross the street, after which he kindly invited you for tea next time you'll come to visit.

A promise that was never to be fulfilled now. And realizing that you would probably end up among them if you didn't move out of the city was... chilling, to say the least. 

Racoon City, once a place of many fond memories for you, has now become nothing but a living, gruesome nightmare that you will likely never forget. A part of you still wonders how you even managed to keep yourself alive through it all in the first place. But, somehow, you did. In part, due to a very fortunate encounter with a rookie cop who seemed to have arrived in the city not long after you. You barely spent a day in there, yet it felt like a lifetime. But despite everything fate threw your way, you two remained united, only briefly forced apart from each other, but ultimately rejoined again.

At the end of the day, it felt good to at least not be alone in this. To know that someone has your back. Heck, even simply having someone there to talk to made things just a tiny bit easier. Navigating the blood-stained corridors of the ruined Police Station on your own would have made you lose your mind for sure.

Survival is not a pretty nor heroic endeavor. You've lost people. In fact, you'd say that you've lost way more than you've saved. Your heart has been permanently stained by witnessing so much senseless death and violence in such a short time. At least you have shared this awful stain with Leon. And it's always easier to share a burden than to carry it alone.

In the end, while you didn't achieve anything world-changing or save the city, you managed to escape together, relatively safe and sound. Despite being battered, covered in blood and grime, you two at least have the privilege of living another day. One that not many share, sadly.

You even managed to reunite with a pair of other survivors along the way - Claire and Sherry - who clearly had their own stories of shared survival to tell. So, you all made the decision to stick together from then on. Each of the four of you with their own scars to bear, whether physical or mental.

Tired, and a bit lost on what to do next, you all decided to spend the day at the nearest shabby motel. To get some much-needed rest before deciding on what to do next. Not the most ideal of places, but after the night you had, a clean bed to sleep in and a safe room with no metallic stench of blood clinging to your nostrils, was more than enough to feel relieved. Although it was rather cramped with all four of you huddling to share the compact space you've been given. But it was also an undeniable source of comfort to not be alone. Furthermore, your body was so utterly exhausted that you couldn't really afford to be picky.

In fact, you're pretty sure that you blacked out as soon as your head hit the pillow. All four of you shared that same sentiment, it seems. You all slept through the entire day and most of the night, your drained minds and bodies hungry for precious hours of peace and safely. 

When next morning came, Claire went out with Sherry to get breakfast for you all from the nearest diner, while you and Leon stayed back together in the motel. It was definitely... strange. It was strange to share so much with someone you've only met about about a day ago. Though, considering that you spent the entirely of the last day sleeping, it pretty much felt like yesterday. You met Leon having no prior knowledge of him whatsoever. He wasn't even from Racoon City. You couldn't have known him if you've tried. Yet, the shared experience of survival side by side made you feel closer to him than to some of your friends back home.

Human minds work in mysterious ways.

So, here you are now, stuck all alone with Leon, for the first time since you reunited with Claire on the train. To avoid any unwanted awkwardness, you decide to break the silence at last.

"So...How'd you sleep?"

With a small yawn, Leon stirs in his bed and shifts onto his side. He slept the longest out of all you. Knocked out cold and waking up only approximately ten or so minutes ago. He's still rubbing at his bleary eyes, clearly not fully awake despite his efforts to appear alert for you. Given that he was also the one in the worst shape among you all, no one really blamed him for it. As the morning sun trickles through the shutters, light streaks across his face, painting his features into soft shades of red and yellow. It's a cute look on him, in a way. Though you don't linger on that thought too much. He examines the dimly lit room for a moment, almost like he needs a moment to remember how he got here in the first place, before his eyes settle on you standing by the window.

You kept the shutters down on purpose, to keep the morning sun away, making the room appear rather dark, aside from long stripes of bright yellow from the sunlight stubbornly peeking through. Though, it's definitely a first for you to find such comfort in a motel room, of all places.

Leon rolls over onto his back with a small, pained grunt, propping himself up slightly with his good arm. His voice is muffled and groggy as he answers, and you smile to yourself at the sound of it, stiffling a snort: "Honestly... Can't really complain. This might be the best sleep I've had in a while, all things considered."

"Well, I guess at least some of us are well-rested," you say, indirectly referring to your own rather worn out state despite the good 15 hours of sleep you got. You appreciate the cleanliness of the fresh air coming from the window for another short moment, inhaling with your full chest to fill your lungs to the brim. Compared to the foul stench of blood and rot you had grown a tolerance for now, even the somewhat dusty air from the curb felt like you were breathing on top of the cleanest mountain. But, you step away and sit back down on the other bed next to Leon's, leaning back on your palms comfortably. "Claire and Sherry are out to get us all some breakfast. We decided not to wake you."

Leon sits up and gently stretches out his shoulders, wincing slightily at the motion. No wonder, considering the huge, bloody bandage wrapped around his shoulder. Despite your effort to appear nonchalant, he quickly recognizes the weariness etched onto your features, and looks over at you with a genuinely sympathetic expression from what you could tell.

You look away, disappointed that he somehow read you like a book.

It's bizarre, having someone you had basically just met feel so relaxed with you. Usually, it takes you at least a few weeks to develop this level of friendliness with someone. Then again, not like you go through what you went through the night before with everybody. After all, you already knew that Leon was good. There was no need to be cautious around him. None that you knew of, at least. That, and he seemed way more outspoken than you, anyway. A bit too trusting and naive, too. Especially for a cop.

"What about you? You didn't sleep too well or something?" Leon asks with a hint of trepidation in his voice. While a part of you is still a bit annoyed at his keen perception of you, you suppose you can't really blame him either. Given that he's likely dealing with the same thing you do.

Though, despite all that happened, he and Claire were much more optimistic than you.

Either way, you give him a small, dismissive shrug and run your hand over your hair, your nose wrinkling at the unpleasant feel of it. It's dry and matted under your touch. Even with your best efforts to get yourself back into shape yesterday, your hair was still far from its ideal state. Not like you had access to your usual haircare products in here. You probably still look rather messy. You also find yourself wondering if you'll have to get a trim on it when you go back home. Maybe this whole ordeal was the universe's twisted way of telling you to get a change of style or something.

Leon gaze is still trained on you, his eyes peering straight into your soul. That's how it felt, at least. No matter how hard you try, the weary look in your eyes and slight sag in your shoulders are the dead giveaway that you are, indeed, still tired. But he doesn't address the issue. Much to your relief.

"Eh, I'm fine. I got some sleep," your response is somewhat aloof, and you know it. But your lack of sleep isn't your only worry here, after all. "I'm glad you got some rest, though."

"Yeah... I sure needed it," Leon sighs softly, tracing the white bandage on his shoulder with his fingers.

Your gaze, too, shifts to the blood-stained bandage over his shoulder as you look over at him. You're a bit curious whether he was tracing it more due to his overall unease or because he was reminiscing about the very person who had put it on him in the first place.

Leon notices your stare on his shoulder, and his fingers stop their movements, almost like he's a bit embarrassed of it. As he looks back up at you, his expression is a perfect blend of exhaustion and contemplation. A somewhat awkward moment of silence passes, both of you lost in your own thoughts.

"...How are you holding up?" you coax, your voice a bit quieter than usual, much to your own surprise.

Geez, you didn't mean to sound so worried.

"I'm... managing," he responds with a hint of fatigue in his own voice. He softly pokes at the makeshift bandage again, grimacing instantly as another dull pain throbs in his shoulder. "-It still hurts like hell though. But I guess I can't complain. Considering everything."

You let out a sigh and lean forward, resting your arms on your knees: "That's... not what I'm asking here."

In a way, you were curious why you were asking him this in the first place. Not like it's important. Or should be important. Your shared experience together did not change the fact that you and Leon were still pretty much strangers, regardless of everything. Or maybe you were being too cynical. Regardless, the absence of Claire and Sherry allowed for you two to converse with each other one on one for the first time in a rather long while. Something that you felt the need for. For a variety of reasons.

Your words cause Leon's brows to furrow slightly, be it confusion or something else. Though, it's obvious he understands what you're implying here, what you're truly asking from him. He pauses for another long moment, seemingly unsure of how to respond. You don't rush him. Letting the silence settle between you two once more, safe for the quiet hum of the air conditioner and an occasional car driving by somewhere in the distance.

Finally, he looks away from you and stares down at the cheap carpet on the floor. His expression is almost fragile as he speaks up, his eyes hinting at a hidden vulnerability he kept inside up until this point: "It's... I don't know. I just... all the people I- we couldn't save..."

You quickly recognize his potential indirect referral. Or perhaps you were already aware of it from the very beginning, simply waiting for him to get to it. After all, the urgency to escape prevented you from talking about it, the entire Nest crumbling in on itself in a blaze of fire and ashes.

No time for talking about your feelings when you are about to fucking explode, after all.

Leon trails off, his throat bobbing as he swallows.

So, you cut straight to it for him.

"...Are you thinking about her?" you murmur faintly but just loud enough for him to hear, looking directly at him. Providing a name wasn't necessary for you both to understand exactly who you were referring to here.

Ada.

As Leon glances back up at you abruptly, his blue eyes flash with surprise. It's easy to see the moment his heart drops, a pretty blatant mix of pain and guilt quickly washing over his face. Looks like you hit the jackpot after all.

He tries to speak, but then shuts his mouth once more. The look in his eyes is now one of confusion as he runs a hand through his hair frustratedly. You allow him to have his moment with no interference. 

"...Yeah. I am," he finally admits, his voice almost a whisper. It's a wonder you heard him at all. With all the gunshots and explosions, you wouldn't have been surprised to find your hearing suffering greatly. He sighs heavily, his fingers twiddling together on his lap. "I... know it's probably stupid. Hell, it is stupid. To feel guilty over someone I barely even knew. Someone who..."

You sigh and lower your gaze as well. Saying things were complicated would be the same as saying nothing at all. Their final confrontation on the bridge was inaudible to you due to your distance. So, you were unaware of what was said between them. Not all of it, at least. The rumbling sounds of the Umbrella facility slowly crumbling in on itself caused everything to be drowned out to you. You didn't dare ask him about it, either.

His voice catches in his throat and he hesitates, making it obvious that it's your cue to continue now.

The judgment you made on Ada was based on what you saw from afar. That's all you could really offer him here.

"I do think she cared. About you, at least. We don't know why she did what she did. But... she didn't shoot you back there. I don't think she wanted to," you say, pursing your lips in thought as you play over what your eyes have seen. You were not aware of what Ada's last words to him were before she slipped from his grasp. But what you did see unfolding in front of you was... conflicting, to say the least.

Your words have a pretty profound effect on Leon, causing his heart to tighten in his chest with a painful pull. He understands all the implications behind them and, admittedly, he had already came to the same conclusion within himself. He just had no desire at all to actually face it and accept it. The fact that Ada's refusal to harm him to get her way was clear evidence of her allegiance. But that evidence was cruel and left him with no closure at all. Nervously, he runs his hand through his hair again, releasing a bitter laugh that felt heavy on his lungs. He is unsure whether he should be angry, sympathetic, or simply mournful towards the enigmatic woman who was such a mystery in every way, up to the very end. Perhaps he experiences all three emotions at the same time.

But you both know that if it were you standing there instead of Leon...

Ada probably wouldn't have hesitated on pulling the trigger.

He looks to you again, maybe hoping for you to give him some information he knew you couldn't give.

But you don't meet his gaze, choosing instead to look downwards, seemingly just as conflicted about this all as he is. Of course, Leon realizes that his numerous questions would remain unanswered for an indefinite period. Probaby forever. He also had to accept that you couldn't give him any answers, or closure that could potentially come with them. Ada has died, and there was no way to change that cold, hard fact. Just like there was no way to take back all the lives of countless others who were lost in those streets. Racoon City had transformed from a community of pride and hopeful future into a place of death and bloodshed, with only you, Claire, and Sherry, managing to escape it alive. That was your current understanding, at least.

It would be nice to meet other survivors. But, for now, all he could do was sigh and accept your answer, however unfair it was on his heart. 

"Yeah, maybe... Maybe you're right," he mutters before falling into silence once more. His mind is racing with so many thoughts, all in conflict with one another. He is torn between his heart's desire to believe that Ada cared and the warnings of his mind to be cautious. He is uncertain about any of his emotions or thoughts at this point. He lets out another tired huff of frustration. "I just- I just wish I knew why. Why she did what she did, how much of it was real, or..."

...Or whether she cared about him at all.

"Well... at least you're safe. Let's leave it at that," your voice cuts through the dark whirlpool of thoughts in his head, turning his attention back on you. You seem to be focusing on his injured shoulder again. Perhaps in an attempt to divert the conversation, you switch the subject: "-We should really clean that up for you. It's all dirty and bloodied. Can't be good."

Leon winces as he instinctively tries to move his injured shoulder, further proving your point. He complies with a single nod, fully aware of the dire need for cleaning and proper care for the wound hidden under the worn-out bandages. Or... whatever care you could provide. At this point, anything is better than this dirty, blood-soaked thing.

"Uh, yeah. It's been a while, and it's starting to kind of..."

He stops, his face contorting in pain while he tries to move it again. His shoulder is becoming increasingly tender, and the bandage is completely stained with dark crimson blood. How much of it is his, and how much of it is of the other mutated things that used to be humans or animals he had to fight off, is unclear. Taking a deep breath, he prepares himself mentally for the miserable ordeal ahead. 

This experience will not be pleasant.

That pitiful look you give him doesn't help his pride, either. Or what's left of it, anyways. 

Regardless, not wanting to stall this any longer than he has to, he gingerly shifts his wounded shoulder and starts to delicately remove his police uniform with caution, taking his time. He took off his body armor the day before, leaving it stacked neatly somewhere in the far corner. Out of sight, out of mind, so to speak. Still, what was left of the dirtied police uniform on him was just as much of a reminder of the night before. He flinches involuntarily due to the fabric brushing against the bloody bandage, the pain instantly radiating from his shoulder straight to his insides.

You realize that you cannot just sit back and watch him struggle on his own, pride be damned.

"...Here. Let me help," you murmur softly as you approach him and sit next to him on the motel bed. You begin to delicately unbutton and peel off his soiled uniform from his upper body, aiming to avoid putting any unneeded discomfort on his already tender shoulder.

Leon nods quietly in response to your assistance. You're grateful he didn't make a big deal out of it. Outwardly, at least. He raises his good arm and makes an effort to shift his position, allowing you to help him in taking off what was left. "Thanks..."

You try not to think too much about the fact that you are basically undressing a cute guy you just met the day before.

With your help, you eventually succeed in removing the top portion of his uniform, leaving him in his pants and a bandage to cover his bruised skin. As he sits there, you can tell that his upper body being fully uncovered to your gaze - except for the stained bandage on his shoulder that is - is making him feel rather awkward and tense. You can't really blame him for that.

You sure would be feeling embarrassed in his place.

"...I probably look a total mess right now," Leon shoots you a somewhat nervous smile. Despite him clearly trying to make a joke, you can still hear the painfully obvious apprehension in his voice.

"Yeah, you do," you agree rather bluntly as you glance over him without crossing any inappropriate boundaries. Leon had a more fit body than you expected, which... made sense in hindsight due to his recent graduation from the Police Academy, as he told you. It was probably necessary for him to be in good shape. Although muscular, he wasn't excessively so. His body was... normal. In a good way. Decently toned, with some softness around his sides and belly. Frankly, if it wasn't for the situation at hand, you would have complimented him, but you suppress that urge as soon as it arises.

You don't need to make things even more weird between you two.

As your eyes travel up and down his body, you lock eyes with each other for a brief, awkward moment. You quickly break eye contact with the each other, almost simultaneously.

Welp, so much for not being awkward.

"Uh... Do you remember what Ada did for you exactly...?" you say instead, touching his uninjured shoulder lightly. When Leon was shot, you were not together. You missed witnessing the event directly, only reuniting with him afterwards when he already had a fresh bandage wrapped snuggly around his shoulder.

"No... I passed out after I got shot," there is a brief pause between you, and his face reflects a mixture of pain and another indescribable emotion that you can't really pinpoint clearly. Whether it's physical discomfort speaking or something else entirely, you don't know. "I woke up with it already on and her gone."

You watch him turn his attention back to his injured shoulder, where the white bandage is stained with dried blood. He gently rubs the fabric with his fingers, sensing the pain and discomfort that emanates from the fresh wound beneath. Despite everything, it's very much evident that he can't help but feel at least a small tingle of gratitude towards Ada, even though it hurts him to think about her at the moment.

"Well, since you didn't bleed out, and your arm is still somewhat usable, I'd say she did a good job," you let out a sigh and lean back slightly. Although you had previously taken a rather beneficial first aid course, you never anticipated having to actually apply those skills to treat a severe bullet wound, of all things. "...Her being a mercenary explains her way around such stuff, I guess."

Leon's eyes are still fixed on his injured shoulder as he nods. Guess he wasn't feeling very talkative for now. Not that you could blame him for that.

He runs his hand through his messy hair as you go to grab the medkit you thoughtfully prepared for the occasion, the faint sound of his fingers scratching against his scalp echoes in the room. You can only guess that his hair is probably just as dry and dirty as yours is, considering the circumstances you've just recently escaped from. On some level, it makes you feel less awkward about your own disheveled appearance in turn. It's good to know that you are all in the same boat here. Looking like a mess, and feeling like one, too.

"It sure does," he exhales somewhat bitterly, his voice filled with underlying anguish, as if he feels deeply betrayed. And he probably does. His face covered in a plethora of conflicting emotions. You feel a twinge of sympathy tugging at your heartstrings again. "I wish she could have just... been honest with me. From the start."

It appears that he is struggling to reconcile with the disparity between the person he believed he knew and the person Ada truly was.

You decide to not mention that he knew her for less than 24 hours. After all, it's evident that he's going through a difficult time as it is, and your practicality may not be of much help to him. Emotions are notoriously illogical.

It's difficult to think of a way to comfort him in the current situation.

"Well, at least you still have me, right? We made it out. And Claire, too. And Sherry." So, instead, you choose to gently rub his uninjured shoulder as a wordless show of support. "C'mon. Let's get that dirty bandage off of you. We don't want you catching an infection or something."

When you touch his shoulder again, he returns his gaze back to you, some life returning to the gentle blues of his eyes, much to your relief. Looks like your touch did the trick, as his body gradually loosens up under your palm. He gives you a small but genuine smile. "Alright, alright. Let's get this done, then. This is going to suck though..."

"Hey, it can't be as bad as actually getting shot, though, right?" you attempt to make a small joke to lighten the mood, but you instantly feel a deep sense of discomfort inside as soon as you actually speak it aloud.

Well, that sure sounded macabre.

"Uh... Sorry. That was... pretty bad."

Leon snorts out a short laugh regardless, running a hand over his face. At least you made him laugh. Though you can't help but wonder whether he laughed at your joke, or you. Probable the latter. Regardless, he takes a deep breath, preparing himself for the very probable agony of having his shoulder directly meddled with.

You both understand that it'll likely be pretty painful for him to endure, but you also understand that it is very much essential to get done. Especially since you haven't visited a hospital yet.

So, after you share a nod of mutual agreement with him, you begin to carefully remove the dirty bandage from his shoulder, taking your time to avoid causing him any unnecessary discomfort.

Besides your unfunny joke, that is.

"...Your jokes are terrible." Leon mutters under his breath, probably to distract himself a little. He winces slightly, the fabric that's already hardened now rubbing directly against the wound from your movements, which is more than uncomfortable to sit through, but not as painful as he expected. Or maybe he has just become more numb to the pain of it. "Don't be too gentle, by the way. Better to just get it over with as quickly as possible."

"I'm not about to hurry through this and potentially make it worse, sorry," you deadpan, leaving no room for doubt. 

Well, so much for his hopes of getting this done quickly. Though he knows you're right there. He just really doesn't want to sit through this.

As you continue to unravel the bandage, he clenches his teeth tightly. The pain is bearable, but it's far from enjoyable. With you steadily approach the actual wound, his entire body tightens involuntarily, muscles going taut with contained tension. The actual memory of being shot is still fresh in his mind, unfortunately. Though, he tries to divert his attention away from the pain by focusing on your presence and touch instead, however dubious such a notion may be.

He can hear you release a small sigh, whether it was out of annoyance or pity for him, he couldn't really tell. Your lips tighten as you carefully and patiently unravel each layer of cloth one by one to reach the aforementioned wound. He quickly looks down at his lap, scolding himself inwardly.

Why was he staring at your lips, of all things, anyways? He has no concise answer for that. And he is not sure what to expect once you two can finally look at the bullet wound itself, either. It's like everything was uncertain, and that was frustrating, to say the least.

"F-Fuck... That hurts-"

He clenches his teeth tightly, determined not to make any unneeded noise. He doesn't want to appear weak in your presence for some reason. Perhaps it's his pride speaking. He didn't really know.

"Sorry... I'm going as gently as I can," your voice is softer than he's used to, and he's not sure how to take that. You take your sweet time to remove the remaining layers of his bandage, being cautious not to abruptly tear it off, opting instead for a slower and more careful approach. Considerate as ever.

Leon releases a trembling breath while you carefully remove the final layer of fabric. He has to fight a growing urge to recoil as the last remaining layers of bandage are delicately removed. But it does at least feel relieving to finally take a full breath with no restriction that the tightness of the fabric secured around his chest provided. Even if such freedom was probably brief.

You both can now see his entire shoulder, which completely reveals the wound for you both to behold. He is very much aware of his heart pounding in his chest, his nerves on high alert. Once the wound is finally exposed, you examine it, quickly glancing over the hastily but securely stitched front and back where the bullet entered and exited his body. It was certainly not a clean, medical work, but it far surpassed anything either of you were capable of doing for him.

"Looks like she stitched you up, too... I wonder if that means she removed the bullet," you note, your brows furrowed together, creating a rather adorable-looking wrinkle between them.

...Goddammit, he's thinking utter nonsense.

"Ugh... I don't want to look at it," he mutters with clenched teeth, his breath slightly uneven. Nonetheless, he tries to divert his attention to something else, anything else, to distract himself from the nervousness twisting at his insides. The pain is intense and prickling, a sensation that spreads from the wound itself. The tender area around the injury causes Leon to wince involuntarily as you delicately touch it. He looks down at the wound, the stitched-up flesh making him a bit queasy. But he pushes past it. "I... can't tell you anything on what she did, sorry. Like I said, I passed out."

He looks away from it, not wanting to see it for much longer. Damn it, this will likely leave a mark. So much for the first day on the job. The idea of having to bear a permanent reminder of that horrible night makes him want to wail and claw at the walls.

But instead, he just lets out a shaky breath, his hands gripping at the sheets with iron-tight grip. In some sick irony, he now finds himself wishing for the dull, physical ache to return, to take center-stage again, instead of these feelings of disgust and dread that were so much more difficult to deal with.

Once again, your voice pulls him out of his silent turmoil. This seems to be a common occurrence now. But one he's grateful for, nonetheless.

"Well... Either way, you'll still need to go to a hospital for this. Preferably as soon as possible," you state, pretty much admitting that you would rather have opted to go directly to the hospital after your escape instead of staying in a nearby motel. He knew that you didn't approve of his stubborn refusal to go to the hospital. And here you were now. DIY care will have to do. You hum, your fingertips carefully tracing around the stitches. He shivers. Whether that was from the pain or something else entirely, he didn't really know. "-At least it's stitched up, so that's good. I'll just clean it, disinfect it, and wrap it back up for you. Hopefully it'll be okay."

"Yeah, I know I need to get this checked out. But for now..." As you start tending to his injury with a wet wipe, he flinches a bit, feeling a sharp pain from the cold dampness touching his skin. He hisses through his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut as he continues, his voice strained from the pain: "-I just want us to get out of here first. As far away from Racoon City as possible. Especially Sherry."

"Sorry... Bear with it for a while, will you?" you say as you move closer to him on the bed, glancing at him with that cute sympathetic look of yours. You start from his back and then move to his front. He shuts his eyes again while you continue with the wound cleaning, concentrating on taking deep, regular breaths to soothe his nerves. His body tenses up involuntarily, as the pain from the wound and the recollection of how it happened remain vivid in his thoughts.

"It's alright... I'll handle it." A sensitive area on his shoulder causes him to squirm slightly when touched. His entire body tightens instinctively, and his muscles contract involuntarily. "S-Sorry, just... Be careful, okay?"

You nod as you continue to cleanse his skin of dried up blood, while he tries to find solace in your quiet comfort. It presents a challenge, as the pain from his injury and the physical proximity between you two hinder his ability to focus on anything else.

"Don't apologize. I'm not the one with a damn bullet wound in my shoulder," you respond to his apology with a soft huff and a small shake of your head, your attention fully focused on your work. Your primary objective was to avoid making any sharp movements and to prevent your eyes from wandering south.

Which was... a bit harder than you would have liked to admit. You notice a few birthmarks scattered around his skin here and there. It's cute. A part of you wants to trace over them with your finger.

But, of course, you have a job to do.

Leon takes a deep breath, his chest slowly rising and falling as you work on him carefully. His teeth are clenched far too tightly for his comfort, and you are kind of worried that he might chip a tooth if he keeps this up. But considering that you have no idea what he's going through here, you decide to keep your mouth shut on that.

After successfully cleaning the area around his rough stitches, you pull away and search through the first aid kit you had in the motel room. A small, thoughtful hum fills your lips.

You hear Leon laugh weakly:"...Anything worthwhile in there, doc?"

"Well, there's some antibiotic cream in here... Better than nothing. I guess?"

He watches as you pull out the small tube of some basic antibacterial cream. You're pretty sure you have seen it somewhere before. Then again, no point expecting some high-end medicine from a med-kit you found stashed in the bedside drawer. Regardless, you make sure to read through its contents, just to be sure. Satisfied, you nod to yourself and return to sit behind him, beginning to apply the cream to his stitches with your fingertips. He instantly grimaces, be it from the pain or the cold. His muscle tighten again  for a moment, a small gasp leaving his lips.

"Stay still," you instruct to him softly as you spread the cream over his stitches thoroughly, your forehead wrinkling with focus. You try your best to be gentle while also ensuring that an adequate amount is applied to the injury.

"Ugh... shit, that's cold," he grits out, his voice strained.

For a small while, the room is silent, aside from Leon's shaky breaths and an occasional grunt of pain as he struggles to stay still for you. After you thoroughly treated both sides, you withdraw with a sigh: "Well... That's as good as we can do for now. We just need to wrap it back up with something."

Leon exhales a trembling breath of relief. Poor guy definitely had the worst night of his life.

"Heh... I guess I owe you one for this." He directs his gaze towards his shoulder, his eyes shifting between his bloodstained shirt lying crumbled on the floor and the now clean and treated stitches. Compared to their previous state, they definitely looked a bit better, but it was still, admittedly, pretty gross to look at. You can only guess that it will be a lengthy recovery for him. He hums. "You did a great job, by the way. I'm not sure I could have handled doing all that by myself,"

He meets your eyes with a gentle, grateful smile.

"-Just make sure to get it treated at the hospital. I don't need anything else from you." You dismiss him with a small smile of your own. Leon gives you a small nod at that.

However brief, the implication of the future makes you feel a bit... uneasy. Considering the past night's events, the idea of parting and going your separate ways seemed to be somewhat conflicting to you. Nonetheless, you have already accepted that it was inevitable. Leon, on the other hand, seemed to be firmly committed to destroying Umrella completely for what it did to Racoon City, just like Claire was. You felt somewhat out of place between these two determined individuals. After all, you were just an ordinary person who somehow miraculously escaped relatively unharmed. You weren't a courageous hero, nor were you skillfull enough to take down an entire corporation in some blaze of glory.

...Except for the scar or two for you to brag about now. Though you honestly doubt your survival is something to be proud of. You sure don't feel proud or accomplished at all.

Regardless, you ignore all these thoughts and concentrate on retrieving fresh bandages, contemplating them with a pensive expression. It's a bit of a hassle to unwrap the delicate gauze without tearing it. "...I sure hope this will be enough to wrap your shoulder back up. Though I guess I can just run out and buy some more."

"I think that should be enough. And don't worry about running out to get more. I don't want you going out there alone," Leon's voice is more serious than you expect, prompting you to raise a brow at him. He meets your questioning gaze, his face showing a somewhat worried expression. "We're stronger together. Safer together. And after everything we've been through, I don't want to risk us losing sight of each other."

"What do you would even happen, though? We're out now, right? I get that you and Claire want to deal with Umbrella and all, but..." you let out a sigh and move closer to him from behind, beginning to gently wrap the bandage around his shoulder and torso to provide support. Despite the awkwardness and clumsiness of your work, you do your best for him. "-I'm just a normal, boring person with a normal, boring life, y'know. Not much I can do. I'm guessing I'll just... go back home to my State or something. Since Racoon City is obviously... uh... not an option of residence anymore."

Leon nods again as he listens to you. He takes a brief pause, staring down at the fresh bandages layering themselves over his body before returning to look back at you over his shoulder. You lock eyes with him.

"But still... I'd feel better if you stuck with me. Or Claire. At least until you and Sherry are somewhere safe," he shrugs slightly, wincing as the motion immediately strains at his wounded shoulder. "I'm not saying you have to help us take down Umbrella if you don't want to. That's our fight. But... I would feel better knowing that you're safe and protected. And if that means sticking with me until you are, then..."

"-Go easy on that shoulder, will you?" you release a small sigh of frustration when you see him casually shrug and grimace instantly. You place a hand on his uninjured shoulder to acclimate him a bit before continuing bandaging him up.

"Sorry, sorry. Staying still now." A sheepish chuckle leaves him as he gives you an almost guilty look. A trembling breath escapes him as you work at his shoulder. Although it's obvious that he's still uncomfortable, it looks like his pain has eased a little, much to your relief.

You take a deep breath, your expression shifting slightly. Truth be told, you were a bit jealous of Leon's unyielding faith into things somehow working out in the end. It was naive, but... refreshing, too. He continues, his gaze now locked onto you over his shoulder: "And you're not boring, you know. Sure, you may not have any special skills or training, but you're smart. Brave. Resilient. You've survived this far, haven't you?"

You take a brief moment to reflect on his words, with only the faint noise of the gauze being unwrapped and distant sounds from outside permeating the motel room. "-Won't I just be a burden to you guys, though? You're a cop. And Claire is apparently one impressive badass with a gun. I'm not... Ada, either. I'm just... well, me. Not much I can offer to help you in the long run."

You take a brief break to lock eyes with him again. Leon smiles at you faintly, his face now looking more relaxed, no longer wrinkled with the expression of pain: "Well... You've got heart. That counts for something in my book."

"Uh... not to be a downer, but I don't think my 'heart' will keep me safe out there. I never even shot a gun properly before. Until last night that is," you whisper playfully, rolling your eyes at him. Somehow, his words always manage to bring a smile to your face, even if it's a small one. Though he is pretty damn corny. "I guess I could kill zombies with kindness. Do you think my heart is any good for that?"

Leon laughs at that, his eyes twinkling with amusement. It looks like your bluntness didn't bother him much. When you're eventually finished with bandaging him up, you're able to see how well the pure white fabric of the fresh gauze contrasts with the previous dirty and bloody one now lying discarded on the floor. Leon takes a moment to look back down at his freshly bandaged shoulder, too, appreciating your work. At least you hope he did.

"I mean... I could teach you how to shoot properly and all. If you want." He looks back up at you with a genuinely sincere expression on his face. He takes a short pause and a small smile appears on his lips before he adds: "...And I get the feeling you'd be a natural shot from what I've seen from you already."

You only scoff at that, your attention focused on inspecting his body, examining the various cuts and bruises that still marred his skin.

Leon lets out another gentle chuckle at your dismissive response or lack there of, his face showing a combination of amusement and gratitude. Admittedly, you're a bit more huffy with him now that you're out of danger. You can't really help it. But that doesn't mean you don't feel any worry twist in your gut as you look over his bruised body.

"-How about I patch some of these up as well? Since I have all the supplies out and all."

"You sure? I can walk it off just fine," Leon says in a rather playful tone. Though, to make it easier for you to observe his body, he still carefully adjusts his position to face you fully. "Sure, a few cuts and scrapes here and there, and I'm guessing I'm gonna be bruised up pretty bad, but... Nothing to make a fuss about."

You only grace him with yet another deadpan look that makes it clear that you already made the decision for him. So, without saying another word, you grab another wet wipe and begin cleaning out his numerous smaller cuts and gashes scattered here and there, starting with his lower back, as you move behind him once more.

Leon emits a soft hiss, the familiar coldness causing him to shudder against you. He's rather pliable for you, for some reason. You kind of expected him to protest or at least grumble a bit at your incessant coddling. But it seems like he was fine with just letting you play nurse for him. 

"Stay still, will you," you quietly chide him, placing a hand on his back to stop his squirming.

"Sorry, it just stings like hell..." he mumbles as he attempts to remain still for you, his muscles tightened. His body grows increasingly rigid as you continue to tend to his wounds, a trembling exhale leaving his lips. He clenches his teeth again, but he sometimes cannot resist emitting a hiss or gasp here and there. "God, I don't remember the last time I got beat up this bad... I feel like I got hit by a damn train."

You now move to position yourself in front of him to take care of his stomach area. And once again, you find yourself trying to keep your mind from focusing too much on the physical proximity between you two. Especially as you shift to kneel on the floor between his legs, finding no other better option to be level with his lower abdomen in a way that would be comfortable for you.

All you are doing is taking care of his wounds and nothing else.

Leon and you are both acutely aware of how close you are to him now, his breath catching in his throat when you kneel in front of him. But he doesn't say anything about it, and neither do you. After all, saying anything about it would potentially force you to confront some feelings you weren't comfortable confronting quite yet. As you clean up some minor cuts of his, you feel a slight increase in your heart rate despite all your best efforts to keep a level head. However, you try your damnest to put these unwanted feelings aside by reminding yourself that you are simply doing your job.

...Only you certainly can't ignore the fact that you are now essentially kneeling between his legs. Despite this, you persevere in cleaning him up, your hands moving over his chest and abdomen with great care. With too much care, really. There was no reason for you to be so careful and soft with him. But you do so anyways.

Leon watches you intently as you're working on him in tense silence, his eyes fixed on your face, hands, the way your hair occasionally falls over your face from your position, partially obscuring your features from his view. Your gentle assistance causes him to feel a tiny shiver traveling down his spine every time you move your fingers and touch his skin directly. He swallows, clearing his throat.

"Fucking hell... I'm gonna be sore as hell for weeks," Leon lets out a somewhat shaky laugh, trying to adopt a light and casual tone despite the situation. Though, he is mostly just hoping to distract himself from... everything.

...He wonders how your touch would feel on him without the washcloth there to mask it.

You give him a slight shrug in response. "-Sore is better than dead."

Fair.

"Thanks for... taking care of all this. I don't know what I'd do without you right now."

"Probably have Claire do this for me."

Leon laughs nervously, realizing that his attempts at small-talk are not quite working out. He watches you grab the antibacterial cream and move back up to sit behind him on the bed. When you begin applying the cream to his back, he wries slightly but tries his best to remain still for you and conceal the full extent of his discomfort. Your hands on his skin, and the cream's coldness is making him shiver for the countless time today. "...Is the cream really necessary? It's just some cuts and bruises..."

"Yup."

He sighs, hanging his head low and accepting his fate. Once the initial foreign coldness of the cream subsidies, the sensation of your touch on his skin has a strangely relaxing effect on him, especially so when it doesn't involve the aching bullet wound on his shoulder. He leans into your touch mindlessly, despite the ache, feeling his muscles gradually unwind under your care.

He's not necessarily aware of the action. But once he does notice it, he doesn't try to move back, either. After all the stress and pain, it's too much of a relief. And he's far too weak to resist it.

With a small smile on his lips, he glances at you over his shoulder and says: "You know... I've gotta say, being taken care of by a beautiful stranger like you isn't all that bad."

You huff out a surprised laugh at that, giving him a rather adorable-looking eye roll. He feels his smile grow, feeling oddly proud of making you laugh. Even if it was probably at his expense.

"...Not sure how I'm supposed to respond to that, but thank you for the compliment. You're not so bad yourself. For a patient." Your dismissive response at his cheeky remark is something that Leon finds genuinely amusing. He knows he took you by surprise with that. Which was his intention all along.

And just like that, you return back to the floor, settling between his legs and starting to apply cream to the small cuts scattered on his stomach. Like it's no big deal whatsoever. Your calm and nonchalant attitude about this all is kind of driving him crazy. It makes him feel like he's insane for feeling all frazzled by this entire situation. But he keeps his thoughts to himself, not wanting to embarrass himself any further.

Your ghostly touches across his abdomen cause a slight increase in his heart rate, another shudder running down his spine despite his efforts to suppress it. He tries to hide his body's unwelcome reactions to your touch, biting down on his lip, but he can't help but tremble and gasp occasionally, writing it off on the pain in his head. Rather poorly. His body stubbornly refuses to calm down, not when he can feel the sensation of your fingers gliding across his skin so gently, and he just has to sit there deal with it.

...And hopefully avoid getting a very awkward boner, considering your position between his legs.

Trying to keep the mood light, he grins down at you his eyes glued to you as his voice takes on a more joking tone. Though it sounds more shaky and nervous than confident, much to his annoyance: "You don't have to respond. Just take the compliment."

"Gee, thank you. Very gracious of you," you laugh briefly, shaking your head at him. At times, you were too much. Leon wonders if that's how you normally act, when you're not in a life-or-death situation. He was not prepared for you to be so curt and snarky with him. In a way, it was endearing. Though, of course, he wasn't about to admit that outloud.

Regardless, he finds himself shooting his shot again. Almost on impulse.

"Y'know... You're making this whole 'being patched up' thing damn near enjoyable," his tone is playful, but a subtle hint of interest still manages to sneak into his voice, mixed in with his playful words. He was testing the waters. Trying to see just how receptive you were to his flattery that was a bit more flirty in nature.

"Well, at least you're not in pain. That's good enough for me." Your response is almost unfairly simple, prompting him pout a bit as he watches you finish up on the task of tending to his numerous minor cuts and bruises that he acquired the night before. At the very least, this was much easier for him to handle, both physically and mentally, compared to the gruesome bullet wound you just treated. His torso still had a few noticeable bruises and smaller cuts from the previous day, but he definitely looked much better without all the dried up blood and dirt stuck to his skin and making it seem worse than it really was.

With a soft sigh, you pull back from him and look over him, pausing to look at his bruised hands in particular: "-Those probably hurt, no?"

He concentrates on his hands for a good minute, staring down at them and flexing his fingers to gauge their feel. With a slight grimace, he experiences a tiny burst of pain as he moves them, an exasperated huff leaving his lips.

At this point, is there any part of his body that doesn't hurt like a bitch?

"...A bit. Can't say I'm really surprised, though. It's a wonder I have any usable hands left at all, honestly."

His expression softens slightly when he meets your gaze, noticing the crystal-clear worry in your eyes. He finds it charming how much you truly care and desire to help him. You may be a bit more sharp with him, but your genuine concern for him never went away. He's definitely not used to being doted on so much. Though he feels a bit guilty for enjoying it as much as he does.

You shake your head again, giving him a pointed look at his little quip: "Don't get all dramatic now."

He smiles at that.

"No, but really. Thanks for tending to me. I was serious when I said that I wouldn't know what I'd do without you right now," he repeats his previous statement again, mostly because he doesn't really know what else to say. Or, rather, what he wants to say is a bit out of line.

"Nah. I'm not doing anything groundbreaking here. It just helps to keep my hands busy. I'll probably patch up Claire and Sherry once they come back, too." You wave off his gratitude, as always. 

Leon has to refrain from voicing his observations, which directly contradict your words. Which are that you visibly cared more and felt more concerned for him in particular. He didn't want to create an awkward situation between you two. Instead, he watches quietly as you hum and delicately take hold of his hands, bringing them closer to your face to assess the damage. Of course, it wasn't a major problem. In all honesty, you could have concluded this all once you took care of his bullet wound, as it was the only truly crucial matter to deal with. Everything else that followed was rather unnecessary, all things considered.

He freely lets you hold onto his hands without any resistance. His heart flutters slightly as he feels the tenderness of your touch once more. Observing your face, he feels a mix of affection and amusement bubbling in his chest as you examine his hands so thoroughly. Your gaze lingering on his bruised knuckles is something he notices in particular. You're rather attentive with him.

Nonetheless, you pull back once you're satisfied, meeting his gaze. "-It'll probably be good to bandage up those knuckles. Make it less painful for you, at least."

"Yeah, that might not be a bad idea," he says in a light tone, trying to ignore the way his heartbeat steadily accelerates due to the warm sensation of your fingers against his skin with no barriers getting in the way. And ignoring the persistent thoughts of lacing his fingers with yours, just to see how that would feel like.

As you begin silently wrapping his knuckles with gauze, he watches as your hands move gently and precisely over him. Even if it was faint, he couldn't help but notice the contrast between the size of your hands and his own. He almost becomes distracted by the sensation of your touch, but your voice takes him out of it.

"-Nice to know that taking that first aid course back in college wasn't a total waste of time," you muse playfully while you delicately wrap the gauze around one of his hands, making sure not to apply too much pressure on it. The sensation was comforting. By taking care of Leon, you were not only helping him, but also alleviating your own worries following the events of the previous night. In a sense, you were doing this for yourself as much as for him.

"Well, you're really good at this. Maybe you should be a nurse. Look into that." Leon's voice is soft even if his words are teasing, a hint of appreciation or admiration seeping through. You couldn't really tell.

As you scrunch up at him in response to his compliment, Leon giggles. The sound of it feels oddly calm and soothing to you. You are acutely aware of his eyes on you as you swiftly wrap the gauze around his hand, but you do not mention it to him. Considering that you were acting rather excessive with your care for him, you couldn't really blame him for staring. Once you are done with one of his hands, he glances at his freshly bandaged knuckles with a faint smile gracing his lips.

"...Never thought I'd put my skills to use like this though," your say quietly.

"I never thought I'd end up getting shot on my first day on the job, either. Or attacked by a giant alligator. It's been a wild ride, to say the least."

"I guess we all got the rug pulled from under our feet last night, so to speak," you sigh, your brows furrowing a bit as your mind drifts back to the events of the night prior. But you don't dwell on it too much. Focusing instead of the feel of Leon's hand in yours.

As you gradually complete the bandaging on his other hand as well, he continues to watch you in silence, his gaze fixed on your face as you concentrate on your task. You feel a bit sheepish, knowing you are being watched this closely, a warm, ticklish sensation flickering to life in your chest. You sigh and shake it off.

"But hey, I'm grateful I got to meet you. Though that was... one hell of a first meeting," his tone is sincere and quiet, with a genuine intention behind his words you can't overlook even if you try. You are suddenly fully aware that you probably wouldn't have been able to figure out what to do without his presence by your side in duration of that hellish night. In fact, if it wasn't for him, you'd probably be dead. Be it by giving up on fighting and simply accepting your fate, or being far too panicked to get yourself together in a moment of importance.

You wouldn't have survived if you were on your own put there. At least that's what you thought.

"I'm... glad I met you, too. And I'm glad you're here with me, right now."

The ease with which these words just fly out of your mouth is... surprising. A rather long moment of silence follows, only the soft sound of the bandage being wrapped around his other hand and the distant noise of cars outside filling the cramped motel room.

You do not look up at him, but you can be pretty certain that Leon is probably just as taken aback by your unexpectedly moving response. Your heart skips as you swiftly realize the genuine sincerity of your own words that seemed to have a mind of their own. This wasn't like you. Being this open and vulnerable about your feelings. Especially so to someone you've just met. Maybe you were even more of a mess than you thought. But when you do get the courage to sneak a quick glance up at him, his expression is rather soft, much to your surprise. You cannot quite comprehend what is reflected in there, but it brings a warm, blooming feeling to your chest regardless.

"Uh... Thanks," he speaks up eventually, his voice sounding a little rougher than usual, but you are grateful enough that he managed to blurt out at least something to end this heavy beat of silence. The unexpected intensity of the moment has left you feeling a bit flustered and caught off guard, and you never liked not being in control of your emotions.

He continues to watch you as you finish bandaging his other hand, his gaze shifting between your face and his now fully bandaged knuckles. Throughout this quiet but charged process, you deal with a rather strange combination of feelings. Gratitude for his understanding of your odd behavior without focusing on it too much. A fluttery, nervous feeling in your stomach due to your physical proximity to him, making you painfully aware of every rise and fall of his chest with every breath he takes. A burning heat of embarrassment blooming in your cheeks from being so upfront with him all of the sudden.

It was a doozy, to say the least. Especially to your already worn out mind.

You exhale slowly, calming yourself. Leaning slightly back on your knees, you observe his bandaged hands. Despite finding a safe place to rest and sleep without immediate danger, you still feel a sense of unease and uncertainty somewhere in the back of your mind, gnawing at your every thought like an ugly, persistent parasite. And these new emotions you are now dealing with did not help with that feeling of apprehension whatsoever. You're growing increasingly unsure about what to do next or how to proceed after all is resolved. Both short-term as well as long-term. 

Will you just return to your regular daily routine after this? Go back to work like nothing happened? Try out that study program you were so interested in applying for? Visit that new Cafe that opened near your apartment back home?

All of that seems almost impossible now. The same things that used to make you feel hopeful and excited for the future now seemed completely hollow. You felt hollow. Like Racoon City has robbed you of your future, even if it let you escape alive.

But what other option is there for you?

To play hero and risk your life again?

You weren't sure you could handle that, either.

"Hey, I..." Leon starts to speak, breaking you out of your trance, but his voice fades away without ever finishing whatever he was planning on saying to you. He clearly wants to convey something, but he is either unsure of what to say, or is hesitant about speaking his mind at all. You can't really blame him. You find it rather infuriating yourself, trying to find the correct words to express the unique combination of emotions swirling within you chest.

You shake your head, expelling all these unwanted thoughts from your mind. At least for a brief moment.

"-For what it's worth, I really am glad you've survived. With me. And... I'm thankful. For all you did for me. Even though you didn't know me at all."

Your thumbs are absentmindedly brushing against his palm now while you keep your gaze lowered. You don't want to see his face right now. Perhaps, you're just scared to.

"...You may not have saved everybody. Or most people you wanted to save. But... I'm here thanks to you. So... thank you. For saving me," you finish quietly. Taking little time to consider your next action, you find yourself leaning down and gently kissing his bandaged knuckles, lingering there for a few moments before withdrawing. You don't address the issue directly or consider its significance.

You refuse to.

Leon is very much stunned speechless when you go and kiss his knuckles without any warning being given to him, his heart quickly flying up into his throat as he stares down at you, utterly dumbfounded. This was... definitely the last thing he expected you to do, especially after such a heartfelt sentiment that left him feeling rather choked up as it is. He feels a rush of warmth traveling up to his face, causing him to choke on his own words for a good minute. He struggles to find the right words as various emotions overwhelm him all at once. But they didn't feel heavy or painful, like the crushing guilt for those he couldn't protect, or the suffocating ache of betrayal that Ada's deception left him with. 

This was lighter, giving him a much-needed break from all the depressing thoughts and questions buzzing on the front of his mind. But, ironically this was also so much more nerve-wracking to navigate.

He didn't know which on which emotion to focus on, which one to express to you, and whether or not he should express anything at all.

Gratitude for your unconditional comfort. Guilt for making you comfort him in the first place. Confusion at your sudden show of gentle affection he didn't know how to respond to. An inexplicable fluttering sensation making his guts feel all queasy.

You not saying anything to address what just happened doesn't help much with the chaos happening inside his head.

"You..." although he starts speaking, he trails off once again, cursing at himself inside his own head.

You don't seem bothered at all by his lack of a reply. In fact, Leon is kind of uncertain if you even want him to reply in the first place. It doesn't seem like you expect much from him at all. And the situation between you is already too complicated as it is, without all the added weirdness taking place right now. Maybe you didn't want to talk about it at all.

Though, the notion of you simply kissing him like that, without expecting anything from him in return is... more moving than he was willing to admit.

So, despite his disbelief and the whirlwind of emotions wrecking havoc on his already frazzled mind, he just keeps looking at you like. Like a loyal puppy looking at its owner and trying to figure them out. Truth be told, he simply cannot bring himself to look away from you right now, not with the memory of your brief kiss to his knuckles now etched into his mind. Regardless of its simplicity and innocence, the kiss has a deeper meaning for him. Suddenly, he finds himself being struck by your simple beauty: how tired and fragile you truly seem to him in this moment. In a way, you look just like him. Exhausted and battered, but carrying on regardless. There was a certain authentic charm in your disheveled appearance. He finds himself yearning to reach out and hold your hand, to bring your own fingers up to his lips, like you did for him.

...But before he can do or say any of that, you sigh and lift yourself up from your kneeling position beneath him. You release his hands, your thumbs gently brushing along the sides of his palms one last time before you warmth slips away from him completely. Leon continues to watch as you move away from him, feeling an unexpected sense of disappointment coiling deep in his gut despite his efforts to ignore it. He tries his damnest to dismiss this unpleasant feeling, convincing himself to concentrate on whatever you choose to do next instead. Though he does kind of feel like some lovesick puppy, unable to look away from you even for a damn second.

You quickly sit back up onto the motel bed beside him, your eyes traveling up and down his form quietly. He knows you're probably just overlooking his injuries, but he suddenly feels nervous and almost self-conscious under your attention, nonetheless. Mostly because he wants to know what you think of him. Not as a patient, but as a man. He does appear visibly better, though, now that he's at least no longer wearing that dirty, bloody bandage around his shoulder, and his smaller cuts and bruises have been properly cleaned from the stray dirt and blood stuck on them. But he's definitely seen better days.

"-Claire and Sherry sure are taking their time," you say softly, breaking the silence.

"Y-Yeah, they are. They've been gone for a while now. I'm sure they're fine, though. Claire can handle herself," he agrees, his voice sounding strangely squeaky even to his own ears. He cringes inwardly, clearing his throat. His mind continues to race, with thoughts swirling like a tornado within his head. Feeling restless, he shifts uncomfortably on the bed, unable to find the right position.

He's fully aware that his behavior has become noticeably more quiet and reserved compared to before, and he can't help but feel slightly annoyed with himself for making things awkward between you. But he doesn't really know what else to do. Whether you want him to talk about that kiss or not. If he's making a bigger deal out of it than it really is.

If you would be willing to do that again...

He runs his fingers through his unkempt hair with a quiet huff, the subtle sensation of your lips brushing against his knuckles both a blessing and a curse. He's definitely the weird one here. Claire probably would have laughed her ass off at him right now, and he can't really blame her. His gaze is fixed on you, his eyes lingering on your face for far longer than necessary, trying to read between the lines, to figure out what you're thinking in that head of yours. He's itching to say something, anything, to break the weighty silence that has now enveloped the small, confined room... but the words continue to stubbornly elude him. Instead, he awkwardly clears his throat again, almost like something got stuck in there. But, really, he is simply suddenly overtaken by a strong desire for physical contact with you. One he isn't sure what to do with.

You shake your head and speak up again, for which he is definitely grateful, his mind instantly rushing to cling to your words. Anything to escape from the rising disarray his head is in.

"Well, hey, at least it gave us a chance to patch you up properly."

You glare at the old bandage, stained with blood from his shoulder's bullet wound, that you had taken off earlier and left crumpled on the floor. As Leon once again remembers the wound on his shoulder, he trembles slightly, following your gaze down at the blood-stained bandage lying on the floor. He finds that cute. How you almost scrunch your nose up at that dirty thing. Like it's a living thing that caused him so much problems.

Despite him being very much shirtless, he still feels a bit too hot for his liking.

"I guess it did, yeah," he says, his voice sounding rather strained. Restlessly, he shifts on the bed again, desperately searching for something else to talk about. However, his mind stubbornly keeps returning to the sensation of your lips on his skin, and an unfamiliar longing gradually rises within him, tugging at his heartstrings...

But longing for what exactly?

He suppresses his thoughts and bites his tongue, feeling a bit embarrassed by the intensity of his desire. He feels like a complete idiot. Getting all worked up over nothing. He glances at you once again, his eyes lingering on your face momentarily before dropping to your hands resting in your lap.

"Uh... thanks again, by the way. You know. For taking care of me and all," he blurts out, trying to resist the temptation to reach out and hold your hand, his own hands now clenching into fists on either side of him on the bed.

"No problem. We're a team, remember?" you say in a more cheerful manner, giving him a slight smile. One that he returns almost on a whim. Though, as you look at him a bit closer, you hum and reach back for the antibacterial cream. Before he knows it, he feels the pads of your fingers dabbing the cool cream on the side of his cheek. You applying the cream to his cheek leaves him feeling a slight sting, but the warmth of your touch on his skin helps to distract him from it. He didn't even realize he had a cut there. He's pretty sure it was relatively tiny. It wasn't really needed at all to take care of it, but you still did it anyway, and your smile grew a little wider as you pulled your hand away. "-There. Good as new. Y'know... ignoring the bullet wound, huge scary bruises and a good number of cuts."

Despite knowing he's far from 'good as new', Leon can't help but laugh at your playful comment. It helps him relax a little, some weight lifted off his shoulders.

"Yeah, yeah, keep making fun of me. You didn't like it so much when those dogs were trying to bite your face off, huh?" A small smirk forms on his face as he teases you back in a lighthearted manner that a good friend would. Though,  the subject is rather... morbid. But it helps to joke about those things. A little.

He wants to say more, to come up with something witty or charming, maybe even muster up some cheesy pick-up lime to try and see if he can get away with it. But as he glances at you again, his words become stuck in his throat all over again. It's impossible for him not to focus on your face, taking in every tiny detail and drinking them all in with a hunger that feels almost scarily insatiable. This particular moment between you two has an oddly charged quality to it, as if there's more than just friendly banter filling the stale air of the motel room. He feels an intense and unexplainable desire to be closer to you, to touch you, to...

He swallows hard, trying to push these invasive thoughts out of his head. He chastises himself internally for being absurd. After all, you're just a friend and teammate. Supposedly. Whatever you were to him, his behavior is strange, like an infatuated teenager with a pathetic crush he has no idea what to do with. For fuck's sake, he is a 21-year-old police officer.

...Technically speaking, that is.

But he lacks any sort of control over his heart rate or sweaty palms. He can't help but look down at your lips repeatedly, as if he's being persuaded to do so against his own will.

As you let out a weary sigh of your own, you seem to be utterly oblivious to the inner struggle he is currently experiencing unbeknownst to you. The room is quiet, but your troubled and contemplative gaze is fixed ahead of you instead of looking at him. Leon doesn't know if that makes him feel better or worse. A huge, pathetic part of him wants your eyes to be on him, to be your center of attention like he was moments prior. But another part of him is utterly mortified at the prospect, knowing he'll probably just fumble like an idiot if you were to meet his blatant stare right now.

He's stuck between a rock and a hard place.

The shutter cracks welcome the morning sunlight in, creating long, bright yellow stripes across your features. You look beautiful like this, but he can't help but want to know what's on your mind that has you looking so distant, like you're in a world completely separate from this one. And them, much like you did with the kiss to his knuckles, you don't say anything to warn him. He just watches as you lean down and rest your head on his good shoulder. You remain silent, immersed in your own thoughts. Almost like it's a completely normal thing to do between you two. Or maybe you just don't want to address it? He couldn't really figure it out. He couldn't figure you out. And he couldn't really figure himself out, either. 

Everything was a big, convoluted mess.

Another strong rush of emotions hits him straight across the face at the sudden closeness you grace him with. It's funny, really. Here he was, wanting to get all close and personal with you, and now that that's exactly what's happening, his brain is completely blank. He makes an effort to take a deep breath, but it comes out shaky and uneven. He is also suddenly acutely aware of his own lack of clothing on his upper half. He longs to express himself to you in some meaningful way, but still finds himself unable to say a single damn word. A chaotic mix of thoughts and cravings overwhelms his mind, taking over his every sense. Gradually, he does manage to bring himself to move. To extend his arm and gently drape it around your shoulders, drawing you in closer to him, watching how you'd react and if he should pull back and shower you with awkward apologies that were already forming on the tip of his tongue. He can sense the gentle, rhythmic pulsation of your heart against his bare skin, and that feeling is almost intoxicating in how soothing it is.

He kind of wishes he could lay his head down directly on your chest, just to listen to your heartbeat. That would certainly keep his head empty of any and all thoughts, big and small.

You make a soft noise that sounds like one of approval, moving slightly closer to him, your bodies now comfortably intertwined in a clumsy side-snuggle. A surge of protectiveness suddenly comes over Leon when you cuddle closer to him like that. Silently, he squeezes you a just a little bit tighter, letting a pleasant shiver run down his spine as your body touches his, filling out the dips and contours of his form with your own, almost like two puzzle pieces fitting together. The gesture holds an undeniable amount of intimacy, and he feels a strong desire to just keep holding you and never let go.

Now, Leon finds himself being silent to conserve the moment, rather than due to awkwardness. There is a delicate sense of wordless understanding and reliance that has formed between you, without it having to be solely platonic or romantic in nature. He's uncertain how to interpret it exactly, and whether you even want him to interpret it in some specific way. For now, he simply acknowledges that your warm presence near him sooths him in a way that he desperately needs, regardless of what that entails for you two. In a way, it gives him a feeling of calmness he was longing for this entire time. A brief reprieve from all the chaos and uncertainty of the past, present,  and future.

He leans forward, carefully placing his chin on top of your head, and then closes his eyes, focusing on nothing but the soft feeling of your body pressed against his. He can hear the soft and soothing sound of your breath and the steady rhythm of your heartbeat, which makes him feel strangely...

At peace.

He can feel you nuzzle into him ever so slightly, clearly being careful not to disturb his achy shoulder, which makes him smile fondly, finding the gesture endearing in a pure and uncomplicated manner. It is comforting to not be alone, in a fundamentally human sense. Maybe he needed a moment such as this one for a while now. He just didn't know that until he had it.

Leon inhales the scent of your hair as he takes a deep breath. It smells of motel's cheap shampoo, which is unsurprising. All four of them probably smell the same right now. But he doesn't really care. He is unable to resist the urge to bury his nose into your hair slightly, as if attempting to absorb your scent. Is that a bit weird on his part? Maybe. But he feels far too content to care about his dignity at this point.

Tgough, the moment breaks rather abruptly, as you move pull back from him, rubbing the back of your neck sheepishly. Leon feels a familiar sense of disappointment deep in his gut when you withdraw from him, but he tries his best to conceal it from you, not wanting to appear too needy in front of you. Even if he really was needy. Despite his heart still racing, he shakes it off and attempts to appear unaffected. Very poorly.

"...Sorry. You must be cold like that. The cream probably settled already, so..." you mutter out without looking at him directly, but he cuts you off, the words leaving the tip of his tongue before he can think them through.

"It's fine," his tone is gruff. "I'm not cold."

Despite being aware that there is nothing inherently intimate about this situation, he still feels oddly exposed in front of you. The thought of you observing his bare skin out in the open only increases his already fast-paced heartbeat. After all the events of the night before, it feels... strange to feel his blood pumping in his temples, and it not being a result of something horrifying or life-threatening. He attempts to divert his eyes from you, but they persistently return back to your face. He was being drawn to you like a moth to a flame. Though, your warmth was nothing like one coming from a flame. He wasn't scared of you burning him if he gets too close. No, rather, he was terrified of your gentle light to turn off, leaving him without its comforting warmth to grasp onto.

He can't help but focus on your lips in particular, already reminiscing about the moment you kissed his knuckles. His thoughts are now pretty much haunted by this one memory, replaying it incessantly like a broken record.

Don't give in, don't give in, don't give in...

He repeats it to himself in his own head, but he finds it increasingly harder and harder to follow his own advice. His hands are clenched tightly on his lap, causing his bruised knuckles ache in protest. But it's all he can do to resists the urge to reach out to you, and...

"-Sorry," you suddenly repeat, your attention fully focused on his tightly clenched hands. Damn it, you probably think he's uncomfortable or something. He can see that guilty look in your eyes, and he hates it. He doesn't want you to look at him like that. "I... didn't mean to make things weird. Don't worry about it. I don't-"

Leon shakes his head, but keeps looking straight at your face dutifully. His heart is beating so fast that it seems like it could burst straight out of his chest any moment now, eager to show you how excited you truly make him with the smallest of things. It's becoming almost too much for him to handle the desire to kiss you. And not just your knuckles.

"No... it's not that," he protests in a slightly hoarse voice. His words stop as he shifts his eyes down to your lips again and then back up to meet your hesitant gaze, searching for something he can't really put his finger on. He is able to see every aspect of your face crystal clear in the soft light of the morning sun: the way your eyelashes create faint shadows on your cheeks, the gentle curve of your lips, the subtle color flush on your skin. "You didn't make things weird. I just..."

Your lashes flutter, your body tensing ever so slightly as you finally take notice of his very apparent staring, causing Leon to hold his breath momentarily. A part of him expects to receive a scolding he probably deserves. But it never comes. Instead, an unexpected sense of tension settles between you, catching him completely off guard and leaving him uncertain about where this was going exactly. Or maybe he just doesn't want to acknowledge the truth. Even so, he allows it to persist and guide him without any resistance or attempts to distance himself from you. Not that he wants to resist this pull in the first place.

He can almost taste the saltiness of your skin on his lips. He can almost hear the soft sound of your breath. And he can almost sense the subtle scent that is uniquely yours. The emotional intimacy between you is almost too much for him handle. So, without much thought, he moves in and gently cups your cheek, lifting your face towards his, wanting - no, needing - to be closer to you.

"...Leon?"

The subtle sound of your voice uttering his name causes his heart to stop momentarily. He can see it in your eyes that you do understand the silent implication behind this sudden action of his. After all, clarification is not exactly necessary to catch on to what he trying to do here. The feel of your skin beneath his fingers sends a slight shiver through his body. Despite this, your eyes remain locked together, almost as if you were sharing a wordless conversation between each other.

Leon swallows. He gently strokes your lower lip with his thumb, relishing in the sensation of it beneath his fingertip. Even if it's chapped and dry from last night's events. His voice is just a soft whisper now as he voices the silent question that's on the forefront of his mind: "...Can I kiss you?"

There is a moment of hesitation between you, but you don't move to pull away or reject him. He can guess that you're mulling over your own thoughts and doubts in that pretty head of yours. Though he wishes he could know what you're thinking of right now. If you want this as much as he does. But he waits patiently for you to share your answer with him once you do find it. Whatever it may be.

And then, you give him a slow nod.

As you stare back at him, Leon feels a sudden tightness in his throat. He knows he's being a bit too emotional about all of this, but your little nod feels like an agreement, approval, and acceptance all at once. Without any further delay, he leans in and gently cups your other cheek now as well, holding your face in his palms, letting your breaths mix for just a smidge of a moment.

Is it a wise decision? Clearly not. You've just met. The fact that you were able to survive a dangerous and challenging situation together doesn't alter that fact. However... in a way, it still does. Leon feels secure with you. The unspoken trust built between you two is difficult to articulate in words. The kind of trust that can only form when you experience a challenging ordeal only you can understand the full extent of. Which is why he doesn't try to explain it. Not when you two can explore it through action, instead.

When he does finally lean towards you, you meet him halfway, much to his relief, your lips inevitably locking together lightly. He closes his eyes and drinks in the delicate sensation of warmth and comfort that comes from sharing this simple human contact with you. The sensation of your lips on his makes Leon's mind blissfully empty. He resists the urge to embrace you tightly and hold you close. Compared to the intense passion he feels burning within his chest, the kiss itself feels hesitant and almost innocent in nature. Nonetheless, it triggers a pleasant surge of heat in his veins. He can feel the warm of your hand on his skin as you place it atop of one of his own hands cradling your cheeks, causing his heart to beat even faster within his chest.

Your circumstances don't make it particularly romantic or mind-blowing. The kiss is a bit clumsy, as first kisses usually are, when you don't exactly know how to fall into step with the other person yet. Your lips are dry and cracked, just like his are, due to the previous night. There is even a faint taste of blood that can be felt in the kiss, as one of you definitely split their lip during the numerous falls you both endured. However, none of that is a major issue for him. If anything, it makes it more precious in his mind. How real and authentic it feels.

The kiss is a soft and lingering one that doesn't extend beyond that.

And when you eventually pull apart from one another, concluding the kiss, he rests his forehead against yours, keeping his eyes closed tightly, a shaky breath leaving his lips. Your hand remains on top of his, the touch bringing him a nice feel of wordless reassurance. That you're really there. That you did just kiss, and it wasn't just some weird trick of his frazzled mind.

You weren't going away. Nor were you asking anything of him with that kiss. It was just a kiss. No hidden meanings or agendas in mind. Somehow, that makes it all that much more meaningful for him.

There is a strange sense of vulnerability he has to get used to, both physically and emotionally. The intensity of his emotions causes his body to tremble slightly against you. He remains close to you like this for a couple of long minutes, unprepared for the enchanting moment to come to its inevitable end. He absorbs the subtle scent of your hair hitting his nose, the warm sensation of your skin on his, and the soothing sound of your breath. He longs for this moment to last, and finding his voice again after kissing becomes a rather difficult task.

You also exhale, calming down after that short but sweet moment of connection with him. You don't express much about what just happened between you. You don't think it's even necessary. You simply know that it was sincere and enjoyable. And it seems that Leon felt the same way, too. At least you hope he does. Whatever that meant for your relationship in the long run, you know you don't regret it. You keep your eyes shut for a few more moments, staying close to him.

"Y/N..." he whispers your name in a low voice that sounds almost shy. You can't help but find the sound of him like this rather adorable, your heart giving out a subtle flutter in your chest.

Leon opens his eyes slightly, the blues of his irises meeting yours intently as you follow suit. The soft kiss you just shared is still running through your heart, leaving you feeling just slightly giddy. As you often do after kissing someone you like for the first time. And that dopey look of his is just too damn cute to bear.

So, you blurt out the first thing you that comes to mind. 

"...You know, I actually hate cops."

Leon blinks. Once. Twice. Thrice.

...Alright, that was probably not the most romantic thing to say right after kissing him for the first time.

"Uh... Really?" he manages to ask, even though he's obviously still very much dazed from the kiss. Which is honestly kind of endearing, considering how it was just a short but sweet little kiss. You can't help but wonder how he'd look if you kissed him again, properly this time. How he would look at you if you were to lean in and kiss him senseless. But you don't do that. For now, at least. Either way, it's obvious that the emotional whiplash you just gave him with your silly comment only contributed to the stupefied look he's giving you. "But you just kissed one..."

Leon's lips form a small but genuine smile as he lets out a quiet little laugh, a clear hint of disbelief in his voice. You feel his thumbs caress the apples of your cheeks gently as he continues to hold your face in his hands, the sensation warm and comforting to your heart.

"Huh. You're right. I guess I'm being a bit hypocritical today," you chortle, a small giggle leaving your lips in return. You can see his smile growing in response to your laugh, and it's a sight a bit too adorable for you right now.

He has a pretty smile.

"I guess you are," he agrees, his eyes briefly glancing over your face, as if he was taking in your features. Or maybe he was just marveling at how beat up you look. "But I don't mind. I think... I sort of like you being hypocritical. Just a little."

With another soft laugh, you gently squeeze his hand on your cheek, tilting your head to the side slightly and resting your face against his palm, practically nuzzling into a bit. You press his hand closer to your cheek and close your eyes for a moment, a content sigh leaving your lips. Your peaceful expression of serenity mirrors Leon's, as he looks on at you with that same sense of quiet satisfaction and solace that was filling the quiet space between you.

Your chest tightens as you feel his thumbs stroke your skin again, the touch gentle and light. The soothing warmth and softness of his skin on yours causes your heart to skip a beat. You suddenly find yourself seriously struggling to resist the urge to kiss him again. It wasn't just a passing curious thought anymore, but a genuine desire you are itching to fulfill. But, for now, you just exhale and enjoy this fragile moment as it is. At this very minute, all the chaos and peril you two have dealt with vanish from your mind at long last. Replaced by this tranquil, modest motel room, reserved only for you and him. At the very least, for this brief moment.

Unfortunately, your little exchange is abruptly interrupted by the earth-shattering sound of a door suddenly bursting open, none other than Claire entering the compact room without any warning given to either of you. That, or maybe you two were just far too lost in each other to hear the approaching footsteps or chatter. A peppy grin is brightening up the redhead's features as she strides in with no care in the world, seemingly far too engrossed into some vigorous discussion with Sherry to fully notice you quite yet. If it wasn't for the situation at hand, you'd probably comment on how buddy-buddy they looked: swaggering in hand-in-hand, almost like two sisters would. 

The entire space is quickly overpowered with the strong aroma of freshly cooked greasy food, and you immediately feel your stomach twist and turn in clear demand for some much-needed sustenance. The bags of what looked like your standard roadside diner takeout sure looked promising right about now.

"Rise and shine, dynamic duo! Breakfast's here- Oh."

As Claire's bright eyes inevitably land on the two of you, she stops right in her tracks, just blinking at you for a second or two. Sherry, in turn, appears to be just as surprised, not that you expected anything else at this point. 

...And you feel a strong urge to sink straight into the ground.

As if he's been burned, Leon abruptly jerks away from you and releases his hold on your face. Your heart pounds all the way up in your throat, and you can already feel the heat of embarrassment rushing to your face. Glancing over at Leon, he doesn't seem to be handling it all that much better, his cheeks flushed and his lips parted in silent protest that just didn't form yet. Though, there is also a subtle hint of embarrassed annoyance flashing through his eyes as he meets Claire's look. A look that is no longer surprised, but instead, expecting. And a bit smug.

You're in for a questioning. 

As expected, she is quick to regain her cool, raising her brows at both of you and closing the door with her hips, an incredulous snort leaving her lips. You can already guess that she's not going to live this down for the two of you. Before you can open your mouth and stutter out some type of excuse that would hopefully sound decent, Leon beats you to it.

"Jesus Christ, Claire! Knock much?" he grumbles out in a raspy and slightly trembling voice. If it wasn't for the burning embarrassment raging inside your head, you would have thought that was cute. He isn't really fooling anyone.

"Excuse me," Claire muses in a slightly humorous manner. "Care to tell what's gotten you shirtless? Or... who?"

Now it's up to you to sputter as you stumble over your words to try and rectify the situation.

"I-I was just changing his bandages!"

Claire just laughs at that, with Sherry now joining in a fit of giggles. The sound is lighthearted in nature, though. Just harmless fun that just happens to be at your expense. Well, partially. Your only choice is to accept your defeat, hanging your head low with a flustered groan. Leon's embarrassment only increases as laughter rings out. He crosses his arms over his chest, a pout quickly taking form on his face.

"Ugh, you two really have a knack for bad timing. And... for the record, it's none of your business what we were doing," even though he tries to sound irritated, his flushed face and the slightest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips diminish the desired effect, making his effort useless.

"-Whatever you say, loverboy," Claire deadpans, giving you both a knowing smirk as she waves Leon off. It's apparent that she doesn't believe any of your shared excuses. Not that you can blame her. You'd probably act the same if you switched places. She takes her sweet time placing the warm fast-food bags on the nearest counter and brushing her hands off on her jeans. "Anyway, you better get dressed before the grub gets cold and soggy."

In spite of all the embarrassment, you can't help but chuckle sheepishly and shake your head. Despite being flustered, it's almost... comforting to share such a normal, simple moment over some silly accident instead of a high-stakes situation. You'll take getting teased by Claire over running for your life any day.

You watch as Leon huffs and puffs at Claire fruitlessly. He mumbles something inaudible under his breath, unfolding his arms, and quickly walking across the room to pick up his discarded shirt from the ground. He hastily puts it back on, all while stealing a couple of glances back at you. You don't know if he's trying to subtle about it, but if he is, it's definitely not working. A small, almost bashful smile appears on his face as he does, similar to the one you give to your crush when you think they're not looking. It's cute. You can't help but return it with a smile of your own.

"Well I think you two look cute," Sherry joins in, her hands resting on her hips as her blue eyes dart between you two with eager curiosity. You can already tell that you're in for a game of 20 questions after this. Or something similar.

"Cute, huh...?" Sherry's charming comment seems to inspire Leon's bashful smile to grow in confidence while he looks down at her. He almost appears a bit cheeky, as raises an eyebrow and gives you a quick side-eyed look. "What do you think? Do we make a cute couple?"

"...Don't get cocky now," you huff out with a lighthearted roll of your eyes, prompting him and Claire to chuckle.

As you go to grab some much-needed food, you feel oddly light, both in mind and spirit. All the anxieties and uncertainties about your future seem to have eased away, letting you enjoy the peacefulness of now, instead of worrying about tomorrow.

Whatever happens next, you just know that everything will turn out fine.

As long as you stick together.

[elliereject]

ifhy .1

* in which ellie’s obsession relationship with you begins to sour as your romance with your new boyfriend seems to flourish. it seems she’ll stop at nothing to ensure your happiness, (which you’ll find with her, obviously) even if it means hurting you in the process.

* lowkey obsessive ellie, (I LIKE EM’ A LITTLE CRAZY!), angst + comfort (next chapter(s), infidelity, unrequited feelings yet also mutual pining (just read it like, idk idk I forgot how to do these),lmk if I missed anything!

* im back, ok not really this has been rotting in my drafts forever and I was reading it back and I was like damn I lowk cooked with this. It’s unfinished as of RN but this is only 1/3 of the fic im just splitting it up so u don’t have to wait months,,for it..like my other fics..DONT ASK ME ABT THOSE, cuz I don’t got an answer. IN THE MEAN TIME ENJOY THIS! <3

* mdni (but like if u do wtvr, nothing crazy happens in this chapter)

wc ~ 1.6k

pt. 2 here

Ellie Williams fucking hated you.

Surprisingly, she didn’t at first. In fact, she was in love with you, bordering infatuation.

She had seen you for the first time at the local bookstore before the semester started, you were flipping through a book about time and relativity with a concentrated look on your face. She smiled to herself when she saw you push up onto your toes to reach for another book but to no avail. She took this as an opportunity to walk up to you and reach over your head to grab it, making sure to flex her lean, tattooed arm before placing it in your hand.

Her jade eyes locked on yours and your face heated immediately, you mumbled a “Thank you.” Before scurrying past her to the checkout.

Imagine her surprise when on the first day of classes, she walks into her astrophysics course and sees you, doodling in your notebook with that same concentrated look on your face.

Of course, she sits next to you, flashing that charming smile that has sweat gathering at your hands. She tells you her name then asks for yours and learns about your major, favourite course, and how you’re staying in a little apartment just outside the campus before more students and your professor filed in. You didn’t know why but you just felt so comfortable telling her things, She laughed at your corny jokes and made even cornier ones, and she admired the doodles that covered your notebook and the little duck pen you used.

You didn’t want to speak too soon, but it was safe to say you were harbouring a tiny bit of a crush on her.

Ellie on the other hand, was completely ready to admit it. She felt her love for you grow each second she was around you. Your smile quite literally felt like the sun shining upon her, your laugh made her want to drop her studies of space to pick up stand-up comedy just so she could make it her job to make you laugh. In her eyes, everything you did was perfect. Her thoughts were completely consumed by you, you, you.

And for a few months, things were amazing! You had been introduced to Dina and Jesse and even spent Halloween hanging out with the trio watching horror movies and eating each other's weight in candy. When the holidays rolled around you and Ellie, along with the others, cozied up under some blankets and made fun of cheesy Hallmark movies while she tried her hardest not to interlock her hands with yours even after your pinky brushed against hers for the sixth time.

During finals, Ellie and you organized designated study days that usually ended in giggling at stupid memes on each other's phones or late-night food runs. Of course, there were lingering touches and flirtatious glances here and there but you were too shy to act on it and Ellie would rather die than make you uncomfortable so she kept you just at arm's length. Besides, she knew you were too timid to approach anyone else, so in a way she had you all to herself.

Then, you met him. Some motherfucker whose name she didn’t care to remember. However, she did remember the innate feeling of anger that surged through her body when you gushed to her about him and how he was a history major and the way his glasses framed his face perfectly and whatever the fuck else you found interesting about him.

She nodded and laughed and smiled along with you when you would drone on about him but would excuse herself to the bathroom to tend to the crescent-shaped wounds in her palms from digging her fingers into them so hard.

She tried her best to not show these negative emotions to you because she knew how much you didn’t like when she got mad but fuck was it hard. Especially that one night when you were out with him and you hadn’t replied to her texts in over 5 hours. Man did her drywall take some damage that night.

And when you finally did reply you had completely disregarded her message and went on to boast about the time you had and how gentlemanly he was. All she could do was reply with a dry “sounds like fun🙂” before she went back to throwing a tantrum around her room and tormenting that poor wall…she’d have to remember to buy some spackle before the end of the semester.

Then, there was the time she trekked over to your apartment with some pizza for a surprise movie night and saw the bouquet placed in front of your door. She set the box down to pick up the flowers and read who it was from, her body reacted before she could rethink. She tore the flowers from the beautifully wrapped packaging and stomped on them over and over and over until all that was left were broken stems and tattered petals.

Thankfully, you got home just a few minutes later and missed her outburst. You gasped when you saw the smashed flowers and asked her what had happened, she shrugged and lied easily, claiming it was like this when she got there. She let out a breath when you shook your head and sighed, saying it was probably your next-door neighbor who had always been a bit of a grouch.

She had genuinely thought she was doing a pretty good job of hiding her true feelings for both you and him but it was when you gleefully announced that he was officially your boyfriend she knew she was done for. You squealed and pulled her in for a hug but it felt like her heart had shriveled up into a clump of black coal and woosh like magic, her love for you had turned into something twisted, something possessive.

It was when you invited her over to your apartment to eat dinner with him that she had started considering the idea that you knew she had a crush on you and you were just fucking with her emotions for fun.

How could you start dating, let alone seeing some random ass motherfucker when she was right here! She knew she could treat you better than he could even dream of, she knew everything about you and she’d make it known to you how perfect she was for you, one way or another.

That night at dinner she sat uncomfortably as you fluttered around your tiny kitchen, adding last-minute touches to the spaghetti you made and despite the grumble in her tummy it felt like she had no appetite when she watched the hungry way he looked at you, as if you were a juicy steak and he was a starved wolf.

Once you were finished plating the food and placing it on the table you sat down eagerly and tried your best to mediate the obvious tension.

“Soo uh, Ellie, you’ve been really into watercolour recently right?” You beamed.

“Uh-huh.” She said dryly, twirling her spaghetti around her fork.

“Oh that’s cool, you know watercolour as an art form has been around since Egyptian times! It’s funny to think that like—Cleopatra was painting with water and grapes or something!” He spoke and you giggled like it was the funniest joke in the world. She shot you a look that said really? because she knows she could make a joke that was way funnier, and would expel your real laugh.

“That’s cool. You know how to shut the fuck up?” She mumbled into her bite of spaghetti.

“Sorry?” He asked and you gave her a sideways glance.

She smiled tightly and swallowed before answering, “Just said that’s cool!”

Dinner dragged on as he droned about the history of the Renaissance or fucking Christopher Columbus, she didn’t actually know, she tuned him out. After you cleared the plates, you ushered them into your cozy living room for a movie and when you excused yourself to the bathroom she plopped down on the couch next to him, subtly pulling out her switchblade.

“So, Kevin—“

“Actually my name—“

“I don’t give a fuck what your name is, matter fact I don’t give a fuck about you in general. What are your intentions with ★?”

The man tensed up as Ellie expertly spun the blade around in her fingers.

“Uh—I mean, she seems cool and dating her has been pr—“

“Cool?” Ellie scoffed, “She’s fucking perfect, and I hope you know whatever you have going on with her right now? It won’t last. Soon she’s gonna see you for the limp-ass motherfucker you are.”

He was taken aback, “What?—I’m sorry, did I do something to offend you?”

“Your whole existence offends me.” She rasped, inching her blade closer to his neck. “She’s not meant to be with you.”

He furrowed his brows, “You like her, don’t you?”

Ellie rolled her eyes, “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

Before he could reply you were back from the bathroom and she slipped her blade back into her pocket and got up with a firm grip on his shoulder.

“What were you two talking about?” You asked as you grabbed a bag of chips from your small coffee table and tore into them.

“Oh you know, girl talk.” She smiled, digging her blunt nails into his shoulder. Translation: don’t say a fucking word.

You rolled your eyes playfully like you even had a clue of what was going on, “He’s not a girl, dumbass.”

She shrugged, stepping away from her previous seat to plop down on the other small sofa.

The rest of the night proceeded relatively smoothly, your boyfriend had been so shaken up by Ellie’s words that even with you sitting next to him he kept his distance with worried glances toward Ellie now and then. Ellie crunched on her popcorn happily and watched the movie with a satisfied smile and a chipper aura.

— ★

🤔 shall I put out the second part? only time (and interactivity! 💝 pls don’t let this flop) will tell!

[lavendertales]

SEÑORITA: Chapter 10

pairing: Javier Peña x Murphy!f!reader

summary: Javier contemplates his future. Though he's uncertain of it, one thing he knows for sure: he wants you in it no matter what.

word count: 3.1k

series warnings: reluctant friends to lovers, lots of playful banter, mutual pining, slow burn, secret relationship, filthy smut.

A/N: here we are at long last, lovebugs! I am so thankful for everyone who's supported this series, it encouraged me to keep going especially this year when I've been struggling so badly. I hope you enjoy this drama-free finale❤️

series masterlist | AO3

Javier had made peace with the notion that he would remain forever haunted by Colombia. It wasn’t something that he willingly chose or even wanted, of course, but it remained a fact; he knew he’d never be able to fully escape the life he’d lived while over there, and he’d made his peace with it.

Turns out life had some pleasant surprises in store for him, too.

Saying yes to spending the holidays with the Murphys seemed like it would be something overwhelming for Javier. The mere thought of being introduced to the parents as your boyfriend was enough to make him want to chainsmoke and get drunk for three days and three nights. But as it turned out, the two weeks he’d spent at the Murphy residence had been blissful. Javier would even call himself happy for what feels like a premiere in his life. Ever since the two of you came forward with your relationship, everything else seemed to fall into place and it all became easier somehow. Javier was head over heels for you, he hadn’t smoked in a year, and cut his drinking almost to a drastic degree—yet one thing still loomed over his head, something he hadn’t told you about.

He’d grown to despise his job.

But, much like at his old job, he learned to swallow whatever thoughts and feelings he might have on the matter and do the mature thing and see things through. After all, he has a darn good salary, good apartment, great friends and a terrific girlfriend.

Seemed like the oldest habit Javier picked up, being able to dismantle anything remotely good in his life, would always cast a large shadow that follows him everywhere.

“What’s got you thinking so hard?”

Steve’s voice is tender, caring in a manner, and yet stern and curious all at the same time. It manages to interrupt Javier’s chaotic thoughts, and the latter is nothing if not grateful for it.

Even if he does not express it verbally.

“Not much,” Javier clears his throat. 

“C’mon man, give me some credit. We’ve known each other for a few years now, been through some rough and insane shit. I like to think I know when something’s got you down.”

Javier exhales. It’s one of the few times he wishes he’d have a cigarette in his hand right about now; but the craving disappears as quickly as it had arrived, especially when he knows Steve is right. They have been partners through some of the most horrific things anyone could ever be cursed to see, and if there was ever a definition for a damn good friend, Steve would be it.

“It can’t be cause you’re still nervous about finally meeting my parents,” Steve chuckles, and surprisingly, so does Javier. “You passed the test, you’re officially the best boyfriend my sister’s ever brought home.”

“I’m flattered.”

“I’m surprised.”

The two of them chuckle again, the lighthearted sound followed by another moment of silence.

“Much as I’d hate to admit it,” Steve breaks the silence, “you are the best guy my sister’s ever dated. Compared to the parade of leeches that were around.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Not that she ever brought any of them home to formally introduce them to the family, so it really is a big compliment.”

“Thanks again, I feel all tingly inside.”

“Seriously now, what’s the matter?”

With a final exhale, Javier decides to voice his thoughts for what feels like a premiere in his life. “I hate my job.”

Steve waits, searching his friend’s face for something that eventually fails to appear to him.

“That’s it?”

“Okay, not hate, hate, but… I don’t know, it’s not something I enjoy doing. Not anymore.”

Steve pats him on the back, then gestures him to sit down alongside him.

“First off, I’m a bit relieved,” he begins, much to Javier’s dismay. “I thought you were gonna say something really bad.”

“Like what?”

“Like… I don’t know, wanting to end things with my sister. In which case I would’ve had to kill you.”

“I’m not breaking up with her, fucking hell. Why would I—hang on. So I’m not allowed to break up with her?”

“Why would you break up?”

“I don’t know, sometimes things don’t work out. Constant fights, lies, affairs—“

“You better not be cheating on my sister. I swear to God Javi, if you so much as—“

“I’m not! Fucking Christ, can we stay on topic?!”

“I was just saying.”

“I am not cheating, I am not lying, I am not doing anything bad, okay? I love her, she loves me, and… I’d like for us to get married someday. I think.”

Steve’s jaw drops; the only thing he can do is stare at Javier in awe, trying his best to process the words he just heard.

“You—you wanna get married?” Steve blabbers.

Javier shrugs, then nods.

“With… my sister.”

“I feel like that was implied.”

“So when are you gonna—“

“I’m not saying now. We’ve been together for like half a year only, and… you know me. Takes me time to open up.”

“Wow, okay, this is a lot to process.”

“Good thing we’re sittin’ down, huh?”

Steve chuckles against his best wishes, staring into distance.

“Look, back to the job thing, if it makes you miserable, why don’t you quit? That’s why you left Colombia, isn’t it?”

“Partially.”

“Right. Point is, if you hate the job, quit it. You can find another one.”

“And do what? Do you see me as a barista?”

“A job is a job. It doesn’t define you. And your contributions in Colombia will always remain yours, but—what do you want to do?”

Javier exhales, shrugging again. “I was thinking of going back to Laredo, at least for a little while. Help my pops around the ranch. He’s not getting any younger, he needs some help.”

“Alright, that sounds great, do that!”

“And I was thinking… I’d ask her if she wants to come with me.”

“Hang on. You wanna move to Texas? Both of you?”

“I haven’t asked her yet.”

“What if she says no?”

“Then I guess we do long-distance.”

“Wow. What happened to you?”

Javier frowns.

“You’re—flexible, open-minded, considerate of other people’s feelings… she’s changing you. In a good way.”

The more Javier thinks about it, the more he’s inclined to agree with Steve. He has felt significantly better over the past few months, and even his nightmare frequency has decreased to the point where he’s barely having them. He didn’t want to be as cheesy as to say that you’re the reason he feels the best he’s ever felt since he was a teenager, but what if you are?

What if you are the very best thing that’s ever happened to him?

“So, to recap… you wanna quit your job, ask my sister to move with you to Texas so you can live on a ranch and then ask her to marry you,” Steve says in a monotone voice.

“Basically, yeah.”

“Just talk to her, alright? Talk to her about what you’re thinking, that’s all you gotta do. It’ll work out.”

“Thanks.”

After another moment of silence and a big gulp, Javier adds rather hesitantly, “Do you think she wants to get married? If I ask her… do you think she’ll say yes?”

“She’s the one who has to answer that question.”

“What question?”

Both Steve and Javier turn abruptly to their right, being met with your smiley face. You greet Javier first by briefly pecking his lips, then you nod in Steve’s direction.

“What question am I supposed to answer, you guys?” you ask again, chuckling.

Your smile fades when you see that neither one of them answers you, keeping silent.

“Did someone die?” you ask instead.

“No, no,” Steve fake-laughs to defuse the situation. “All’s good.”

“Okay, so then why do you both look constipated?”

Steve and Javier exchange a glare with one another, thus only reinforcing your suspicions.

“I don’t think I should be here for this,” Steve stands with an awkwardly wide smile. “Gonna give you lovebirds some space and uh… I’ll give you a ring later.”

Javier’s lips pucker and his eyes shoot up right at Steve, whereas you can only stare at them, brows furrowed in utter confusion.

“I mean, on the phone,” Steve laughs, half outside the apartment already. “See ya.”

“That was weird, right?” you ask Javier.

“Don’t look at me, he’s your brother.”

You nuzzle up to him, your hand intertwined with his and your head resting on his shoulder. God, he always smells so nice, of cologne and some musk that you like to think is particular to him and only him.

“So. Wanna tell me what’s going on?”

“Why do you assume something’s going on?”

“I see you acting like school girls with a big crush trying to keep it a secret. Feel like sharing?”

He can’t fight you; he failed to fight you since the beginning, when he was way too stubborn to even see what was right in front of him, so how could he possibly do it now, when your voice is so sweet and caring and you’re so soft and warm?

“I don’t like my job,” Javier finally says. “Haven’t liked it in a while, but I thought I have to see it through, at least till my contract expires, then I’ll figure it out, but… it’s hard.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. How long till your contract expires?”

“Another year, but I don’t think I can stand being around murder cases for that long.”

“I get that. Hits a bit too close to where it haunts you, doesn’t it?”

Javier is the one to meet your eyes first, nodding. Months have gone by since the two of you have become intimate in every possible way, and yet it still surprises him greatly that you are so familiar with the cues of his insecurities and fears, sometimes even when he himself isn’t.

“You should quit your job then,” you tell him, caressing the back of his hand. “You’ll find something else, no matter what that is.”

“What kind of job do you think I could do? Since I trained, this is… this is all that I know.”

“You can do anything you like, honey. You can sell tires, be a flight attendant, anything. That’s not what’s important.”

“What is, then?”

You cup his cheeks, thus bringing him closer to your face as you breathe, “What matters most is that you’re okay. It’s just a job.”

You peck his lips again, and Javier closes his eyes, exhaling a little softer this time. The way you manage to calm him down every time, without fail, is something he would’ve called insanity some years ago—that is, if he would’ve even believed this was possible.

“There’s something else,” Javier murmurs, his forehead pressed gently against yours.

“Tell me.”

“I’m… thinking of going back to Laredo.”

You slowly let go of Javier in order to get a better look at him. You’re not sure what you’re trying to accomplish with such a hilarious move, but it’s the only one your body can come up with for the time being.

It’s not that his news is shocking. Quite the contrary, it’s natural; you suspected at some point Javier might feel homesick, but it seems that actually hearing the words has managed to bring you into an unforeseen state of surprise.

“Okay,” you say after a while, your hands now in your lap as you rummage through his words. “Permanently?”

“I don’t know,” Javier admits. “Would be ironic since I couldn’t wait to get out of that town when I was a teenager.”

You chuckle. “It’s normal, you were a kid wanting to know more. Now you’re a grown man, having seen a lot of the world. Parts of it that could easily destroy someone and yet you—“

“I wasn’t exempt from that, baby. That job did destroy me in some ways.”

“You’re still here though.”

Javier smiles, reaching for your hand. “I’m still here.”

“Going back to your hometown isn’t a bad thing at all, by the way.”

“I know. It feels kinda strange though. But my dad needs help around the ranch, even if he’s too proud to admit it, to me at least, and… that way I could be useful and do things that I know how to do. I could get a job there.”

“Sounds like you have it figured out.”

“Almost.”

You raise your eyebrows, facing him fully again.

“Almost?” you tease with a smile, which prompts him to do the same. “What else are you thinking about?”

“What if you came with me?”

Your whole face lights up, and this time you can truly say you were taken by surprise.

“You’re asking me to go to Laredo with you?”

“I’m asking you if that’s something that you’d like. If not, that’s fine. We can go long distance, I think. Right? I mean, lots of people do it.”

“You wanna do long distance?”

“I’m saying that’s an option.”

“You do realize that’s mostly talking and no sex, right?”

You actually see Javier gulp and visibly reconsider his opinion, much to your personal delight.

“Some sex can be involved,” he pushes much to your amusement.

“Phone sex doesn’t really count.”

“Damn it.”

You chuckle. “But I wouldn’t worry about that, we’re gonna have some great sex, honey.”

“Wh—you mean you’re coming with me?”

“Hell yes. I want to see your roots, meet your family… I hope they like me.”

“Are you kidding me? They’re gonna fuckin’ adore you.”

You smile at him, kissing him again.

“Are you sure about it though?” he checks with you. “I don’t wanna uproot you or anything, and it’s a big change—“

“Do they have a library over there?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Then it’s no problem.”

Utterly bewildered, Javier can only stare at you in awe. He still fears that he’ll forever lack the words to properly express to you how much you mean to him and how he truly feels about you. He’s always managed to avoid sappy conversations and to make up for what he lacks in words with actions, but with you, he feels like he needs to do more.

And there is something more he could do.

“What?” you ask amusedly when his eyes do not peel off of you.

“There is another thing I am thinking about.”

“Which is?”

A smirk graces Javier’s lips, and in that moment you come to realize that not only is it a mischievous smirk, but the reason behind it is something that genuinely excites Javier.

And that is in and of itself something incredible to witness.

“Have you ever thought about getting married?”

You raise your eyebrows and try to stifle a big smile. “About us getting married?”

“No, not necessarily us—well, actually, yes, a little us. A lot. Just—marriage in general. Have you ever… wanted to? Eventually?”

“If this really is how you’re proposing, sweetie, I feel like you can do better.”

Javier laughs out of sheer nervousness by now, but it’s probably for the first time in his adult life when he doesn’t feel embarrassed to be talking about his feelings out in the open.

“I do think about marriage,” you decide to ease his mind and stop teasing. “I don’t think it’s necessary for everyone, but I also don’t think it changes anything in a relationship. If it’s a strong relationship, marriage is only gonna strengthen it.”

“Dully noted.”

“My point is, I would like to get married, yes, since that seems to be the answer you’re after. Haven’t wanted to get married to any of my exes, so.”

“Now I’m flattered.”

“Ooh, so that’s why you and Steven were acting so weird when I got here!”

And then you gasp at the realization. “Oh my God, that’s the question I had to answer, isn’t it? If I want to marry you.”

Javier feels his cheeks flush in the slightest, so he clears his throat and looks away for a little while till he can organize his thoughts.

“Just to be clear, I wasn’t actually going to propose now,” he says. “It was a hypothetical, if I were to ask, would you say yes.”

“You can ask me and we’ll find out.”

Dumbfounded, Javier stares at you for what feels like an eternity. While he’s definitely gotten used to your humor and your bluntness, right now he can’t seem to tell whether you are serious or not.

“Are you serious?” Javier retorts, surprised to find out this is the only thing that he can ask, as silly as it sounds.

“You’re the one who brought up marriage.”

“Yeah but I didn’t mean—I’m not ready now. I don’t have a ring, I haven’t thought about a speech—“

You giggle, pulling him closer to you again. “Aw you’re nervous, it’s so cute.”

“I’m not—“

“It’s cute.”

You peck his lips and smile at him reassuringly. “Look, Javi, it’s great to know that you’re thinking about this too. Means we’re on the same page. But I do think we should give ourselves some more time before making things official. Maybe go to Laredo first, spend some time there with your dad and the rest of your family. Does that sound good?”

“It sounds like a dream honestly. The kind of dream I… didn’t think I could have. Or should have. For a long time there were only nightmares and pain and death, and now… there’s warmth and softness and light. And it’s all because of you.”

“Javi.”

“I mean it.”

“I know you do. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

There was no need for Javier to hide his smiles, or hide in general. If anyone would ask him now how he felt, he’d probably reply with “disgustingly happy” because that is the most accurate description of his feelings.

“Are you sure about Laredo?” he asks you, and you roll your eyes at him.

“One hundred percent. Are you sure about marriage?”

“Two hundred percent.”

You smile. “Okay. So when you have your speech prepared and bought a ring—even if you don’t have to, by the way—you can ask me.”

“What if it’s tomorrow?”

“Then I guess tomorrow’s the day you hear my answer to that question.”

Deep down, Javier knows already. He sees the answer all over your face, he feels it in the way you hold him, in the way you kiss him and in the way you ease his mind and cast the nightmares away. He knows your answer.

But it’d still be incredible to hear it spoken from your lips.

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tags: @pedrostories @psychedelic-ink @milkymoon2483 @ifall4dilfs @casa-boiardi @fallenkitten @jenispunk

[chaoticevilspacewitch]

RWBY Fanfic Recommendation List

Fics that have really struck me, vaguely organized by ship and/or topic.

Bumbleby (Blake x Yang)

first off, basically anything by pugoata. She's the goddess-empress of the Bees. I'm gonna give particular props to Banshee, as it was the first longer fic and AU that I read, and it really opened up my mind to what fanfic could be.

You're a Mountain, Full of Glory - a ski/snowboard with amazing characterization and a closing scene that will live rent-free in my head forever, in a good way.

They Can't Steal the Love You're Born to Find - childhood soulmates repeatedly torn apart and reconnecting, with courtroom drama. One of the most angst-ridden Bee fics I've ever read.

Fucking In Love - pornstar AU that gets right to the sex and slow burns the romance. Hot as hell while also full of tenderness and pining.

Midnight Menagerie - exotic dancer, kinda-cyberpunk dystopia AU. Edges you forever with the sex, earns all the angst tags, and we are majorly trusting @kaelidascope when she promises an amazing happy ending.

Bite Me Like You Love Me - one of the hottest Bee smutfics I've ever read.

You and Me - Blake discovers she's pregnant the day Yang goes MIA on a mission and struggles through being a single mother teaching their child about her amazing other mom. Short, happy ending, amazingly sweet.

You and Me, and One Hot Summer - tropical beach Bees. It's fun, and hella spicy!

WhiteRose (Ruby x Weiss)

The Foxtrot - Ruby and Weiss repair their broken lives after the war. It's one of the most popular RWBY fics of all time for a reason.

Can You See My Strings?/Deja Vu - premium mentally ill Weiss escapes from child abuse angst, with a happy ending if you read the sequel.

But Your Voice Used to Be Mine - Weiss escapes abuse to join RBY's punk band whose smash hit she inspired.

Just One Cigarette - Ruby and Weiss have a little meetup roleplay and it's really good.

Faunus Weiss (generally major themes of struggling with internal and external racism)

Craving the Sky - Weiss has painfully concealed her faunus heritage while she tries to earn her father's love. The support of her team, and the love of Blake and Yang (BeesSchnees) help her soar on her own.

Black Swan Theory - faunus Weiss struggles to recover from child abuse and navigate a deeply racist society while building a relationship with Pyrrha (Schneekos).

Clipped Wings - secret faunus Weiss, dealing with racism and abuse from Jacques, this time slow burning towards Pollination.

Villainesses

Melting Glace - Cinder and Neo find love, and no redemption, in the trauma of failing to destroy Beacon. Will make you cheer for them to win by the end.

Rise from the Ashes - Cinder has a Vader moment and saves Ruby from Salem, and Ruby's pure heart helps her heal, and their adversarial relationship turn to affection. Peak RWBY enemies-to-lovers.

Odds & Ends

The Bermuda Triangle - great modern AU BeesSchnees that gets filthy hot at the end.

Midnight Rose - Summer rescues and adopts Cinder out of Atlas. Their relationship, and Cinder coming to love the Xiao Long-Rose family, is beautifully depicted. Still very much ongoing (no ships as of yet).

Fallen Maiden - Jaune dies protecting Pyrrha at Beacon, and the Fall Maiden power remains split. Will Pyrrha's bloody crusade of vengeance consume her? Or, 'Pyrrha goes full Magneto and fucks Cinder up'.

What's In A Name? - Winter and May grow up together, struggling to cope with their feelings for each other against the background of the Atlas aristocracy.

Red Sky at Night - This excellently-composed fic has a hacked Penny as the primary antagonist of the Beacon arc and builds it to Nuts & Dolts. It captures both Penny's horror at being controlled in her own body and RWBY's fear in fighting a seemingly unstoppable enemy, almost like Terminator vibes, and ultimately takes it to a very sweet relationship.

Linked In Life and Love - I'd be remiss if I didn't mention this one. I really, really love the first act, where Team RWBY sees Blake suffering terribly through a surprise heat cycle and decides that they will all "help" her with it. It's sweet and tender and feels legit for them. I'm not a huge fan of where all the series has gone since, but I would invite anyone to judge that for themselves.

Sparks in the Dark - an Emerald/Penny/Ruby trio that's really masterfully done, exploring all three characters in very novel ways, and also doing great things with Salem and Cinder.

War Machines - a Penny/Ruby role-swap that follows Penny's adventures on team BXPS with Blake, Yang, and Weiss. It's very thoughtful and a good read as science fiction for its exploration of Penny's artificial personhood.

(As I see this getting a decent amount of traffic, I'll just point out that, if it's convinced you [correctly] of my impeccable taste in fanfic, you might want to check out my own RWBY writings)

[thesecretwriter]

a tied up situation - miguel o’hara

pairing: miguel o’hara x spider!female reader

warnings: angst – past ‘relationship’ between miguel and reader, fluff – soft!miguel moments ,smut – minors dni. this is probably the smuttiest thing i have ever written, penetrative seggs, mentions of biting (nonsexual), size kink, unprotected seggs, creampie. 

summary: in which y/n, a spider variant, holds miguel o’hara captive because he wants to take her back to HQ for the ‘crimes’ she has committed. However, the history the two share cause things to head in another direction. 

word count: 1.9k

a/n: so, this is my new mans and i had to share my thoughts about him with the world. enjoy :) 

minors/ageless blogs dni. 

masterlists  

Miguel felt himself gaining consciousness.

The room he was in was dimly lit, which he was thankful for. His hands were bound with chains, not wanting to give his talons a chance to help him break free.

"Should I be concerned that you just have chains lying around?" he asked, his voice deep and showing a tone of annoyance.

“With the way you have been hunting me down, do I really have a choice?” you ask him rhetorically, to which he rolls his eyes, trying to keep his cool despite the situation.

"Sorry to break it to you, but I have to hunt you down when you commit crimes,” He asked curiously, trying to gain some leverage in the situation.

“My crimes are nothing compared to what you should be focusing on,” you retort back. He would only see your deeds as crimes, not stopping to really evaluate the situation.

You stand in front of him. You knew in your mind that he had more than enough strength to break free. However, thanks to your own venomous spider bite, he would be helpless.

Miguel scoffed, he had witnessed you robbing banks and disappearing with heaps of money.

“You are the only spider being I know that has committed crimes. I watched you for months doing away with money and yet you’re keeping me hostage in what seems to be your apartment,” his heightened senses allowed him to hear the bustling noise from outside and the daily activities of your neighbours.

“Even though I have had my fair share of encounters with you, it baffles me that you haven’t figured out why I’m stealing all this money,” you say with bitterness in your tone.

He had to look up at you when talking, but you had crouched down to his level, settling your hands on his thighs. To you it was an innocent touch, but to Miguel it was anything but that.

You see, you and Miguel have a history with each other. You had once been part of Spider Society, helping Miguel on missions and fighting crime. However, when the canon events started taking place and you had to see the people you were friends with go through pain without doing anything. You left.

The pain of not having you in HQ had affected Miguel, more so since the two of you often pined after one another.

Miguel's façade quickly crumbled, and he breaths a deep sigh.

“Are you okay?” you ask, genuinely concerned.

Miguel chuckled darkly as he shook his head, trying to remain in control of the situation despite the growing desire he felt towards you.

"You underestimate me. These chains won't hold me forever, but when I break free, the only thing I'll do with you is take you back to HQ, where you won’t be leaving for a long time,” he smirked as you furrowed your brows.

In that moment, you didn’t like the way he looked at you. Yes, robbing banks is a crime, but he needed to know why you were doing it.

“I don't think giving money to the poor is a crime. Sure, the money isn't mine, but it rightfully belonged to the people that need it the most. Are you going to label me a criminal for doing what I think is right?”

Miguel's expression hardened as he glared at you, his alpha male persona taking over.

"I don't care what delusional thoughts you have. You and your vigilante ways are a danger to the community, and I'll do my part in stopping you. Whether it's taking you to HQ or making sure you never get the chance to do it again,"

Anger ran through your veins. You stood up from your crouched position and put your hands on his shoulders, feeling him tense beneath your hands. You glared at him, but quickly took notice of the way his eyes moved between your lips and back to your eyes.

Miguel let out a growl of frustration, trying to hold back his growing sexual desire towards you.

"Stop with the games. What do you want from me?" He asked, his voice rising in anger.

You turn away from him and face the computer screen on the computer in front of the two of you. It takes a moment for you to put it on and open the folder that breaks your heart.

I want you to see that the so called 'crimes' that I do is for the benefit of the poor. I give it to those who need it. I give it to the people who are left to fend for themselves on the street. Innocent children forced to grow up and take on responsibilities that they shouldn't see for years to come. So, yes, I will believe about my so called 'delusional thoughts' but at least I know there are children who are being fed and kept safe,”

Miguel couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt as he listened to you. For a moment, he thought about the families who might be benefiting from your deeds. He looked at the several images of hungry children begging on streets and those taking up jobs just to make enough for food.

“The banks that I rob are the ones owned by big time entrepreneurs that use it as a front for money laundering. I don’t target just any bank. These takes months of planning sometimes,” you explain to him. A part of you hopes that he will see the justification behind what you are doing.

The shared history between the two of you is the same reason you go to untie the chains from his hands. It’s the look in his eyes that let you know he will understand you.

He got up from the couch and towered over you. He rubbed his wrists and watched you intently. He could still feel you venom in his veins, but due to him having his own – it didn’t affect him as bad as you thought. The bite mark you left however, made him feel some kind of way.

He turned to leave but hesitated for a moment before looking back at you.

He doesn't see the frown on your face from the way he so easily thought of you as a criminal. You truly believed he was different.

"I hope you find it in your heart to one day know what I did was for the right of the children," You look to him with intensity and move your gaze away from him.

He hated knowing you felt such emotions because of him. Being tied up in the Spider Society left him with little free time, and the craving of wanting you back at his side was growing more and more in the moment.

Miguel couldn't help but feel a stirring as he watched you. He could feel his body betraying his principles as he walked towards you, his eyes locking onto yours.

"I won't justify your actions, but I can't deny the emotions I feel towards you," He muttered as he brought your body close to his and eventually pressed his lips to yours, pulling you close to him.

He couldn't help but indulge in his physical desires towards you, his hands roaming your body as he deepened the kiss.

You let your hands hold onto his shoulders and lean in more to the kiss

Miguel's hands moved to your back, pulling you in even closer, his tongue intertwining with yours as the passion between you two ignited. He could feel his desire growing stronger with each passing moment, and he knew he had to have you.

He broke the kiss, his breathing heavy as he looked at you with dark, lustful eyes. "I need you. Now," He growled before pressing his lips back onto yours, his hands moving to your clothes, hastily pulling them off.

You moan against his lip as you both struggle to take off each other’s clothes. His hands make quick work of ridding you from your clothes He pulled you against him, straddling his lap in the same couch he was tied against a mere few seconds ago.

Miguel groaned as you straddled his lap, feeling his erection grow harder under you. He moved his hands to your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh as he pulled you in closer.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured against your lips, his hands sliding up your back to unclasp your bra. He kissed down your neck, leaving a trail of hot kisses as he moved lower, his mouth finding your breasts and he took one of your nipples into his mouth, sucking and biting lightly.

He could feel his desire growing into an all-consuming ache as he continued to pleasure you, his hands moving to your panties, tearing them off without a second thought.

You scowl at him as he smirks at you. "You know I’ll get you a new pair," He took his cock and ran it against your slit. Coating himself in your arousal before putting his tip at your entrance and letting you sink down on him. You both moaned at the feeling.

Miguel groaned as you sank down onto him, feeling the tightness of your pussy grip him tightly. He leaned his head back, staring at the ceiling as he savored the feeling of you around him.

"You feel so good," he muttered, his hands moving to your hips as he began to move you up and down on his cock. He started out slow and deep, enjoying the feel of you before picking up the pace, his hips thrusting up to meet yours, creating a rhythm that soon turned into a heated pace.

He leaned forward, capturing your lips in a deep kiss as he continued to fuck you hard, his hot breath mingling with yours as he gave into the desire, he felt towards you.

Miguel's grip on your hips tightened as he thrust harder into you, feeling the hot pleasure coursing through his veins. He knew that his grip was starting to leave bruises on your skin, but he couldn't stop himself from holding onto you tightly.

As he felt his orgasm building, he dug his claws into your skin, as he let out a growl of pleasure.

"You're mine," he muttered between thrusts, his voice rough with desire. With having him pull you against his chest, you couldn't help but moan at the thought of how his big arms are wrapped around you, handling you like a ragdoll. 

Your hips rocked against his and your quickened breathing and increase in heart rate let Miguel know you were close.

He began to relentlessly thrust into you, chasing his high and yours. With a few faster paced thrusts, he erupted inside you, filling you up with his hot, thick cum. His name left your lips as your orgasm washed over you.

Miguel groaned in pleasure, still lost in the pleasure of his orgasm. He continued to move his hips, riding out the last waves of pleasure as he pulled you close to him.

"Mine," he muttered, his voice husky with desire. "I never knew it could be like this."

He stroked your back gently, holding you close to him as he savored the afterglow of your heated exchange.

[beaconfeels]

Okay playing off @mirrorthoughts last ask:

Thoughts on Alpha werewolf Stiles and his second in command, werewolf Chris Argent? 😉

I HOPE YOU’RE THINKING SHIPPY THOUGHTS BECAUSE I’M THINKING SHIPPY THOUGHTS! Ahem. *smooths down hair*

I love the way this ask is worded because it makes me feel like I can handwave how this situation came to be and just GET TO THE GOOD STUFF.

When I think Chris and Stiles, I think PINING. Second in command werewolf Chris being OUT OF HIS MIND because twitchy kid Stiles Stilinski turned into young but extremely competent alpha, person Chris trusts most in the world, maybe love of Chris’s LIFE, but he can’t fuck this up because they actually have a stable pack, and Beacon Hills is finally not the murder capital of Northern California, and also Stiles wasn’t even born yet when Chris graduated high school. Fuck his life.

Meanwhile Stiles is over here like, he might be the glue that holds the pack together, but Chris is the glue that holds him together. Chris became his second in the early days, back when Chris was still human. He doesn’t really understand how it happened, but Chris became his rock, that solid energy he rests up against when everything feels like it’s spinning out of control. He trusts him, not just with his life, but with helping him make good decisions for the pack, to have his back, to tell him when he’s off the rails.

Derek and Peter had hammered it into him that having a person as his anchor isn’t a good idea, so Stiles has anchored himself to something else but…Chris is still a big part of what keeps him sane and grounded.

Also, turns out when Chris is happy and healthy he not only has bulging werewolf-fueled muscles, he also has a little extra meat on his bones, and a belly that is just a bit soft around the edges and he looks big and solid, and Stiles is OBSESSED with the way he feels small and protected when Chris wraps him in his arms, even though they’re the same height. He’s pretty sure if he could curl up with Chris and sleep for about eleven years, it would fix him.

Chris knows he and Stiles don’t have a typical Alpha and Right Hand relationship. He’s seen how other packs operate, and it’s definitely more of a business relationship than he and Stiles have. He and Stiles are wrapped up in each other in all the ways. Protecting the pack. Protecting each other. Hugs and neck nuzzles and eating meals where they end up still sitting at the table hours later just talking about anything and everything.

Everything he’s read says it shouldn’t work that way, but every time he tries to put some distance between them and act like he’s “supposed to” around his alpha, things fall apart. It’s bad for Stiles. It’s bad for the pack. So fuck the rules. He and his alpha are what they are, and everyone will just have to deal with it. Including himself. Because fuck his life he’s in love with his alpha.

And Stiles decided ages ago that what he has with Chris is enough. Sure, he really really wants to push Chris up against a wall and kiss him senseless before letting Chris take him to bed, but he can live without it. Chris is partner enough, just as things are.

This might have gone on forever if Peter and Derek hadn’t come back for a visit. They watch the alpha and his second in command like they’re a reality show until suddenly one day Peter can’t take it anymore and says “Jesus Christ, you’re not the typical Alpha and Right Hand because you’re mates, you idiots!”

And…

Oh.

[badass-queer-couples-battle]

Gay wrongs tournament, semifinals of the minor bracket

Propaganda:

For Lord Hater and Commander Peepers :

Lord Hater is the self-proclaimed "universe's awesomest evil-doer", an immature, attention-seeking manchild with electric powers and a short temper. He rules the Hater Empire with Commander Peepers as his second-in-command (technically third, after his beloved pet spider-xenomorph, but who's counting), however it soon becomes *very* clear that the cunning, remorseless, hardworking Peepers is the *real* brains behind the empire. Peepers might be frustrated at Hater's incompetence at times and isn't above manipulating him to reach an end goal, but he'd never dream of usurping him because, well, he's really gay and in love with him (as much as he can be in an early-10s Disney cartoon, anyways). Hater might take Peepers for granted a lot of times, but as his oldest friend and closest confidante he's the one who Hater is closest to. Whether it's invading other planets or kicking puppies for fun, these two are *delightfully* terrible jerks and the epitome of gay wrongs. 

Commander Peepers is both Lord Hater's right hand man in villainy AND his jilted stay-at-home-wife-guy (Also in villainy. Hater is really good at getting distracted from productive and efficient villaining.) Lord Hater was the greatest villain in the galaxy thanks to how well he and Commander Peepers worked as an evil team to run the Hater Empire!

Lord Hater conquers planets and is such an edgy bastard. Peepers is the actual brains behind the operation. Peepers is often pushed aside by Hater, they are besties and yet Peepers is always pining for this guy who will never notice. Peepers is so horribly gay for him if you watch the show he wants his stupid boss so bad. Peepers is so scared of him season 1 but then starts yelling BACK in season 2 and has to deal with him like a babysitter or something and yet STILL idolizes him and that’s just such a fun dynamic. His password is H8RNP33PRS43VR (Hater and Peepers forever). They are so evil and everyone fears them and they are villains and they are gay and the side of the fandom that draws them as a married couple that needs counseling is absolutely correct. The fanart of Hater openly liking him back is wonderful but I swear you don’t even need that. They are so gay and villain you have to love them they are

Villains that conquer planets and do evil stuff, my favourite characters, not really canon but they are the best :)

For Wu Zetian x Gao Yizhi x Li Shimin: (propaganda from previous poll here)

They are in a poly and are so morally gray and I love em. The triangle really is the strongest shape

They're gay because they're all bi (literally in Shimin and Yizhi's cases, kinda more implied for Zetian). Zetian and Shimin tortured a man for information (and also because he tortured them first) while Yizhi cooked back in their apartment. They made a plan to destroy their government and take over instead. Yizhi killed his dad because he was talking shit about Zetian and trying to sway his trust in her (it didn't work lmao). Instead of a love triangle (it REALLY seemed like that was what it was heading towards) they all love each other and would (and have) committed atrocities for each other. There's a whole thing about how they're stronger together (like, metaphorically and on the battlefield (Shimin and Zetian pilot a giant mecha together and Yizhi balances them))

They're a canon polyship who are all a bit deranged and down to kill for their goals and/or to protect bae. Two have tortured a man to death together and came home to the third making celebratory cookies for them. 

What's more gay wrongs than trying to take over your country and torturing a man together

[loversatthegreatdivide]

Heavy Lies the Heart - Chapter 8

Masterlist

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x F!OC Word Count: 2k Tropes: mutual pining, fluff, angst with a happy ending, royalty Warnings: death Summary: When two second-borns looking for direction meet by chance, can they find purpose in each other? Or will circumstances keep them apart? A/N: I'm going to be real with you guys--this chapter was just for me. It's disgusting, cheesy, romantic nonsense and I absolutely love it. I hope you do too. :)

Writing an amateur poet's love letter was so ridiculous and fun, but I also may have f'ed myself up a little bit. Save me pathetic, handsome, unabashedly romantic gentleman who respects me as a human being with deep thoughts and valued feelings but also compares my eyes to flaked amber in the sunlight and treats me gently like a beautiful flower laid softly on the shrine of a solitary goddess...you're my only hope.

My dearest Beatrice,

These nights we have spent apart have been perhaps the longest of my life.

I had not realized just how completely you had made yourself at home in my heart until you were no longer here with me. I look to the space you have carved in my soul, and I find it empty. You have gone, and taken a piece of me with you.

At night I sit in the windowsill searching the streets below, desperate to see any sign of you waiting there for me. I pray for just a glimpse of your shrouded form, bathed in the silver light of the moon. As I wait, I know I would have forever been happy to be your Leander, swimming across the sea each night, guided by your light.

I have found my days as listless as my nights, waiting to hear any mention of your name. I dread what news time may bring, yet cannot stop myself from wishing the hours to pass as minutes. Time may yet be my enemy, but it still remains the one bridge that leads me to you.

I hope you are well my darling. I see an image of you sat alone with your worries, and it haunts my every thought. I hope to find some relief in the knowledge that my family will be with you soon, even if I cannot be. I hope your brief time with them will bring some measure of comfort to you, as they have comforted me.

When my mother and sisters return, I pray they bring good news. But know that no matter what, my feelings will not waiver. I am willing to stand steadfast against any tide we may yet face, so long as it is your wish to stand alongside me.

I worry now that perhaps my lack of interest in the movements of the aristocracy may have translated poorly. You must know that my distaste for their grandstanding, their rigid adherence to proprietary, and their many pointless rules means nothing in the face of my feelings for you. So now I shall be clear, so that there can be no misunderstandings between us.

I love you Beatrice. I will love you for as long as you will have me, and then one hundred lifetimes more.

Yours eternally,

Benedict

---

Beatrice sat in her nightdress, curled up in the armchair nearest the windows of her room. She clutched Benedict's letter close to her chest as she gazed out across the moonlit garden. It looked so similar to the place where she and Benedict had first met. It was not so long ago, yet it felt like a lifetime had past since then.

She turned her attention back to the letter. In the dim candlelight it was difficult to make out his flourished words, but that hardly mattered. Beatrice had read it so many times already that she could all but recite it word for word. She ran her fingers over the last line, smiling as she thought of the man that had written it.

I love you.

She wrapped her arms around her legs, pressing her forehead io her knees as she blushed. She could hardly contain the emotions that threatened to burst forth from her chest. Even having read it dozens of times, she could hardly believe it was real. And so she read it once more, then again, only to make sure she was not dreaming.

The feelings between them had always been clear. She did not need words to know Benedict cared for her. But to have it articulated so beautifully? To have him decalre it so boldly? That was a different thing entirely. Perhaps it was best then that it was written and not spoken. If she had heard it first from his lips, she surely would have perished in an instant--her heart too overcome with feeling to possibly be contained.

Her letter expressed her worries and her desires. Now she almost felt foolish thinking of the words she had written, having believed his choice rushed. And perhaps, regretted. Still, they needed to be said all the same, and now she could rest soundly knowing she had not in some way entrapped him in a life he did not want.

She prayed they would be allowed to see each other soon, but resolved herself to do whatever she must if she was not. She would see him again, no matter what.

She sighed, taking one last look out into the night before readying herself for bed.

As she laid in the dark, Benedict's letter tucked safely under her pilllow, she smiled to herself. She drifted off to sleep, knowing she would have sweet dreams.

---

My Dearest Benedict,

I hope this letter finds you in comfort and good health.

I have wished desperately to visit you these past nights. I have longed to be near you, to see your face and to hear your voice. The thought of never seeing you again forever stalks my every days and nights.

We spoke so little about my deception before we were forced to part. I know you have assured me all is well, but even so I must beg your forgiveness just once more. It was a crime committed completely for my own selfish desires, and I made you my unwitting accomplice.

And while I cannot in good conscious condone my actions, nor can I condemn them. For if I had been honest from the start, I believe we would never have been able to grow to know each other so well. For that time we spent free of society's eyes and expectations, I will apologize, I will accept the consequences, but I will never regret.

I know you must be worried for what is to come. The truth of it is I do not know myself. There are many possibilities, all reliant on many choices made by many people who care very little for the hearts involved. Ultimately, it comes down to this: Will I be permitted to see you again and if so, will you wish to see me?

I have not forgotten what you said as we danced. That you were willing to openly pursue me in spite of my title and any trouble that may follow. I was glad to hear you say so, gladder still for you to show your resolve and declare your intentions to all with every dance we shared. But I ever worry I have put you in a difficult situation, where you made a choice in the heat and haste of a moment, and now feel you must continue to honor your word and protect my feelings.

It is the knowing you care for me, but yet surely not wanting the burdens that I will place upon you, that haunts me so. That you may one day wake to a feeling of resentment towards me for your confinement, and wish in vain for release. I know you to be a free soul my dearest, and you do not belong shakled to a crown. And so I wish to be clear that I would never disparage you, even if it should be that you choose to place your freedom first.

But if this is to be the time I lay bare all my truths, I shall do so in full and know for certain I have said all I wished to. Then, regardless of what outcome the future holds, I can live contented by the knowledge that I have spoken every wish that lives in my heart.

I love you, Benedict. I have loved you since the night we met, and I will continue loving you every night and every day that follows for the rest of our lives and beyond. Whatever choice is made, regardless of who makes it, know that my feelings for you will never change.

And while it is so that I would never blame you for chosing to live your life a free man, the truth is I desperately ache for you to instead choose to spend it locked away with me. Together in a prison made for two, with no direction or purpose other than to be forever by each other's side.

I find I am only filled with such selfish thoughts when I am with you, and so it is with such selfishness that I reveal my deepest wish. I want nothing more than to spend the rest of my life with you, my love, forever and always until the day we die.

Yours always,

Beatrice

---

Benedict sat on the windowsill, reading over the letter held tightly in his hands.

While in his own letter he had chosen to make his feelings know beyond all doubt, he had not expected Beatrice would do the same. It is not that he questioned her love for him, but even so it made it no less of a shock to see it written so bodly in her own hand.

Benedict had of course been certain she shared his feelings, but Beatiece was by nature more reserved than others. Certainly more than he had ever been. Her feelings had never been uncertain, but even when they were alone it was clear that she held herself back.

Not that he minded, of course. He found her shyness enduring, and never considered her in any way insincere. Quite the opposite; he truly thought her to be the most genuine person he had ever met.

So it was not a surprise that Beatrice felt she had to be so forthcoming with her concerns for him.

That she had been so worried for him in spite of her own feelings was an unwelcome revelation. Benedict had never wanted her to feel pain over any aspect of their relationship. And that she knew his choice, but still wished to convey he was not bound by to it made his heart ache. He felt it all the more when he considered that she did so in direct opposition to her own feelings, all for his sake.

But then she had followed it all with such a bold declaration of her love. Whatever pain he held was lessened considerably by her uncharacteristicly assertive words. Despite her feelings of guilt for her actions and the weight she believed she had placed upon him, she still chose to make her wishes known.

Beatrice loved him, and she had made it clear she wanted his love in return.

Benedict was soothed then in the knowledge that she had received his letter. Whatever worry she had about his choice were surely dispelled the moment she read it. There could now be no doubt between them that they both desired the same thing.

He only hoped this separation would end soon, so that he might show her the depths of his resolve.

He loved her, and she loved him. Regardless of what choice was made by others, he had already made his decision.

Benedict smiled as he folded the letter gently, sliding it back into the safety of its envelope. He prayed, as always, that tomorrow would be the day he received the news he so desperately longed to hear. But if he must continue waiting for a word that he could see her again, he would do so safe in the knowledge that Beatrice now knew his true feelings. And that wherever she was, she was waiting for him too.

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[dark-elf-writes]

Not to disappear for a few days then drop an au idea out of nowhere but

What if Percy did become a god?

What if he decided the only way to change things was from the inside? What if there was too much power in him to stay mortal? What if there was never any choice and Perseus Jackson had always been destined to become immortal?

What if Percy became a god?

What if he demanded Dionysus’ place as director of Camp Halfblood? Even now knowing that he was never quite as disinterested in the other campers as he pretended to be, there couldn’t be two gods there. Let Dionysus go home. Let him see his wife. There is no other place Percy Jackson would ever want to be, particularly not as time passes.

Forever frozen at seventeen with his tangled black hair and too bright green eyes and a blindingly orange Camp Halfblood t shirt on all the time. A necklace full of beads for his years as a mortal and an ever growing collection of bracelets full of beads for each year that passes as an immortal.

The camp’s protector. Their ever laughing director. One teenager among dozens only set apart by his too old eyes.

Camp changes under his hands. It grows. It expands. It becomes an echo of another camp in the west. A safe haven. A place demigods can learn and grow and live more than a few short hard years. Another cabin joins the camp though he has no children of his own perhaps one day but… not now… not yet. He has forever to decide if that is something he wants and until then any campers who need a moment away from the others, a second to breathe, or perhaps just a place where they don’t need to listen to the snoring of their siblings are welcome in his cabin.

(He remembers the name of every demigod under his care. Remembers their stories. Remembers, so that they know there will always be at least one god on their sides. So there will be no more shattered little boys left to turn bitter when shut out one too many times.)

The campers adore him. He was one of them. He remembers what it was like to be one of them. He laughs when the Hermes kids pull pranks on him and doesn’t get angry when someone’s temper runs hot and they yell at him like they would never dare yell at another god. He wears the same beads they do. He sings at the same campfires (loudly and off key though some campers whisper that he secretly has a voice to rival a sirens when he thinks no one is there to hear). He wipes tears and bandages wounds and never even thinks of “not interfering” in their lives.

(He had laughed in Zeus’ face when he suggested it. Percy Jackson had never been one to be controlled as a mortal but now as a god? It would take more than an irate uncle to stop him. He has earned this much. He has earned the right to treat each and every kid that walks into his home as his own.)

Some nights his eyes go distant and sad as he watches the stars. Some days he sits at the fire with a little girl so few see silent and watching the flames smiling even as tears roll down his cheeks. Sometimes he sits under the pine tree with another girl who all but glows in the moonlight with a circlet of silver on her brow that shouldn’t match with her wild black hair and general punk attitude nearly as well as it does. Sometimes he stands alone in the lake swaying with the motion of the water and toying with one bead in particular from his mortal life. One with tiny names carved into it.

The camp is his home. He will make it a home for every demigod that passes through its borders.

It’s what they would have wanted.