#the only one i accept is him struggling to shoot a gun

[anteomnia]

reid being treated like the baby of the bau in season 1 is so funny to me, he’s supposed to be the smartest mfer there but they act like he can’t even figure out how to “think outside the box”

[twenty-qs]

You know, one of my favorite under-the-radar interactions in Arcane is actually between Jayce and Vi.

On paper they have…literally nothing in common. One’s the golden boy science nerd, plastered all over Piltover as the symbol of progress, who has actively made decisions on the Council that made life in Zaun worse. One’s a bruiser who cut her teeth on the streets of Zaun, and then prison, as Piltover did its very best to forget she ever existed. They’ve had maybe, like, one actual conversation, in which Vi called him ‘pretty boy’ and Jayce looked deeply uncomfortable. But against all odds—they get along like a house on fire. I think Jayce is the only one Vi would have accepted weapons made of Hextech from; and I think Vi (and Caitlyn, but Vi came first) was the only person other than himself that Jayce would have made Hextech weapons for. They’re so in sync that they literally coordinate battle moves on the fly without needing to exchange a word. It might strike you as weird, at first. It’s just so improbable.

But it makes sense. Because the way they make decisions is almost the same—emotion. Impulse. Punch first, think later. Do what you think is right, and don’t wait for the world to give you permission, because it never will. They trust their gut and make snap decisions. And because the world of Arcane is morally gray, they usually regret it.

Which makes me think that some of the strongest parallels in this new season might actually be between Vi and Jayce. Arcane is about change. The price of change; the promises and dangers of change; and how people change, too. Vi and Jayce have been relatively stable character-wise. They change their minds about things, circumstances around them change, but at least at the end of s2e3, they’re still very recognizably themselves. Still punch first, think later. But the people around them have been undergoing extreme transformations.

Powder is now Jinx. Vi spent the entire first season refusing to see this, then failing to understand this. At the start of season 2, she still can’t reconcile the two in her mind—she can only conceive of them as literally two different people. Powder is dead. (I killed her.) All that’s left is Jinx. (I created her.) But the truth is that Jinx is still her little sister, is still the girl who was once Powder. Powder didn’t die—she changed.

Meanwhile, Caitlyn in season 2 is having a cataclysmic change because of her trauma and grief. The Caitlyn Vi fell in love with was brave, precise, determined—and fundamentally kind. She traded her gun away for medicine to save Vi’s life. She didn’t even hesitate. But now, all of that laser focus is being bent on revenge. Caitlyn has become increasingly single-minded, narrow-viewed, her world reduced to the target in her sniper’s scope. If you’re an obstacle, she’ll simply shoot right through you. She promised Vi she wouldn’t change, and then she hit Vi and abandoned her the moment Vi got in the way. Season 1 Caitlyn would never do that.

Vi struggles with change. She never seems to quite—grasp it. Doesn’t understand how the Undercity has changed while she was locked up, stagnant, an insect trapped in amber. She loves people with a sort of nostalgic glow. What the show forces Vi to reckon with is how far she’s willing to love someone before they’ve changed too much. She thinks it’s over with Jinx. She says she doesn’t consider Jinx as her sister anymore. But they are, they’re still sisters, of course they are. Jinx knows this. Jinx loves her sister, even now. Which means there might still be something in her for Vi to love too. But with Caitlyn, is there anything left of the kind girl who gave Vi her freedom and treated her with compassion? Can Vi still love the dictator literally waging war against her people? Should she? (Could she even stop loving Caitlyn if she wanted to?)

Jayce’s arc is just beginning in season 2, so I’m not sure which direction he’s heading in. But the parallels are already showing up. Is Viktor still in there, or is he dead? (Did I kill him?) Is it just the Hexcore using his body now, a monster that must be stopped? (Did I create him?) Jayce, too, might soon be forced to decide if he can still love someone who’s changed past the point of recognition. Or whether he should.

All this is to say that I hope we get more Vi and Jayce interactions this season. And that it’s definitely not a coincidence that we got two divorces back to back.

[leighsartworks216]

Lap Dog

Sylus x gn!Reader

I wrote this at like 2 am. Can I not keep getting the best inspiration/motivation at the absolute worst hours??

Inspired by my own post

Warnings: violence, guns, threats, kissing, biting, hair-pulling, cuddling, literal sleeping together, no smut, fluffy ending

Word Count: 1,600 (oooh nice)

Main Masterlist

Love and Deepspace Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form (Updated)

Two knocks sound on the door, but there is no pause before it opens. All conversation dies. The black market Protocore dealer and his two lackeys are silent as they watch you enter.

Your attire is casual, if not a bit tantalizing. One of Sylus’s shirts hangs loosely on your frame, partially unbuttoned. Shorts hidden beneath give the impression of nudity. And to top it all off, a gun is very visibly strapped to your thigh.

They all stare, baffled at the entrance of Sylus’s infamous bodyguard. The discrepancy of the horror stories detailing your ruthlessness and capabilities and the soft, lazy way you pad across the floor to settle directly into Sylus’s lap. It’s harder to take you seriously, if anything.

Sylus smirks, naturally, always accepting any affection you feel he’s worthy of. His hand slips under the loose edge of the shirt to hold your waist, his touch warm and protective. You wrap an arm around his neck, the other resting its hand on his chest. Your head leans on his shoulder, eyes closed. You don’t seem to give a damn about the state of affairs you’ve just barged in on. The client can’t say anything about it, though; this is the Onychinus leader’s home, he can’t disrespect that.

Sylus tilts his head nonchalantly, like nothing ever happened, like the only thing interrupting the meeting was the client’s own self-imposed silence. “You were saying…?”

The dealer balks for a moment. He looks between you and the man he came to do business with. After a beat of silence, where he struggled to grasp onto the threads of the conversation, you open your eyes to glare at him, not even bothering to turn your head. It’s sharp. A warning. Speak, or else.

He clears his throat. “O-Of course, sir. As I was saying, I was able to get my hands on some rare variants of pearl and violet Protocores. They’ve been examined by our lead scientists, and it seems they are highly receptive to alterations.”

“Did you bring any with you, or do I just have to truth your word?” Sylus questions.

“I brought one along,” the man quickly reassures. Your face turns to watch him as he gestures for one of the henchmen to bring forward a steel briefcase, setting it on the rich wooden desk. He clicks the latches open and lifts a tube out with both hands. Floating within the glass is a spiky violet Protocore. “This is one of the weaker ones, of course. It’s bad business to bring the best product to the first meeting.” He holds it out to Sylus with both hands. When the leader gestures for him to bring it closer, he carefully rounds the desk to present it up close.

You squint your eyes at the crystal for a moment. In one swift motion, you pull your gun from its holster and point it at the man’s face. He nearly drops the container in shock. Instead, he clutches it to his chest, staring down the barrel of the gun.

Sylus tsks. “Black market salesmen, always claiming they can scrounge up the best of the best, only to fall short.”

The lackeys reach for their guns. One draws and aims at you. The other hesitates, hand hovering over his holster. The dealer takes a step back.

“Wha- Call off your guard dog!” he pleads.

“Why should I? They’ve just sniffed out a liar. I’m inclined to reward them with a little treat,” he muses. “Feel up to hunting, sweetie?”

You don’t answer.

“No! P-please I-! These are the real deal, I swear!”

Your gun moves from his face to his henchmen. Before the armed lackey can fire, you shoot first. The bullet rips through his hand, traveling up his stiff arm and lodging itself firmly in his elbow. He screams in agony as his gun clatters to the ground, reduced to his knees beside it as he clutches his injuries to his chest. The other one lifts his hands up in surrender, not wishing to further test your ire.

“Was it all a lie, I wonder?”

The gun returns to aim directly at him. He drops the tube, glass shattering on the floor, to cover his face with both hands as though it would save him if you pulled the trigger. “Wait! Wait! I know where I can get the Protocores!”

Sylus hmphs. “Heel.”

You obey immediately, returning the gun to your holster. The dealer uncovers his eyes to watch as you lean yourself back against Sylus’s chest, face resting against his neck and eyes closed, as if you were tired of threatening him.

It doesn’t put the man at ease at all.

“Then go fetch them,” Sylus demands. “Two days. If you try to run away or return empty handed, I guarantee you a fate worse than death.”

The man gaped, slack jawed. His hands twisted his tie anxiously. “Two days?! S-Sir that’s impossible!”

“That’s none of my concern.”

In all his years of selling to big-ticket bosses, cutting corners and swindling them outta their money, never had he been so blatantly dropped at Death’s doorstep. And now here he was, unsure if he should scream or cry, or beg for a quick death from the two Grim Reapers that decided his fate.

So he was left staring at Sylus and his guard dog, hands shaking and throat choked up. It’s the second henchman who steps forward to grab his employer and associate, dragging them out of the office. They scurry down the halls, desperate to leave as soon as possible.

Sylus chuckles once they leave. You just sigh against his neck.

“They were boring.”

“Next time, I’ll let you deal with them as you please,” he promises. His voice is softer. No longer does it have the edge of intimidation and danger, the edges smoothed away with affection.

You hum, lazily accepting the offer.

Sylus’s free hand moves to your exposed thigh. He works diligently to remove the holster, undoing one strap at a time, until it slides free from your leg. Red and black tendrils carry it to the desk, resting it softly on the dark wood. He tenderly rubs at the indents in your skin from the leather, drawing a contented sigh from you.

“You should go back to bed, sweetie,” he coos. “You didn’t need to bother yourself with this.”

You shake your head languidly from side to side, nose running up his neck, his jaw, until it presses behind his ear. “It’s part of our deal. Wake me next time,” you whisper.

He closes his eyes, savoring the sound of your breaths, the hush of your voice.

When he first met you, you didn’t say a word. The auction house awed and feared you, just as they awed and feared him. Two terrible forces of nature. When he danced with you that night, you’d tapped on his shoulder to communicate - one for no, two for yes. It wasn’t until your fourth encounter, when he proposed an agreement, that he heard your voice.

“Our deal has been long since fulfilled,” he reminded you. He turned his head, nose brushing against your cheek. “Or would you like to upgrade our terms?”

You breathe long and slow against him, silent. He knows better than to accept it as an answer one way or the other, where most people would consider it an immediate dismissal.

“I want… to go back to bed.”

He chuckles, but complies with your request. He lifts you effortlessly as he stands, your faces still tucked close together as he navigates the mansion. He can just hear Luke and Kieran laughing to themselves downstairs.

He passes by your old room. It was where you stayed for the first several weeks of your employment, before you wordlessly began climbing into his bed. It was a grand compliment. You encroaching on his space like a stray cat, finally deciding he is worthy of your mere presence.

The door to his bedroom opens with his Evol. He nudges it closed when he enters. Your side of the bed is still unmade, blankets shoved down to the end. Mephisto paced playfully along his perch. No doubt that’s how you’d learned of his meeting.

He lays you down, but before he can stand back up and pull the blankets over you, your arms wrap around his neck and pull him in for an unhurried kiss. He supports himself with a hand beside your head as the other cups your cheek. It’s sweet as honey, stinging like a bee when you bite down on his lip. He groans softly, suppressed by another sweet kiss. Your nails scratch up the back of his neck. One hand tangles within the soft white locks.

And pulls.

His head follows the movement, lips forming a delighted smirk as he looks down at you through half-lidded eyes. You grin minutely as you release him. “Stay?”

“Of course, sweetie.”

Your arms fall from his shoulders as you turn onto your side, facing his half of the bed. He stands up straight and goes back to his task of drawing the blankets back up around you. Even as you lay still, seemingly already fast asleep, he knows you’re listening intently as he disappears into the closet and changes into his sleepwear. You’re still awake when he slips into bed, and as he shifts to the middle. You slot yourself easily into his arms with a pleasant sound.

He falls asleep to the gentle rise and fall of your chest, and the warmth of your hand holding onto him.

[allfearstofallto]

Quality Time - head canon drabbles

Yandere! Forced Marriage x Fem! Reader

Ft: Scaramouche and Childe

How your yanderes spend time with you

Scaramouche

“Wrong again,” he muttered beneath his breath, and you felt yourself tense at his anger.

“I apologize, my lord,” you responded quickly. It was like second nature for you. He never truly accepted your apologies, but it made your punishments less harsh.

He insisted that once a week he'd spend time with you. Although, the time was never doing what you liked. He wanted you to learn more skills that would make you seem sophisticated, things he said were skills he learned himself. Tea ceremonies, kimono dressing, and his personal favorite, calligraphy.

Scaramouche would sit you in his lap, with a low table in front of you. You thought it was some sort of perverted ploy to touch you more, but he genuinely seemed more interested in the writing. Or interested in you learning to do it.

“Don't apologize, just do better,” he lifted your wrist that had the brush in it and pulled the sleeve of your kimono back, there was a little black ink on the expensive fabric. His fingers were cold, his grip not tight, but threatening, “I've told you, you must use your other hand to hold the sleeve, or it'll drag through the ink.” his eyebrows were furrowed together in frustration as he looked over the garment you'd practically ruined.

“Be glad I love you so much, or I'd keep you in solitary confinement for your repeated mistakes,” 

“Thank you, my lord.” 

He motioned for you to do it again and you mimicked his motions with your own hand and drew out a character on the parchment. It was borderline ineligible, but it was better than anything you'd done before. He hummed in agreement at your work, wrapping one his arms tighter around your waist.

His other hand reached up to gently pat your head. He called it praise, but you considered it condescending. Despite the fact that you hated it, he did it regardless, your opinions didn't seem to matter to him.

“You did good,” the brush was taken from your hand and he repeated the action, only this time it was more graceful and elegant, “it should look more like this though.”

He kept his hold on you as you continued to write characters for him deep into the night.

Childe

“My my, do those clothes truly suit you,” he could barely keep his hands off of you as the two of you trudged through the snow together.

You rarely went outside when staying in Snezhnaya, you rarely wanted to. But when you did, you were bundled up in thick, heavy garments to combat the cold. More than six layers at that. You wondered what part of you he thought looked good? There wasn't much of you to see anymore, the clothes had eaten you whole.

Childe insisted on taking you hunting with him. You politely declined, but once again, he insisted, and that was just him being polite. What he was really saying was, “Put your boots on, you're coming out with me.”

You were handed your gun, nearly dropping it from the surprise that he was just handing it to you. Amongst all the talking about how to spy tracks and what to do when you had an animal in your sights, the fact that he'd given you a gun never came up. You'd never held one before and also, Childe was your captor. Was he crazy? Stupid? Bulletproof? All of those things sounded plausible.

He walked in front of you as you fell behind. He was more used to this type of thing, snow up to your knees, but you were struggling. Where you were from, it didn't even get cold.

The gun felt heavy in your hands. You wanted to hold it away from your body, but you also wanted to keep it close to you. Childe was just there, walking and talking without a care in the world. And you were behind him. His guard was down, his guard always seemed to be down around you. You could just do it, couldn't you.

You raised the rifle up and held your breath. One thing he actually said and you listened to, was that you needed to be stable when you were shooting. You needed to be firm. Your heart was pumping in your chest, but you didn't let your hands shake. You didn't want to mess this up.

“There are pellets in your gun,” he'd stopped in his tracks, not even trying to look at you while he spoke, “and those definitely do not work on me.”

[theorist-fox]

In your eyes I saw a longing, while I longed to lift you up

John 'Soap' MacTavish x Reader

Again, crossposting this from AO3.

Summary: Johnny survives what should have been a deadly injury. During his recovery, you bond with his family while he refuses to accept his weakened state, only wishing for you to let him wither. However, as you help him through it all, Johnny is reminded why he fought to stay.

18+

CW: smut, tiny angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, established relationship, deals with medical topics, recovery from injury, mention of depression and struggles related to recovery, cuddles. LOTS OF CUDDLES.

Masterlist 🦊 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬

Not Johnny.

One hundred and eighty-four days.

One hundred and eighty-four days since Johnny got a bullet in his head. Six months since you saw him flatten against concrete. No lights if not those of the torch tucked in your tac vest.

One hundred and eighty-four days since your own heart stopped beating. More than four thousand hours since the moment you snarled – bellowed. Voice raucous and loud echoing in the tunnel. Raw fire burning your tongue all the way to your fingertips; those that curled around the trigger of your gun.

Makarov on the floor with a hole in his forehead. Mouth-gaped, exhaling his last breaths, mouthing like a fish out of water. Cross-eyed. His lids fluttered, shaking. Pathetic.

Not Johnny.

One hundred and eighty-four days since you pulled the trigger again. And again. And again. And again. To his chest. To his face. To his legs, groin, shoulder.

Since Price hastily got up from where he’d been thrown and grabbed you from behind. Burly arms around your waist lifting you off the ground. Your gun still shooting, bullets now hitting the cinderblock of the walls. The trigger clicked empty, but you still pressed it – autopilot.

The roar that echoed scratched your throat, made you choke. You spluttered and coughed. Tears and spit, foaming at the mouth. A rabid dog. 

Not Johnny.

More gunshots echoed, but they didn’t come from your weapon. Price dropped you, your knees knocked against the floor. Helpless, you folded. You draped your body over Johnny’s. Forehead to his chest, arms limp next to his face – fingers grabbing at his cheeks, enough to indent the skin. Blindly skimming through his features, feeling the slick blood carve its path through the tiny folds in your fingerprints.

Senses dull. Not Johnny.

Cotton in your ears. Each explosion from the guns was nothing more than a muffled thud. Bullets flew past you. Bullets hit you. You felt the familiar blinding pain of mangled flesh in your left arm. It caused your body to flop further – a ragdoll. It burned, yet it was nothing compared to the agony currently disemboweling you.

You were gutted. Much like a knife piercing flesh. Cutting its way through layers of skin, muscle, and fat. Intestines pouring out, blood and water and bile mixing on the floor – cocktail of death. Not yours. Johnny's.

Not Johnny.

He heard. His chest rose under the weight of your head, and life was breathed into you again.

───────────

It was absolutely mind-boggling to you how he’d survived. You saw it; you saw Makarov pull the trigger. You saw the bullet pierce his skull. You saw him crumple on the cement in that underground tunnel. You felt the blood on your hands. You felt how slick it made his skin.

But apparently, it wasn't enough to snatch the life out of him. 

And as you spent the following days sleeping uncomfortably, curled on one of the chairs in the waiting room of the army hospital, doctors came and went to talk to Price. 

Or to Johnny’s ma.  

She’d flown all the way from Glasgow to Hereford in the blink of an eye, bringing with her a goddamn squadronof MacTavishes. Four sisters with his blue eyes, and his dark hair. All of varying ages. Even a little one, half of yours. Her long hair was in a plait that swung behind her back. You watched it – transfixed. Too catatonic and dazed to care that you might have looked like a right weirdo – staring at a kid like that.

But she was the one who looked like him the most. Maybe it was in the tilt of her chin. In the shape of her eyes. In the slight fold of the tips of her ears – God, you weren’t looking like one, you were a proper weirdo. 

Her braid swung like a pendulum, marking the time you spent apart from him.

A guarded prognosis meant that no one aside from close relatives could enter the room. Family only - and the leader of Johnny’s unit. So, you spent your days of medical leave with your ass on those plastic chairs that were made for short sitting sessions, looking at a platoon of women going in with flowers and chocolates and leaving with tears and bloodied gauzes.

Your arm was wrapped in a bandage of its own, the muscle torn at the bicep. The pain was dull, much like the goddamn sight of you. Or the smell, which you reckoned mustn’t have been the most pleasant whiff to catch with one’s nostrils.

Price took pity on you because he knew. He acted like he didn’t for the sake of his team, but he knew. And he conveyed his awareness with lingering, judgmental glances he gave you and Johnny when the Scot let his hand travel a little too low on your back.

You watched them all from afar, perking your ears to catch any news the doctors told Johnny’s family or your Captain. Clawing at the walls for some information. You’d give your right kidney to know something more aside from the sparse words Price told you out of sympathy.

And then, out of nowhere, after tortuously long days spent with stomach and heart utterly empty, a nurse came to you.

She tapped your shoulder and you flinched. Bloodshot eyes swiveled to land on her face. She looked down at you apprehensively, knowing she’d have to tread lightly. A cornered animal, you were. Pitiful thing.

She called your name, and you blinked.

“The lady there said you’ve been here a while,” she spoke oddly soft and yet respectful. Must’ve spotted the pips on the epaulets of your uniform jacket, the one currently draped over you like a blanket.

Your eyes were unfocused and blinky. Lashes fluttering to swipe away the fatigue – a broom against dust. Looking around made your neck tingle, muscles corded, but you did. Your pupils locked with bright blue ones at the other end of the hallway.

Johnny’s ma waved.

Your brain rewired itself from its slumber and you sat upright. Your shoulders popped as you pulled them back at attention. Legs uncurled from where they were tucked underneath your weight, finally stretching out. Palms to your knees. Your jacket fell to the floor, you didn’t mind it.

“She wants to know if she can talk to you,” the nurse prompted.

You nodded eagerly, probably looking a little too desperate. Your leg bounced in anticipation and anxiety, tiny needles piercing the muscle as it awakened.

Gingerly, his mum walked to you. She sat right in the chair at your side. It took nothing but a look for her to understand: the crust in your lashes from the tears you’ve shed, the bandage around your arm gone from white to yellow with a splotch of brown in the middle. Dried blood and pus. The wound festering beneath it.

She hugged you. She didn’t care if you hadn’t washed in days. If your injury was probably infected, or at least smelled as such. You curled your fingers into fists against her back, and you cried.

She did, too.

𓇬

You understood that Johnny took his fire straight from his ma because she was currently bullying the doctor who had been preventing your entrance into her son’s room.

You stood almost embarrassed next to her, feeling like her child yourself.

She had forced you to wash, after all. Took you to one of the washrooms and helped you out of your clothes. Stroked your skin with a sponge when she noticed the weakness of your movements. Washed away the suds with the showerhead. Dried your hair and braided it.

You’d have felt pathetic if she weren’t there, constantly telling you it was alright. You'd have felt guilty that you became an additional burden to her if she weren't continuously whispering that “whoever loves my Johnny like you do, ‘s mine to care for.”

You took a few steps back the more she argued with the doctor, trying to flee from that predicament. Maybe you’d be lucky enough to peer through the cracked door and spot Johnny’s face now that both surgeon and nurse were busy trying to tame (fruitlessly, they’d learn) Mrs. MacTavish.

However, your back hit something. You lifted your arms, elbows out to create more space around you.

You looked behind and clocked a girl, and her braid. She was slightly shorter than you, about fifteen. The resemblance with her brother was so striking it caused your breath to hitch.

She looked at you with caution. Assessed you like antiques at an auction. Whether you were worthy of her brother’s affection, or not. And you found yourself thinking you’ve never wanted someone’s approval more than you did at that moment.

It was a game of stares that she was clearly winning.

Comical, really. How your skin had bled because of bullets tearing it apart. Knives had ripped crimson gashes on your flesh. Bombs had gone off in your vicinity. You’ve killed. You’ve seen death and brought it, too – a harbinger.

Yet now you stood stock still in front of a teenager. Eyes locked with the depth of the azure sea hers bore. Frozen in place with your elbows still out and your hands hovering between you two.

It was silent for what felt like hours when in truth only mere, tense minutes had passed. The only sound that of Johnny’s ma giving an earful to the doctor and a very tired nurse.

Your lips parted on their own accord then, and your voice came out wet and strained. “You’re so much like him.”

That girl had tried to crack open your skull with the sheer force of her eyes and somehow managed. Then snuck her fingers in the hollow of your stomach and curled them around the handles of your ribs only to rip them open and take a gander at the battered thing that was your heart.

What she said next made your chest clench to the point of pain. Your heart stomped against the hard bone of your rib cage. Her voice was heavily accented yet softer than her brother's. The meaning behind her words was different from the ones you uttered. They went deeper than mere physical appearance.

The thought that she might have seen something in you that even remotely reminded her of him made your heart ache - feeling undeserving of it.

“You are, too.”

───────────

One hundred and eighty-four days since the incident, you could’ve gotten a goddamn medical degree. You took a long compassionate leave to stay by his side, hastily apologizing to doctors and PTs alike for his behavior because during that time, when they’d show up at your doorstep, he’d bark like a dog for them to leave.

For one-hundred and eighty-four days, the moment he fell asleep, you’d bury your head in medical manuals and books. You had his physical therapist explain to you step by step all the exercises he’d have to do for his limbs, so he’d regain strength and mobility.

The massages. The oils. The meds. How to put an IV in. How to change the bandages of his bedsores. You helped him shower. You helped him dress. You did his beard or his hair, and while he pushed for it to be a bland buzzcut or just let it grow, you always let the airstrip at the center stay – gelling it up sometimes, for good fun.

When you’d place a kiss against his buzzed side, next to the healing scar, he’d find himself giving in more and more. His back would soften against your chest, fingers curling at your forearms wrapped around his front.

By the one hundred and eighty-fourth day since the incident, Johnny still barked like a dog at whoever dared to walk in his flat that wasn’t you or a member of his family. But at least now the rest of the lads had their privileges.

At least now he let you sleep on your side of the bed – sometimes daring to curl his arm around your waist so you’d scoot over to his.

At least now he kissed you again and brushed his fingers along your cheek, or through your hair.

His strength came back at a languid pace, but his hands didn’t tremble anymore when he held a fork, so now he could eat by himself. He could lift small weights, but still couldn’t sit up on his own. That was the next achievement you both were aiming at.

His personality now shone through the fractures of the shell he'd locked himself into. The cheeky grin slowly came back like molten gold mending the fissures. That glint in his eyes - a reminder that he was alive.

You already knew it, but he didn’t – and now, he was on his way to finally realize it.

On the morning of that day, Johnny was lying in bed as you’d just finished helping him wear a pair of grey sweatpants. Your back was to him while you folded clean laundry.

He watched like a hawk each movement you made, no matter how mundane and trivial. Shame and resentment still had a tight grip on his heart, withered his soul, but the sight of you – simply there – was enough to make those feelings hush.

“Can’t believe you bloody stayed.”

You stilled in your motions, and only resumed a moment later, setting down the laundry back in the basket. Then, in your sweats and one of his t-shirts, you moved towards the bed. Sat at the edge. Lingered there for a moment as you took him in.

He was thinner. However, against all medical logic, his muscles were still there. Definitely less bulging, definitely much less defined, but there. Apparently, it takes a lot more to wear down John fucking MacTavish. However, you’d have to give credit where credit is due, and your relentless insistence in forcing him to do all the exercises as the PT instructed you, even when Johnny all but cursed at you, might have helped his muscles keep their tone.

You lay down in bed next to him, propped on your elbow with your cheek in your palm. You placed your free hand over his chest, his strong heartbeat at your fingertips.

"'cause you're too hot to drop, eh?" You quipped.

He tried to keep up with your joking mood, his lips curving into that trademark smirk he used to don so effortlessly. Differently from before, when life seemed to flow smoothly, it was short-lived. And while his heart felt like it was being torn apart, he lifted his arm and slung it around your waist, bringing you close.

You snuggled in his side for good measure. One leg of yours was draped over his two, palm still flat on his chest, and now your head lay there as well. While he’d almost returned to his usual self, these moments in which he allowed you to touch him were always sparse and rare. You’d take your fix whenever you could.

His chest still felt tight at the sight of you huddling against him. “Why do ye love me?”

His voice rumbled in his ribcage, echoing in your ear pressed against his pectorals. It perfectly scratched an itch in the back of your brain, almost giving you gooseflesh.

"Because you're pure dead brilliant.” You replied quietly, drawing shapes over the fabric of his tee, "You make me laugh, you make me happy."

Absently, you smiled – memories of your relationship even before it bloomed into love came running in front of your eyes. He could only see the top of your head, but he felt the way your cheek lifted against the cotton, somewhat scrunching the fabric.

"Can't imagine a life without you, honestly.” You lifted your head from his chest and placed a chaste kiss over it. Your shoulders shrugged, the answer being simple. "You're my Johnny."

As much as your words served as a balm to his wounds, he felt as if you were describing someone else. Attributes he was undeserving of – ones that described the man he might have been once but didn’t feel like anymore.

His hand lightly gripped your hip. All he could do was tilt his head down and plant a kiss on your forehead, letting his lips linger a tad longer. Savoring your skin and the salt of it.

“’m the luckiest man alive,” he mumbled. The press of his mouth against your flesh slurred his words, but you caught them anyway.

Luckiest for real, you mused but didn't voice it. He didn't need a daily reminder of the sheer miracle his survival had been.

Instead, you only relished the touch of the chapped skin of his lips. Your eyes fluttered closed to block out anything else that didn’t involve that tiny, warm feeling.

"My lucky charm,” was all you could muster up to say.

He huffed. The air escaping his nose was warm as it hit the crown of your head. You could tell by the way he tensed that he was hesitant, still mindful when it came to having you close. Insecure, ashamed. But you'd linger there unless he pushed you away – hoping, deep down, he never would again.

In very Johnny’s fashion, he masked his insecurity with a lighthearted joke. “C’mon, inflate my ego a bit more.”

And you did, despite knowing it was all a façade to hide the inner turmoil he’d been brewing constantly ever since. Despite knowing he silently craved your words of reassurance, because maybe, if you repeated them enough, he’d eventually believe them, too.

A chuckle bubbled up your throat. Johnny felt its gentle rumble in his bones, and it stole a smile from him.

“You’re absolutely hilarious – you crack me up,” you continued like he asked, “Sharper wit than mine – which I thoroughly appreciate.”

You leaned your head back, reluctantly pulling your forehead away from his lips, only to be awarded with the blue of his eyes.

“You’re kind and compassionate," you sighed, "You care ‘bout others even when you shouldn’t. That’s noble.”

But then your mouth pursed, because its corners struggled to keep a smile, "You're also absurdly hot, love.”

He scoffed, giving you a look – shallow. But he couldn't deny the way the last comment made his chest puff a little.

It was unbearably hard not to burst out laughing. Difficult to keep the warmth inside, in the face of the familiarity of it all. You cleared your throat, mustering up the most serious expression you could pull at that moment.

“You’re the strongest man I know.”

And just like that, his smile was gone. The dancing flame he lit in your heart, smothered by ice. Johnny, who’d always been the gasoline to your fire, now felt like freezing water.

He shook his head, trying to hide the unease. “My strength is long gone, love.”

And even if your blood was struggling to boil against the ice he instilled, you decide you wouldn’t have that. Not in a thousand years.

Your eyes welled up with tears, as much as you tried to fight it. He sounded so tormented - you craved to take it away from him. Your fingers curled at his jaw, gently. Tilting his head, you forced his eyes to lock with yours – making sure to keep him there, focused on you.

"You, my love," you repeated, voice wavering but filled with resolve, "are the strongest man I've ever met."

Yet your words only fueled the self-hatred. He failed to see the determination in your eyes because the wounds in his brain, both emotional and whatnot, only made him perceive pity.

“I hate this,” he growled. While your fire had been smothered, his only grew. His eyes held defiance and fight, unfortunately against all the wrong things. “I hate this so damn much. I – I struggle to live, darling. I can’t even fucking stand. I’m like a useless sack of sh-”

"None of tha'." You interrupted him. This time, you sounded angry.

Hell, you understood. You were a special forces operator, too. You were in his same team. You fucking got it. The pain, the worthlessness after having been fully independent and, at least on his part, generously strong for most of his adult life.

But you weren't having it.

Your fingers held his face in place, curled at his cheeks. Not too tight, always gentle and mindful of his head injury, but firm enough to indent in the plush of his skin.

"You are Sergeant John – fucking Soap - MacTavish." You stated firmly, and while your eyes were glossy, your voice didn't hesitate this time. "You are a sniper and demolitions specialist. The best out there."

Your pupils sailed the storm in his eyes with unparalleled skill. "You've survived a gunshot to the head. You fought to live, and I swear 'ere and now, John, I'll make fucking sure you will."

Johnny found himself fighting a war he couldn’t win. And while he wasn’t used to it, he realized he didn't mind losing. He had been biting each hand that tried to feed him, to nurse him back to health.

Even yours.

He failed to see, however, that you came back each time – mangled fingers, bite marks and all.

He hated being the reason you cried, even if it was for the sheer amount of feelings that had been brewing all at once, threatening to spill over.

Without warning, he put his hands against the mattress and sat up. And because it wasn’t enough for him apparently, he grabbed awestruck-you by the hips, pulling you on top of him –  with no little effort – to straddle his lap. That was the achievement of the week, he thought, and with an exhausted sigh, he flopped with his back against the headboard.

He used to be able to absolutely manhandle you and place you wherever he wanted, once. Now, his chest heaved as a result of barely lifting you an inch. The concept was still hard to grasp for him, but he realized how proud he felt when his eyes landed on yours, when your gasp reached his eardrums.

And he understood, then. He might have thought that he was a useless sack of shit, but you weren’t, and steaming Jesus, he’d do it. For you, he’d take the fucking praise of having lifted a spoon without dropping the stupid golf ball you placed on it. He’d take the kisses you’d pepper his face with each time he’d bend his knee to his chest without your hands helping him fold it.

He’d take that look you were donning right there on his lap, your eyes going from heated to watery. Brows pinched. Mouth-gaped.

He’d take it like a fucking champ, and he’d be proud of it.

"Johnny,” you breathed, steadying yourself with your palms on his shoulder.

The bastard smirked; lips parted as he caught his breath.

He brought his hands up to cup your cheek. His thumb rubbed at your jawline and his fingers threaded through your hair. “How are ye so bloody beautiful, eh?”

You almost melted right then and there.

You huffed. Breathless and shaky. You leaned your cheek against his palm – perfect fit. One could hear the clicking sound it would’ve made as it fell into place.

“Gonna have to cross tha' from our achievements list." You slurred, your words as wobbly as your lips.

He hated your bloody achievements list, but he’d take that one, too.

His voice was raspy. Scratched you in all the right places. “We should put a reward for each one you tick off, mh?”

You blushed.

You did, and you weren't even ashamed of it. How many people could say that their significant other made them flush even after years together? You bet very fucking few.

Because Johnny made your heart stutter like the first time although it had been years you two shared the same bed. Johnny made your chest swell, your cheeks pink, and your panties wet even after he'd seen you naked and bent however he pleased – and he could do that with a very visible craniotomy scar on the side of his head.

You gave him a knowing look, though.

"Just a kiss," you replied, sounding a little too patronizing. Almost as if you were scolding him. "The doc said no sex, Johnny."

Indeed, now he almost looked like a child who just had his favorite new toy snatched away. A feigned pout, his bottom lip jutting out slightly. “Not even a tiny bit?”

He looked utterly gorgeous, even when he acted like this – normally, it would’ve driven you up a wall.

The blue of his irises was now a mere halo around widened, dark pupils. He took a greedy handful of the meaty part of your hip. His other hand journeyed from your jawline to your bum, and he wasn’t parsimonious there either, as he curled his fingers around the plush skin.

"What even is a tiny bit of sex, Johnny?” You huffed. Before he could reply, because you saw that cheek in his eyes, “And for the love of Christ – Don't say just the tip.”

He grinned, caught red-handed.

You fixed him with a blank stare.

And then, you spouted all the knowledge you had acquired during these months while he slept away. You went full medical encyclopedia on him. "Sex increases blood pressure, which might cause weakened blood vessels in your brain to burst, potentially leading to a hemorrhagic stroke. You could -”

Johnny barked a laugh. You ended your lecture by pursing your mouth in a tight line; rolled your lips between your teeth to hide how much the sound of his genuine chuckle had affected your heart.

He absolutely demolished you with a sentence only.

“But I sat up today, sweetheart.”

Your shoulders deflated. Utterly powerless.

He pinched the air between thumb and forefinger in the space between your faces, “Just a glimpse, yeah?”

You scoffed and briefly looked down at the spot where he’d placed you in. All by himself, no help from you whatsoever. You were so fucking proud it made you arrhythmic.

You settled on a glimpse.

Gingerly, you grasped the hem of your (his) tee and pulled it off your head. You tossed it in a vague direction behind you, eyes focused on his. Deft fingers went to unhook your own bra, and you let it fall.

Sitting up on your knees, which gave him a very nice close-up of your breasts (the lad went cross-eyed at the sight), you hooked your fingers at the waistband of your sweatpants. With one motion, you took down both pants and underwear, which pooled at your knees.

You leaned back, sitting on your rear, and pulled them both off your ankles. Much like your sorry t-shirt, they landed somewhere on the bedroom floor.

Planting your feet on each side of his thighs, you kept your knees spread and leaned back on your palms, as if to say There, enjoy.

"Better?"

Johnny’s eyes darkened instantly at the sight before him. You looked wet already for reasons unknown to him. Poor man couldn't grasp the idea that no matter how he looked, he'd always make your heart race and your cunt glisten.

Johnny slowly rubbed the back of his fingers against his lips.

“Better,” you heard him rasp.

You nodded imperceptibly, eyes never leaving his. You raised a hand and drew a map of your body with your finger, tracing a path he’d hopefully follow again, one day.

It started from your mouth, fingertip tugging at your lower lip until it bounced back into place. Then down your chin, down the curve of your throat, traveling in the valley of your breasts.

"You behave, Johnny," you breathed, letting your own hand grab a handful of your breast and squeeze. The fat bulged between the grooves of your fingers.

"Follow PT.” You pulled at your nipple, "Take your meds, do as the doctors say."

Your palm snaked down your belly until it reached your core. You spread your lips for him with your fingers, "And I'll be your first meal after recovery."

Johnny’s eyes followed your hand, hypnotized. He swore his mouth watered and he thought this wasn’t much of a reward as it was torture.

His heart throbbed against his ribs, and his eyes clocked yours once more.

“I’ll behave,” he promised, his voice thick with an unspoken need – and he would.

Johnny decided that he’d take this, too. Fucking hell he would.

Your lips quirked to the side, trying to hide the small smile of delight. The only thing you wanted was for him to get better. Small steps: he had already managed to sit up in bed by himself, so maybe the next step would be to stand up on his own, one day.

Then walk. Then run. Then train at the gym, or take you out for dinner. Fuck you senseless into the mattress. Get on his knees to make a meal out of you. Or get on one knee, holding out a ring.

And by God, if what he needed was a reward – he'd get it. Honestly, if it would help him improve, you'd give it to him every bloody day. You’d bend, break, turn, and fucking dance if he asked. As long as he stayed here, alive.

You were unabashedly wet, so there was barely any friction as you plunged middle and forefinger inside your core. You hissed at the sensation – pleasure and pain. You let out a shuddering breath, eyes closing just briefly.

You should've been embarrassed about the sound your own cunt made when you slid them out, but the way Johnny's eyes widened made you anything but. His hand dropped from his mouth onto his thigh, limp.

Utterly disarmed himself.

Sticky and wet with arousal, you placed your fingers on his lips, gently pushing them inside to rest on his tongue.

"Good man, Johnny," you breathed, your own heart thrumming, "So fucking proud of you.”

Johnny’s chest warmed and his eyes flickered between your own, his tongue automatically coming forward to taste you on your fingers. His cheek hollowed as he sucked, which did absolutely nothing to the already dripping state of you.

You scissored your fingers against his tongue, “Take it.”

His eyes fluttered closed. Sweet and salty, ambrosia on his tastebuds. The tang of you, forever impressed in his mind – a man parched of what he used to drink almost daily and had been denied for months. He thought it had been criminal of you to take it away from him for so long.

And while this totally wasn’t the most appropriate moment to think about it, he realized that you never denied him anything that wasn’t for his own good.

He did it to himself.

Which made him angry. Which prompted his hand to flit up and wrap around your wrist to keep your fingers there, snug in the cavity of his mouth – wishing he could never part from them.

The humming sound of pleasure vibrated through your hand, and you shivered in response. He grunted in a low, husky murmur – words barely muffled by your fingers, “I want my reward, pet.”

Your own eyes were hooded and heavy. He looked perfect, despite that thick scar on the side of his head. Actually, the fact that he was still here, in this plane of existence, with his brain injury - somehow alive, by sheer miracle - made him even more perfect.

You took your fingers out of his mouth. Johnny begrudgingly released them with a pop. He looked flushed and ravenous. It would’ve scared you, the voracity in his eyes, if you weren’t already accustomed to it – known it like your own, same hunger that’d been festering in your lower stomach for months.

You helped him lay back down again, making sure his head would fall softly against the pillow, back flat on the mattress. You stretched out like a cat, settling yourself on your knees between his legs.

Resting your palms against his thighs, feeling the taut muscle underneath, your fingers gently scraped over the fabric of his sweatpants. The obvious tent he sported imperceptibly twitched in reflex.

You grazed the bulge with your nails. Johnny shuddered.

Only then, you curled your fingers at the waistband of his sweats and slowly pulled down, exposing him. His cock bounced back against his abdomen once it unhooked from the elastic of his boxers.

It was your mouth’s turn to water. You’d seen him naked several times in the past one hundred and eighty-four days, but the purposes were very much different. Of course, it wasn’t only him that had to refrain from intimacy. While you could, well, DIY your way to bliss, it clearly wasn’t enough, because your body was reacting dramatically at the mere sight.

Your hand almost darted at the base. Johnny’s hips gave a tiny jerk, and you could hear the lack of sounds coming from him. He was holding his breath, almost in anticipation of what he knew would happen.

Thankfully he’d always been vocal, and when you gave the first stroke, Johnny absolutely melted. Quite literally, you saw him deflate against the pillows as if he were made of wax and your hand was fire. His lips parted in a whine you hadn’t heard in ages. Or maybe never. At all.

You decided you wanted to hear that again. Fucking pronto.

You started slowly, stroking up and down the way you knew he liked. Dragging the skin over the tip, using the honestly baffling amount of precum as lube.

You couldn’t take your eyes off of him. Johnny always looked gorgeous, and during sex, he looked like a god.Made to worship and praise. Now, his eyes were half closed. The narrow space visible was white – he had rolled back his eyes. Lips parted by heavy pants. Brows tight, as if he was concentrating.

Because he was.

“Slow down,” he drawled, seemingly unable to have his mouth follow along with his thoughts. “Fuck, plea-“, he whined, again. That sound you were looking for. Goddamn music that could feel like silk to the touch.

Your thighs squeezed together for some needed friction, and you did as he asked. He exhaled shakily, fully closing his eyes to get a grip. Johnny’s jaw clenched. He gritted his teeth, releasing a sharp breath from his nose.

Slowly, you bent at the waist, shifting a little on your knees. Your face was right next to his length as you held it up by the base, stroking languidly.

Johnny felt your breath hit his shaft and his eyes snapped open. You saw how his chest stuttered, eyelid twitching at the sight. How the indent of your spine drew a curve that tipped at your ass, tilted up. The lashes framing your doe eyes fluttering right next to his cock. Your lips pink, as if they might have caught teeth. The sheen of his precum around your fingers.

Johnny could’ve come right then and there.

To prevent it, he slid his eyes shut again. It was useless, because he felt that plush mouth he loved oh, so dearly, leave a trail of slow kisses from his base up to his angry-red tip. Johnny hissed a string of curses, wringing his eyes closed until his lids wrinkled.

You lingered a little more on his tip with your lips barely grazing it, tasting the salt of him and reveling in the desperation he was showing. Not a bad thing – this wasn’t that kind of torment you hated to see. Indeed, you liked it.

Very much so.

“Johnny,” you whispered, “Look at me, baby.”

Johnny could only oblige; however, he did beg whatever deity up there to give him enough resolve not to cum on your hand. His eyes drifted open and the sight of you, once again, threatened to have him end the moment way too soon.

He gulped. A fruitless endeavor, because his mouth was dry and his throat stuck. He parted his lips to mumble something. Something incoherent and jumbled because his brain was haywire.

Whatever he had to say, however, came out as a choked sound. Your lips parted further and wrapped around his head. Your heavy-lidded gaze locked with his much too wide eyes, and Johnny crumbled once and for all.

“Christ,” was the first sensed word he growled. His head fell back against the pillow, but that made you still.

He moaned again. Not that sound you liked, but more like a lament – why did you stop. Your mouth left his shaft with a sonorous pop. His head lifted and he glowered – how dare you.

“Eyes on me, Johnny.”

His breath hitched, and he thought you couldn’t have looked more beautiful. His eyes softened at the order, and he gave a simple nod, trying not to look as desperate as he felt and failing spectacularly.

You grinned, and he corrected himself: you could look more beautiful.

Whatever devoted thought was about to cross his mind was stopped in its tracks when you ran your tongue along the underside of his cock. Tortuously slow.

You used your hand at the base to slap the head against the flat of your tongue while your other palm rested on his thigh, feeling how he tensed beneath you. Only then, your lips returned around his cock. The muscles in his neck bulged and the tendons tightened, resisting the urge to just flop back once again.

His hips gave yet another tiny jerk, and he bit his bottom lip. "Careful, pet," he warned you, his voice strained against the rock lodged in the back of his throat.

He reached down and grasped at your hair but did not pull, simply just holding on to give you a sense of where his hands were. He wished he could sit up and ram his cock down the back of your throat. He knew you’d take it – fuck, he knew. 

But he’d used enough strength to gain the current reward, which was also the other reason why his muscles felt too syrupy to hold him up.

The tight grip on your hair almost made your eyes roll back at the promise of what it could’ve meant. The memories of how good he’d guide your head down his length made your cunt flutter around nothing.

You dived down until his tip reached the back of your throat. Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes as you struggled to breathe from your nose.

“God, sweetheart,” he moaned. Didn’t growl, or groan. John fucking MacTavish moaned, and you were unsure whether you liked this more than the gruff sounds you were used to.

You rose up again and then rammed down. Up, and down. Again, and again. And Johnny thought he could’ve cried. His chest heaved and his lungs burned – struggling to keep up with his rapid intake of air. His thighs tensed.

“Just like tha’.” He stuttered, voice cracking at the edges, “Yes, love. Yes.”

It took a lot of him not to collapse right back against the pillow and just enjoy the feeling and the obscene sounds you were making. And while his eyes stayed focused on you because you had commanded so, he also didn’t want to deprive them of the sight that you were.

You knew his tells: breathy voice, taut quadriceps, those tiny jerks of his hips to meet your mouth. Your hand curled at the base to help you out in your endeavor, stroking lightly and twisting as your mouth still worked. Your eyes locked on him, lidded and watery. Tears down your flushed cheeks.

A fucking sight alright, Johnny thought.

With the last spurs of strength left in his body, he selfishly pushed your head down, burying your nose in his curls. He groaned a desperate “Oh, fuck”, lifted his hips to meet you halfway. With a shudder, you felt him empty himself down your throat.

The grip he had on your hair tightened to the point of delicious pain, stinging your scalp. Johnny's legs went stiff under your touch. His cock twitched, buried deep down your throat, as spit and cum bubbled at the corners of your stuffed mouth.

You didn’t fight how your eyes rolled back this time. Struggling to breathe through your nose as you obediently swallowed.

Johnny allowed himself to collapse back against the pillow. Unfocused and dazed. The way his orgasm hit, like a needle puncturing his brain, made him think that maybe you were right and he’d gone and done it – the hemorrhagic stroke, or whatever it was you said.

When you finally pulled back, Johnny looked down at you with hooded eyes. His chest was still rising and falling at an alarming pace. And just when he thought it was over, that the bliss had regrettably ended, you locked eyes with him. His mouth went dry again.

He slowly let the grip on your hair go to allow you some freedom to move. He reached out to touch the side of your face. His thumb skimmed your lower lip, smearing the spit and what was left of him on your cheek.

“You’re beautiful,” he said quietly – more than just a compliment.

You blushed. As if your cheeks could get any redder.

After tucking him back into his pants and sweats, Johnny beckoned your face closer to his. You followed his guidance, only to have him curl his fingers at the nape of your neck to tilt your head, and let his lips meet yours.

He didn’t kiss your hungrily. He savored you, allowing your lips to slot, and your tongues to mold. He tasted himself on you, and you tasted yourself on him.

Johnny tucked you under his arm, guiding you to rest your head on his chest like before.

You looked up at him, a cheeky smile on your lips. Tapped your fingers over his heaving chest.

“Slow breaths,” you instructed, “Keep the blood pressure low, baby.”

He huffed, “Fuck off, darling.”

You laughed and nuzzled against him. Johnny could only chuckle with you – could only think you were a vision. And when your face lifted to prop your chin on his chest so your eyes could meet, when your smile beamed in his direction, he was sure you were one.

"Now will you," you tapped his nose with your finger, "Cooperate a little more?”

Johnny snorted.

His lips curled into a tiny smirk. His cheeks were flushed as well, a sheen of sweat covered his forehead. His eyes were droopy and a little dreamy when he took you in. You looked so beautiful his heart could’ve stopped, and if that were to be the last thing he saw, he would've died a happy man.

You were proud of him, and for the first time, he was proud of himself, too.

He fell silent and only basked in your glow, reveling in the sunlight you brought. The arm that held you by your waist traveled upwards, and he curled it around your head. His thumb brushed your cheekbone, tangling with some of your hair as well.

And Johnny thought he’d take it. He’d take it any day.

“Get that achievements list,” he whispered, “Wanna cross that shite myself.”

[mysterious-moonstruck-musings]

Buried Secrets Teaser

Buried Secrets Masterlist ||| Main Masterlist Frankie Morales x OFC

Summary: After the harrowing events in South America, Frankie and the guys have returned home and opened their own private security business. They're eventually approached by an archeologist, named Mya, who is requesting their specialized services for an archeological expedition in the Amazonian jungle of southeastern Peru, hours away from where they stashed Lorea's money just over the border in the mountains of northern Chile.

Frankie is hesitant to accept the job, but with Pope's insistence this could be their cover to go back for the money, he relents. However, Frankie soon learns their new job assignment only further puts them and his new love interest in danger in an unexpected way as they set out to find the lost Incan city of Paititi.

👉 Warnings: smut (MDNI), angst, mentions of mental health struggles and past drug use (it's Frankie), there are bad guys with weapons (gun violence, physical violence, death). Frankie Morales comes with his own warnings.

✨If you would like to be added to the tag list, let me know in the comments or shoot me a DM.

Hello my lovelies,

I bring you just a little update. I’ve started writing bits of scenes as they come to me. Given that…how about a nice little 1.8K word preview? Maybe Frankie’s introduction to Mya? Notice I said, Frankie’s introduction to Maya and not their introduction to each other. 👀🤭

More below the cut. Enjoy!

Frankie's POV

I stood leaning against the door frame to my office, arms crossed over my chest as I listened to Benny run through our options for some schedule changes. Will stood nearby, listening intently and occasionally offering up his opinion. He was about to speak when his attention was drawn to movement outside the front window, “Hey guys, looks like we got a new client. A fancy blacked out SUV just pulled up,” 

Benny moved to stand next to his brother to peer out the window, “Oh damn, this chic’s hot.” 

That was Pope’s siren call. He immediately stuck his head out of his office after spending the last 30 minutes ignoring our conversation about scheduling issues while he no doubt played games on his phone. 

“Did you say you needed me, Ben?” he asked nonchalantly, just as our topic of conversation walked in. Pope nearly tripped over his own feet when he caught sight of her. Not that I could blame him. She commanded the attention of the room as soon as she stepped through the doorway and took off her expensive looking sunglasses.

It didn’t even have anything to do with her looks. She just had this magnetic aura that drew you in and also intimidated the fuck out of you. She was dressed in a black pant suit that hugged her curves in all the right places, yet still leaving everything to the imagination. Her spiked heels no doubt added a few inches to her height as she confidently walked across the lobby with her shoulders back and chin up. Her long mahogany hair swung around her shoulders, perfectly straight with no strands out of place. She was sexy as fuck and definitely not our typical clientele. 

We all seemed to be stunned into silence as she came to a stop just in front of where we had congregated near the conference room entrance. Benny was the one to speak up first, standing a little straighter before he opened his mouth. “Hi there ma’am, can we help you with something?” he sputtered out.

“I’d like to speak with Mr. Morales please,” she said without hesitation.

Benny stood there, mouth hanging open as his eyes shifted to me. Will spoke then, “Mr. Morales typically doesn’t meet with new clients. Mr. Miller here and myself handle that.” 

She feigned a polite smile, “I get that, but I would prefer to speak with the owner directly as this is a bit urgent and sensitive. I’m sure you can understand.” 

Her tone made it clear that was her final answer. Pope obviously didn’t read the room as he stepped forward to intervene, turning on his charm and giving his best flirty smile, “If you wanna step into my office, we can have a chat about your situation. I’m sure I can get you taken care of.” 

Her eyes narrowed on him, a playful smirk forming on her lips as she scanned him from head to toe, “I don’t believe you’re Mr. Morales.” 

Pope’s mouth dropped open, then snapped shut. That wasn’t the response he was expecting. The woman’s eyes shifted to me as her smile widened, “But you are. Mind if we have a chat in private?” 

I was momentarily frozen by the intensity of her gaze, then confused about how she knew I was who she was looking for. My brows arched as I pursed my lips. We just sort of stared at each other for a brief moment. It felt like she was analyzing every move I made as her gaze raked over me. I uncrossed my arms and stepped to the side, motioning for her to step into my office. 

I glanced over at the guys, all three of them were watching her retreating form. If I looked hard enough, I could probably see the drool coming out of Pope’s mouth as he salivated over the possibilities. His eyes finally met mine, sparkling with mischief as he smiled and said, “Será mejor que cierres ese trato.” (You better close that deal.)

I rolled my eyes at his insinuation, “Vete a la mierda,” (Fuck off.) 

I could hear Benny and Will snickering as I turned to join the puzzling woman waiting in my office. After closing the door behind me, I was met with her amused expression as she stood with one arm across her chest, the other propped on it so she could rest her chin on her fingers. 

“Do you always let him hit on clients?” she asked with a smirk.

I shrugged, “I do enjoy watching him stick his foot in his mouth. I can’t help myself.” 

She chuckled as our gazes met. My heart rate suddenly picked up as I cleared my throat and moved to lean against my desk, “So, you gotta name? Seems like you already know mine.”

She smiled, not moving from where she stood, “Sorry, that was rude of me to not introduce myself. I’m Mya Carnahan.”

I crossed my arms, “Well, Miss Carnahan, what can Delta 5 Security Solutions help you with?”

She dropped her hands to her sides, smiling up at me through her lashes, “Getting right to it then, I like that.” 

I bit the inside of my cheek as I watched her unbutton her suit jacket, then stick her hands in her pockets as she began to pace my office. I could already tell she was going to be a problem. I just wasn’t sure if it was a good or bad one. 

“I’ll be leading an archeological dig in the Southeastern Peruvian jungle. I’m gonna need security for my team while we’re there.”

My brows furrowed, “And why would an archeological dig site need our kind of security?”

She paused her pacing to look at me, “The locals won’t exactly be excited about it. Many believe those sites should remain untouched because of old Incan legends. We also have the narcos to worry about. I’m sure you’re aware drugs are heavily trafficked down there?”

I nodded, already feeling reluctant about taking this on. I knew exactly what this would lead to once I told Pope about it. The location was too close to where we stashed Lorea's money. He would want to go back for it. 

“The narcos sometimes move product through those remote areas, have stash houses, and even cultivate in the middle of the jungle. If we were to...unknowingly encroach on their territory, they wouldn’t hesitate to put an end to things.” 

I pushed off my desk, moving to stand with my hands on my hips, “Not trying to be rude, but you don’t strike me as an archaeologist. What exactly is it that you do, Miss Carnahan?”

Her eyes were fixed on me as she fought a smile, “When I’m not digging up mummies and old relics, I’m an antiquities dealer. Before you ask…I’m a reputable dealer with ethical sourcing.”

I arched my brow. Somehow I doubted that. “Who’s your benefactor? I know these digs are expensive. Do I need to be concerned that they’ve pissed anyone off?”

She tucked her plump bottom lip between her teeth, deciding on how to respond. Thoughts of biting that lip myself flashed through my mind. I had to quickly shove them away. 

“That’s confidential information. I’ve been asked to not share it. Best I can give is that he’s a well-off gentleman that does legitimate business on a global scale. So yes, he’s probably pissed a few people off. He doesn’t want his name attached to it. As far as anyone is concerned, the dig is funded by donations, which isn’t completely untrue.” 

I scoffed, “I’m sorry, but if you can’t give me all the information, then I’m not interested in taking this on. I require a certain level of trust with our clients and I don’t take risks.” 

She ignored my response, pacing again and continuing on as if I hadn’t just told her no. 

“I haven’t gotten my team fully assembled yet, but I’m thinking we'll have 30-40 people. We’ll need at least one pilot to fly some of the bigger equipment in. Though, I’d prefer two, just in case we need to make a quick exit. We’re planning to be there for at least three months for the initial expedition. We leave in two weeks.”

I stared at her wide-eyed, “Did you hear what I just said? I’m not interested unless you give me all the information I ask for. And who says we have pilots and enough staff on hand to travel to the Peruvian jungle for three months on short notice?”

She was smiling at me again as she approached, crowding my space as we stood face to face. 

“You’re a pilot, right? There’s one…and I know you hire veterans, so I’m betting there’s another one and that a lot of them would be jumping at the opportunity to do something like this. I’d wager your three guys out front would if given the opportunity.”

How the fuck does she know so much? I was beginning to worry this might be some sort of setup to get us back to South America. 

“How do you know I’m a pilot?” I asked.

She looked around my office and motioned to the pictures on the wall. I chuckled and nodded. That was a rookie mistake, Fish. 

“I don’t do field work anymore…and like I said…you haven’t told me all the information.”

She was still giving me that sweet smile, “I’m fairly confident you’re not gonna turn me down, Mr. Morales. You’re too intrigued.”

She pulled a business card out of her pocket and handed it to me. It was black and glossy with shiny embossed gold lettering that said Hathor’s Gallery of Antiquities framed with a fancy gold border on the back of it. Even her fucking business card felt expensive. 

“I need to know something by noon tomorrow, or else I’m moving on to another security firm.”

My head snapped up, “Another firm? There is no one else locally that can provide what you need.”

She gave me a smug smile, “You sure about that?”

She had to be fucking with me. “Yeah, I am.”

She moved to open the door to leave, pausing to look back over her shoulder in my direction, “By noon, or else I’m moving on.” 

“We haven’t even discussed payment details,” I added following her to the lobby. 

She paused in the middle of the waiting area, “You only need to name your price and I’ll pay it.”  

I could feel the eyes of Benny, Will, and Pope on us as we stared each other down for a beat. I didn’t know how to respond to that as I stood with my mouth gaping. 

“We’ll talk more tomorrow once you’ve officially made your decision," she said as she turned toward the exit. She shifted her attention to the guys still standing outside the conference room entrance, “Mr. Garcia, try to stay outta trouble…Millers, enjoy your afternoon.” 

Without another word, she was gone, climbing into the back of the SUV as the driver held the door open for her. 

“What the hell was that?” Benny asked. 

I sighed and shook my head, “I...don’t fucking know.”

A/N: Annnd the first words have been yeeted into the world. Thoughts? Feelings? Excited? Fuck off with that?🤣 Frankie and Maya are obviously going to have an interesting dynamic. I can't wait until these two start bumping heads. This should be another fun ride. 💜Mysty In case you missed it: ✨Meet the Characters ✨Teasers & Asks ✨Vibes

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[rollinouttahere-writes]

platonic yandere shanks and child reader

Better Left Unsaid

Yandere Shanks x GN Child Reader

3k words

“Don’t.”

With one leg still thrown over the side of the ship, you whip around and glare at Yassop. You dropped your head onto the railing and groaned, “Come on! I won’t even leave the docks, please!”

Yassop looked up from the gun that he was polishing, shooting you a weary look, “You know the rules, kid.”

“The rules are stupid!”

“Take that up with Shanks if you think so,” he replied in a bored tone.

You give out the most exasperated sigh and hop down from the railing with a huff. The boards creaked under the impact, more so after you began stomping across the deck. Both of you knew full well that talking to Shanks would get you nowhere. He’s the captain and your dad, he isn’t about to take orders from you.

Using more force than probably necessary, you open and slam the door to the captain’s quarters. It doubled as your bedroom, too. That was fine when you were little, but now you wanted your own space. Every time you tried to tell him this, you would just get waved off and told there was no room. It was either his room or bunking with all the other guys, so you begrudgingly accepted your fate of staying where you were. At least he put up a curtain to give you a little privacy.

After flopping onto your bed, you screamed into your pillow at the top of your lungs while kicking your feet on the bed. This was so unfair!

All you wanted was to leave the damn ship on a populated island. The only times you ever got to set foot on solid land was if they stopped at an uninhabited island, but that wasn’t enough for you anymore. You wanted to see people that weren’t your family, see sights that you don’t usually get to see, and pick out your own damn clothes for once! Was that really so much to ask for?!

Violently, you flipped onto your back and scowled at the ceiling, clutching your screamed-in pillow to your chest.

This was all so frustrating, but you didn’t know how to fix it. Talking to your dad was pointless, he never listened to you when you were complaining. The crew was just as bad, they treated you like a baby. But they were all you had. Shanks didn’t let you see, much less talk, to anyone else.

What you needed was leverage. You needed something that would give you enough of an upperhand to get him to listen to you. In essence, you needed blackmail, and you were in the perfect place to find some.

You grinned maliciously as you sprung out of your bed and marched over to his side of the room. Surely there had to be something in here that would give you some dirt on him! You aren’t sure what exactly you’re looking for, but you figure you’ll know it when you see it.

First was the bed. You lifted up the mattress to peek under and see if anything was hidden underneath. Nothing.

Next was the bedside table. You opened all of the drawers one by one. While you did find some stuff, it wasn’t anything useful. Some old maps, pens, notebooks with nothing interesting in them, a mostly empty booze bottle. Nothing scandalous enough to get a leg over on him.

There was a clothes dresser, too. At first you hesitated. No one wants to risk seeing their dad’s underwear, but desperate times call for desperate measures. 

Pulling open the first drawer, you found a bunch of shirts haphazardly shoved into it. None of them were folded, and it looks like he filled this thing up blindfolded and under intense pressure. No wonder his clothes are so wrinkled. It was a bit of a struggle to close when you were done rifling through it due to how jam-packed it was. Part of a shirt was sticking out after you finally slammed it shut, but you couldn’t be bothered to care. It’s not like you were going to make it look any worse.

The next drawer was similar to the first in terms of how messy it was, but this time with pants. It’s no longer a mystery as to why he perpetually looks like he just rolled out of bed. Whatever, his unfortunate state of fashion is of no real concern to you.

As you dug through the mess of pants, your fingers made contact with something solid. You froze briefly but quickly snapped out of it and grabbed whatever it was you touched. It took a bit of effort, but you freed the object from its tangled up prison. It was a small box. With a lock on it.

Perfect!

This had to be it! If he cared enough to lock it up, then there must be something top secret in here! Giddily, you scurried back to your bed with your findings, not even bothering to kick the dresser shut. You were going to be confronting him with this anyways, no need to be secretive about it.

The box was tossed onto your bed while you dug through your own bedside table, looking for your lockpicking kit. Shanks was about to regret teaching you how to do that. 

You threw the kit next to the box and hopped on the bed. The lock was tiny and appeared to be uncomplicated, you’re betting you’ll have it open in under a minute. Grabbing your slimmest hook, you jammed it into the keyhole.

It unlocked instantly. Damn, you might have to make fun of your dad for using such a useless lock.

The lock was discarded and you opened the box. It was full of pieces of paper and photographs. Interesting. You pick up the first photo you see. It’s facing down, the back of it says ‘Uta - 2’. You flip it over, curious to see what that note on the back means.

It’s a picture of your dad when he was much younger, but that wasn’t what stuck out to you. What really caught your eye was the little girl he was holding. She was very young, and her hair was split down the middle with one side being white and the other red. Both of them were grinning from ear to ear. You can’t remember ever seeing your dad look that happy.

You look at the note again. ‘Uta - 2’. The girl looked to be about two years old, so that was probably her age. Was Uta her name? That made sense.

But who is she? 

No one has ever mentioned someone named Uta being on board. As far as you were aware, you were the only child that’s ever been with them. Maybe this picture was taken before Shanks became a pirate? No, wait, it can’t be that either. He’s never not been a part of a pirate crew.

You need more information. Setting the picture aside, you start pulling more stuff out of the box. There’s some sheet music. The handwriting is somewhat neat, but also big and exaggerated with more loops than necessary and hearts dotting the i’s. Like it was written by a child. On the bottom, the name Uta was signed in large cursive letters.

Another photo is taken out, Shanks isn’t in it, but Uta and other members of his crew are. Uta is standing on a box like some sort of a makeshift stage, and appears to be singing if you had to guess. The others were clapping and cheering her on. This was definitely taken a while ago. Benn’s hair hadn’t even turned gray yet. The back of it said ‘Uta - 5’.

The next picture once again has Uta in it. She’s sitting next to a little boy with black hair and a scar under his eye.

Why does your dad have so many pictures of some girl you’ve never even heard of? This definitely feels like a secret, but you’re so confused about what you’re finding that you can’t bring yourself to feel like this is really a victory for you. You need to dig deeper.

Once again, you reach for another photo, one with three people in it this time. You instantly recognize Shanks and Uta, who you don’t know is the seemingly newborn baby in Shanks’ arms. His expression is nothing but soft and adoring, while Uta’s is a combination of curious but excited.

How many damn kids has your dad taken in and proceeded to just never mention ever?!

You flip over the picture to figure out who this one is supposed to be, but freeze up when you read it.

‘(Y/N) - Just got here!’

That’s… you? You and Uta were here at the same time, but you’re just now finding out about her? What the hell is going on?

Frantically, you unceremoniously dump out the rest of the contents of the box. You’re desperate to find answers, anything that could explain why your dad has this top secret box dedicated to whoever this Uta girl is.

A picture that stands out to you is one of Uta helping the baby- you- stand. You’re a little older here, roughly a year old it would seem. A quick glance at the back confirms your guess as correct, and that Uta is seven. She’s six years older than you. Since you no longer have the squished face of a baby just welcomed into the world, your features are actually recognizable. This is definitely you and not just some other kid named (Y/N).

The mystery unraveling in front of you is so engrossing that you’re deaf to the world around you. That is, until the door to the room is thrown open. Your heart leaps into your throat. Oh shit! Why is he back so soon?! You scramble to quickly but quietly pile your findings back into their box.

“(Y/N), I got you something in-” Shanks voice falls flat and stops abruptly in the middle of the sentence. No, no, no! How does he know something is wrong already?!

You didn’t close the dresser.

Before you can even begin to think of what to do next, Shanks drops whatever he was holding and closes the distance between you two and rips the curtain to the side. All you can do is shrink in on yourself and gawk at his furious expression.

The second his eyes land on the box in your hands, he snatches it into his own. He stomps away and slams it onto the dresser while hastily rifling through it. He hasn’t said a damn thing to you since the realization of what you did. 

Damage control, you need to do damage control, and fast. You move to stand, and utter out a quiet, “Dad?”

“Sit. Down,” his tone was sharp and left zero room for argument. He’s never spoken to you so coldly, even during your worst arguments. 

 All you wanted was to have a chance to explore the town, and now look where that has gotten you. This was a stupid mistake. Shanks and his crew were all you had, and now you’ve made a huge problem of yourself. What would happen to you if he decided you weren’t worth the hassle anymore?

You couldn’t help it. Between all the previous confusion mixed with his harsh treatment broke the dam and tears started to pour down your face. You sniffle loudly while furiously wiping at your face, and force out, “I-I’m sorry.”

With your head being in your hands, and your eyes clouded with tears, you have no hope of being able to gauge his reaction. Or see if he even cares enough to pay you any mind. Probably not, not when he’s this mad at you. 

Your bed dips from the weight of Shanks sitting down next to you. Without hesitation, you latch onto him, burying your face in his coat while sobbing out apologies. Anything to make him stop being so upset with you. Much to your relief, his arm came around your back and held you to him.

“It’s… fine. I wish you wouldn’t have done that, but it’s nothing to cry about,” his voice was strained, but held the warmth that had been previously absent.

Even with that, you needed time to calm down. While your dad being annoyed with your attitude was hardly a new occurrence, him being genuinely upset was. Frankly, you didn’t know how to deal with this, and you were still terrified about how much damage your actions just did.

Shanks didn’t say anything else, instead choosing to sit in silence with you. You couldn’t decide if that made things better or worse. Actually, you could decide. The lack of words was absolutely worse, but you didn’t know what to say right now either.

“Yassop told me you tried to sneak off the ship. Again.”

Nevermind. You wish to go back to silence. All you did in response was bury your face deeper into his coat while mumbling a quick ‘sorry’ for your actions. You were going to dump out that snitch’s booze stash later. 

His chest heaved with the sigh he let out, and his hand came up to pat your head, “I know that you don’t like this, I understand that, but sometimes you have to do things you don’t like.” There was a pause, but when you didn’t respond, he continued, “It’s for your own good. The world is a dangerous place.”

“But… But you’re an emperor. You’re the Red Haired Shanks. What’s the worst that could happen if we just go for a walk in town?” As far as you’re concerned, there’s no threat that your dad can’t handle, not to mention the rest of his crew. Even if someone is stupid enough to try something, they’ll deal with it.

He chuckled, but it was humorless, empty, “Just because I’m an emperor doesn’t mean that bad things won’t still happen. That bad things haven’t already happened.”

“Where is Uta?”

Bringing her up was risky, you knew that, but you need answers. You need to get to the bottom of why Shanks is like this, and this is the closest you feel that you’ve ever come to finding out.

Shanks became rigid at the mention of her name. The hand on your head was now squeezing, bordering on painful from how tight it was. You tried to wiggle away but couldn’t break his hold. 

“She’s gone.”

“She died?!” While you didn’t know what to expect, it certainly wasn’t that.

“No!” Shanks' hand dropped down onto your shoulder and wrenched you away from him. His eyes were wide and wild, “She’s not dead!”

You visibly recoiled from him, you can’t remember a time you’ve ever heard him yell. Once again, you can feel your eyes start to water and your lip tremble. God, what you wouldn’t give for this whole interaction to just be over already. Or for it to have simply never happened in the first place.

His face fell, and he looked away from you with a grimace. Mercifully, his grip had relaxed a bit and no longer felt like a vice on you. “Uta is alive and well, she just isn’t here. Not anymore.”

“Why not? Where is she?” You had more questions with every answer he gave, this wasn’t making any sense. What could have happened to result in her not being here? He wouldn’t just… abandon her. Would he?

“Because I wasn’t able to protect her,” his voice was so quiet that if you were any further away from him you wouldn’t have heard him. “She needed to be left in someone else’s care for her own good. I wasn’t able to keep her safe, and that’s something that I will never let happen again. Not with you.”

“But what happened? I don’t understand,” you felt like you were simultaneously getting closer and also further from the truth. Nothing about this was making sense. There was a bigger story here, but he was seemingly hellbent on keeping his answers to you vague. 

“You don’t need to understand, you’re just a child. Do both of us a favor and forget about what you saw and what’s been said,” Shanks got to his feet, moving to leave not only the conversation, but also the room entirely.

You launched yourself off the bed and grabbed onto his arm, “Wait! You can’t just tell me to forget about this! I want answers!” You weren’t about to let him get out of this discussion so easily.

“Well, (Y/N), sometimes you don’t always get what you want. We’re done talking about this,” the way he spoke to you was slightly condescending. He turned to face you and crouched down to be at eye level, “How about you take a nap? Seems like you need one.”

You were getting on his nerves, that was a given, but you couldn’t up and let this go. Scoffing, you crossed your arms and glared at him, “I don’t need a nap, I’m not a baby.”

Shanks smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes, “Could’ve fooled me with the way you’re acting today.”

As much as you wanted to yell and be mad about what he just said, your mind went blank. You felt dizzy and like you couldn’t remember how to control your body. A second later, you stumbled and crashed into Shanks who caught you with ease.

Haki. He used Haki on you. 

Distantly, you registered being lifted off the ground. Your head was pounding and felt like it was packed with cotton to the point of bursting. A few steps later, you were dropped on a bed. You’re so out of it that you can’t even tell if it’s yours or his.

An attempt was made to say something, anything, but your tongue refused to cooperate. All you could do was stare up at the blurring form of Shanks helplessly, wondering why he would go to such an extreme over you asking a few questions. 

The last thing you remember is a blanket being pulled over you before everything fades to black as you’re forcibly thrown into a restless sleep. 

[lysatoru]

i love you - billie eilish

part2 of ‘think of me once in a while, take care’ !!!

gojo x female reader, mention of death, mention of decapitation, mention of gun

It was now 11pm, the time of the meeting. You were tied up somewhere in Shibuya's big shopping mall, gun to your head the whole time. You heard someone talking, or rather shouting, and recognized the voice of your "boyfriend": Gojo Satoru. You hadn't known Satoru for very long, and he wasn't necessarily someone who got angry very quickly, he never even got angry, but today was the first time you'd seen him in this state of rage. You hoped that Satoru would be able to save you.

"Where is she?" said Gojo — "where is my girl?!"

Gojo was beside himself with rage, blaming himself for everything, knowing full well that to have a girlfriend while being the strongest was to go straight to hell. He couldn't afford to lose everything now, not like this.

In a few minutes, Gojo wiped out all the plagues that stood in his way, he had to find you, and as quickly as possible, it was eating him up inside not knowing where you were, it was making him sick.

While waiting for him, you were still tied up, your hands and feet bound, a gun to your head or a knife to your throat, depending on who was watching you. Blood trickled down your wrists and feet as you struggled, burning yourself little by little. The tip of the knife slowly sank into the thin skin of your neck, creating a slight cut. Just swallowing began to hurt more and more. You were suffocating, sweating, you couldn't take it anymore, but you were trying to hold on until Gojo arrived.

A few minutes later, you finally saw Gojo in front of you, tears streaming down your cheeks, at last he was here. The person you'd loved most recently was here to save you. You couldn't speak because of the scotch tape over your mouth. Gojo's eyes, usually bright blue, were now only black, black with anger. Seeing you like that drove him mad. His fists had turned white from clenching them so hard, the blood couldn't even get through. He was out of breath, he couldn't take it anymore, all he wanted to do was collapse in your arms and promise you it wouldn't happen again. Unfortunately, he had to keep a straight face in front of you and everyone else here.

"I'm asking you to fight to the death, Gojo Satoru. It's obvious that if you don't accept it, she dies," said the bounty hunter.

"And it's obvious that I'm going to accept it, since I'm going to win," says Gojo confidently, after all, who had he ever lost to before?

"You've got five minutes to shoot me, if the fight goes on in five minutes, she's dead."

"Five minutes is too much, believe me," replied Gojo.

The fight began, and Gojo was alone against three bounty hunters and exorcists. Despite the smug look he was giving himself, you knew that he couldn't take it anymore, and you could see it in his eyes.

The fight continued, the blows becoming more and more violent and the after-effects as well, you taking a few blows along the way given the power of some of them. You were screaming, begging Satoru to stop, even if it meant letting you die, you couldn't stand seeing him give himself body and soul to you, just to save you, it wasn't fair, he didn't deserve that. The tape around your mouth finally came off from all the drool you'd accumulated while screaming.

tic-tac

With just two minutes to go, only one of them remained, the toughest. Gojo was physically and mentally at the end of his rope, and it was torture to watch. The knots in your ankles and wrists began to unravel with all your agitation. Gradually, you regained movement. Satoru switched between his red sort, then the blue one, and in between, he used the reverse cursed technique, all at immeasurable speed. He was impressive, you'd never seen him from that angle, but despite everything, you prayed it would be the last time.

tic-tac

One minute, one minute to die, that's the outcome of the fight? it's impossible. Your heart began to beat faster and harder, the drops of sweat bigger and bigger. You felt as if at any moment you might faint. Gojo was at the end of his rope, and so was the bounty hunter in front of him; Gojo had underestimated him. It was all over.

tic-tac

Thirty seconds, you saw the countdown beside you, your eyes switching between fight, countdown, fight, countdown. Time passed so quickly but so slowly at the same time. The ropes came undone more and more. You were going to die, that was obvious, and you hadn't even told Satoru yet that you'd fallen in love with him.

tic-tac

You were doomed either way, and it wasn't anyone's fault, least of all Gojo.

tic-

The last second, you couldn't let yourself die, Gojo was killing himself in front of your eyes, for you. You saw the gun go to your temple, you saw Gojo in the outer corner of your eyes make a move to try to protect you, the bounty hunter managed to stop him.

"YN!" he shouted at the top of his voice. Time passed in slow motion. Gojo was thrown to the ground by the bounty hunter, it was the end. You tried one last time to move, but despite the pain and burns caused by the ropes, you managed to move completely, and the ropes fell away. You stood up and started running towards Gojo, your feet slipping on the ropes.

A first shot, missed. You had just escaped death for the first time.

"Satoru!" you screamed. Satoru realized that you hadn't died from the first shot, but he knew the next one was coming soon.

With the second shot, Satoru had just enough time to take you in his arms and press you against the ground to protect you. You saw Satoru's face contort in pain, and he groaned.

"Satoru, don't tell me you've been shot!" you asked, afraid of what might happen next.

"It's nothing, I've been through worse," he said, laughing lightly as he held the gaping wound that had just been made between his right ribs.

You took Gojo's face in both hands. You looked him straight in the eye, his gaze softening.

"What's the matter, are you hurt?" he asked, completely worried.

"I love you, I'm in love with you Satoru".

Time stopped for a moment, you were locked in his gaze and he in yours. He continued to look at you as if you were all he had left, as if he could burn the world for you. With his right hand, he hugged you tightly, while the other still held his wound.

"I know that - he whispered in your ear - but don't talk as if one of us will die, it won't happen » — He stood up before resuming the fight. All that remained was for you to avoid the shots, but now that you were away from the combat zone, Gojo could afford to go in much harder, and so he did. He used his purple hollow first against the bounty hunter, then a second time against the one who was trying to shoot you. He could barely stand, but it was all over.

He looked at the last two enemies on the ground one last time, "It was fun fighting you guys, but if you don't mind, I've got to get home to my girl now," he said, before ripping the men's heads off and throwing them to the ground.

You looked at Satoru, completely horrified by what had just happened, and ran to him, jumping into his arms. Gojo returned the hug immediately, his right hand stroking your hair and his left holding you by the waist. His head in the hollow of your neck. You cried your eyes out. You never wanted to let go, ever.

"I love you so much, I love you so hard yn it’s making me sick," Satoru said into the hollow of your neck. He'd just completely let his guard down in front of you. "I'm exhausted, I want us to go home." he continued, not wanting to let go of you.

"Let's go home then" you replied as you kissed him, your right hand caressing his cheek.

"I'll probably drop in on Shoko first if you don't mind" he said, laughing softly.

"That was the plan!" you teased back.

In spite of his great size, you helped him walk with his arm over your shoulders. He looked at you, smiled stupidly and laughed. "hey, what's so funny?" you asked — "do you really think you're helping me walk?" — "I'm doing what I can!" — "I know, thank you for that" he replied with a smile on his lips, a tender smile like you'd never seen before. He kissed your forehead and you left the mall once and for all.

happy with the way it turned out :) maybe i’ll do a angst end because this is what i wanted to do in the beginning! tell me if you think it’s a good idea

english isn’t my first language and i use deepl sometimes, tell me if there is anything wrong!

@megumisthirdog, @emilyywhyy hehe !!!

[gldrushsblog]

SUGAR AND SIN | JK

🧁✧ ˚. TITLE: Sugar and Sin.

🧁✧ ˚. PAIRING: Mafia boss! Jungkook x female oc

🧁✧ ˚. BLURB: Jeon Jungkook doesn't do favors, and neither does he make petty deals expect for maybe Aurora Beckett.

🧁✧ ˚. GENRE: Mafia au, grumpy x sunshine, forced proximity, slow burn, dark romance, crime/thriller.

🧁✧ ˚. WARNINGS: it's jk's pov 🤷‍♀️

🧁✧ ˚. A/N: sooo I couldn't help it and posted the next chapter on wattpad. Do check it out for a suprise 👀- chapter 9.

🧁✧ ˚. TAG LIST: @scuzmunkie

CHAPTER 4-JUNGKOOK

The world was divided into two: those who feared the shadows and those who became them. Jeon Jungkook had long since chosen his side.

In the dark and haze, his name slithered like a serpent, coiling itself around its prey, squeezing until the last breath was crushed out with the whispers of "Jeon Jungkook didn’t needed a excuse."

No one dared to squirm against his word and grip, only pestered and tested his non-existence patience with pleads for mercy—a concept he had long since buried in a forgotten  land with the naive child that he had broken out of.

But of course, every theory seemed to have its exception. And Jungkook lived for exceptions.

He especially enjoyed when the object of his thinning patience struggled, when they ran, thinking they could escape him.

It gave him a thrill of hunt. A thrill he has based his life on. A thrill that reminded him of why he lived the way he did. Power wasn’t something handed over—it was hunted, taken by force, hoarded in the shadows where he thrived, where he once learned to beg for it.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

And when the hunger for that power surfaced, he indulged in it timely. That Thursday night was the choice for one of those times when he'd step out of the professionally cold walls of his office totake the hunt outside, letting the blackness bleed into places that weren't considered the part of the shadows. That wasn't a constriction for him. Nothing was, and if anything, the dead night served the mood, not a curtain.

The times were of his choosing, and so was the prey- a middle-aged man with homely features. They seemed to do a good job at hiding the renegade of a bastard that oh so foolishly thought that greed was his to have and screwed up with the money- his money- from the arms trade by having the nerve to dip into trafficking—without permission. That bastard thought he could crawl into Jungkook’s territory, and Jungkook would let him walk free.

Unfortunately for him, the snake was a slithery, undulated thing, and Jeon Jungkook was no different than that. Just the bite was a lot more lethal when provoked.

And oh was he provoked, so very into the act as his prey tried to hide, run and break free from the shadow that loomed behind him, that he didn't notice when they broke into a uncharted territory. It was dimmed and shadowed- that was all the mattered until a certain pair of eyes that could almost be mistaken for a deer's with how wide and enlarged they were with fear met his from a corner, trying to hide yet stayed frozen.

He could see the spooked look in them-the one he was not entirely foreign with- even in the dim lightening. The acceptance a little deer has when a truck with blinding lights and ignorance comes crashing its way to serve its end.

It had the bored look in his eyes get replaced with an uncertainty. It surprised him. He was almost never uncertain with a gun in his hand and lust for blood rushing through his veins.But as the man he was hunting fell to his knees, choking out pitiful pleas, Jungkook didn’t move to shoot. His eyes kept shifting back to her.

He did not expect that. He had not expected a hindrance, a potential witness to him blowing this cowering man's brains on the floor.

Yet he didn't get rid of the hiding little deer the moment he was done setting himself free from the tiresome pleads the annoying bastard was supplying his way. He didn't get rid of her even when he knew that those eyes wide with fear saw everything, not even when she passed out before he could reach her, giving him a leverage to silence her without the inconvenience of her begging for her life and all that.He could have. He should have. It would’ve been easy.

But something stopped him.

And that irritated him more than anything.

Instead he snapped two fingers to have information on her before having his men dropped her off to her whatever cheap excuse of apartment she lived in, finding out that this deer eyed woman named Aurora Beckett runs this place which he had painted red, is supposedly a bakery.

Insignificant, really.

He convinced himself later that he didn't need to waste a precious bullet on a nobody who he could hush with some threats and a glare.

But something about her had kept him from pulling the trigger, and that gnawed at him more than it should have.

Genuinely, what the fuck was I thinking?

This was beneath him.

He had his infamous scowl on his face as he trudged on the creaky stairs, the fluorescent lights overhead casting an unforgiving glare on the threadbare carpet.

As he walked into the dingy office of Choi Sangwoo after telling Hyunsoo- his right hand man to stand on guard beside the door, the distaste in his chest gnawed at him. The air was stale, thick with the smell of cheap tobacco and desperation. This wasn't the kind of business he was accustomed to-dealing with insignificant men like choi over petty real estate. But here he was, all because of a request from a woman who shouldn't have been his fucking concern.

Sangwoo looked up, his eyes bulging with fear the moment he recognized him- it was almost impossible that unfair wanna-be businessmen like him didn't hear the hint of his name around the very air of greed they breathed. And It was the same every time: fear, groveling, then obedience. Normally, it was satisfying. Today, it felt like a waste of time.

"Mr. Jeon... I-I wasn't expecting you," he stuttered, his hands fumbling to hide the cash on his desk as if that would somehow change what was coming.

He didn't bother with pleasantries. Never did. "That's because you're a fool, choi. Only a fool tries to squeeze more than what he's worth."

He saw the beads of sweat forming on his balding head, his fingers trembling as he reached for a handkerchief to wipe them away. It was almost pitiful. Almost.

"I'm not sure I understand, sir," he blubbered, though the fear in his eyes told the mafia boss that he understood perfectly.

Jungkook stepped forward until he was almost looming over his desk, his gloved hand leisurely tucked in his pocket, his face giving away annoyance and boredom both.

"Aurora Beckett. The bakery."

His face paled at the mention of a certain brunette. "It's just business, Mr. Jeon. I didn't-"

"And you're doing it poorly." He cut him off, my voice heavy with disdain.

"I-I can explain--"

"Don't waste my time," Jungkook snapped, tossing the deed transfer onto his desk. "Sign it. Now."

His eyes widened as he read the document, the fear palpable, "This... this is a deed transfer. You're buying the land?" and so was the confusion at seeing the man who could basically buy him twice (or maybe thrice), do petty business with him rather.

He nodded curtly, the irritation simmering just beneath the surface. "For a fraction of what it's worth. And you're going to take it, because you're in no position to do otherwise."

Sangwoo's hand shook as he picked up the pen, eventually signing it. Well, atleast he could brag about this whole thing of Jeon Jungkook making a deal with him in his cheap circle of friends with cheap wine, while leaving the part where he almost shit his pants the whole conversation.

The landlord finished, handing the deed back to him with a shaky hand. He snatched it from him, folding it neatly and slipping it back into his suit jacket.

"Try getting too smart again, and I won't be handling this as business." He spat out before leaving the office, the weight of his presence still weighting the place.

Even after he left the place, he couldn't help but feel a disbelief over his own actions. He had allowed himself to be pulled into something small, something that shouldn't matter. He wasn't supposed to be doing favors for a woman in return for the silence he wants from her when he could silence her for life instead. But here he was, making deals on her behalf, and for what?

Too engrossed in his thoughts, he didn't notice when the man walking behind him stepped forward to open the car door for him.

Nodding in acknowledgment, he slid in the back seat. Hyunsoo followed right after to settle in the driver's seat like he usually did and ignited the engine to life.

Hyunsoo drove in silence, as he always did, his focus sharp and unwavering. He wasn't the type to pry, but he knew his boss well-too well. So, when he finally spoke, his voice was measured, careful.

"If you don't mind me asking, boss... why the interest in this particular property?" His tone was cautious, respectful, but the question still grated on the mafiaso's nerves.

"It's just business," He replied, the words flat and unconvincing even to his own ears, his eyes fixed on the window.

"This place, it's not exactly high-value," he said slowly, almost as if he was thinking out loud. "And the bakery... it doesn't seem like your usual type of investment."

This wasn't his usual type of investment because it wasn't an investment at all. It was a whim.

A whim he decided he was gonna make worth his while.

"I have grown a sweet tooth." He said, bitterly enough for Hyunsoo to understand he should better keep his mouth shut.

The rest of the ride was Jungkook gazing outside at the blur of neon signs and passing cars, trying to shove the millions things that never seemed to stop overwhelming his head.

Yet one thing was clearer than the rest: Aurora Beckett was far from finished with me. And whether she realized it or not, I was far from finished with her.

To be continued..

→ Previous chapter.

[animeshotsh]

Bullet Proof - Various x Overlord!GunDevil

Notes: Reader has a human/demonic form and a full demon form (pic used). And has similar powers as the Gun Devil from Chainsaw Man, im leaving a link here if you want to read them in detail. Carefull with spoilers!!

Warnings: violence - mentions of flesh eating - Does not connect with other chainsaw man!reader pieces - Platonic and romantic - Grammar mistakes -

On November 18, Hell was shaked up when a portal opened up in the red sky. Demons feared it was another execution but the dates was still away.

What came from that portal was...a figure born from nightmares. With a furious roar a new sinner had came, lucing their back and arms with gun parts. They head was a gun and they chest was full of sckelletons.

Soon the figure started shooting, hitting some and missing others. Sinners ran, screamed and even cried.

The bullets flew in all direction, the new sinner moving fast, like they only wanted to end the circle.

Then a figure that never came out from his big castle was out in the sky, Lucifer wont ever confess how he struggle to finally make you faint, or how him found so....cute? Pretty? It felt like a fallen angel like himself had fallen. His heart beated up so fast he almost forgots to take you back to his castle for questions.

After you got a well nap and woke up in a big bed in a castle you were not suprised or scared, you had been in worse places thanks to your work and evil contract.

Speaking of it...you never guessed you would end being the gun devil in hell, your guess was that after consuming so much flesh from the demon and then dying and ending in its original home then you two became one.

Suddendly the door of the room you were staying opened revealing a small figure dress in all white with a hat and a cane. He eyed you then gave a polite smile.

"Hello Sinner, Im Lucifer Morningstar, yes the devil and yes you died, now i must ask you some questions for your safety"

Well, what a fine way to meet the devil.

~☆~☆~☆~☆~

Lucifer had only read stories of a monster like the Gun Devil. He never once saw it or felt it in hell till a few days ago. Its energy was different. But its way to be was the same, a being without brain that just fired at everything. He did not want to deal with it. However once he saw its human form...he was confused, the old records never mentioned of another form like this one. Much less a form that resembles a human.

He was agitated by it and wondered just what were humans doing with demons to end like that.

After having a small talk with you he discovered quiet the disturning things, no only how demons would accept back not only souls but human flesh, emotions and more, but also how a human would go for power.

Like you, who had consumed lots of the flesh of the original Devil itself to end being a danger to humans who killed you.

Understable, they were scared and you angry. But Lucifer could not really feel much symphaty for you. Still, he knew for hell it was important to keep such a powerfull being alive in order to keep balance.

And so he made you promise him that you would live and not reveal what devil you were.

~☆~☆~☆~☆

For years the secret was down, you were know as only a powerfull sinner who quick became an Overlord, not that you were too interested on it. You just wanted to be able to go back to earth to end humanity or at least end with the lives of these who betray you.

~☆~☆~☆~☆

Carmilla was the first one who became interested in you. Seeing how you during one exterminion took down two angels using some bullets that appear from your fingers. You were even able to injure the wing of one angel that was leaving, almost passing the portal to heaven.

Of course she got curious and wanted to know you and maybe do some bussines with you.

You were reclutant at first, but both became charmed by the other one and soon became partners in crime.

She was the one who introduced you to Zestial. The tall spider Demon did not think much of you till he saw you in action taking down multiple sinner and demons alike. From close to far distance.

~☆~☆~☆~☆~

Alastor was quick to figure out who you truly were, the change in the air after you appear for the first time was enough to let him know.

He did admit to himself he was jealous you were still so strong, even if know you had a human part you suprassed him by a lot.

He may try to get on your good side and trick you to have a deal. If rumors of you looking for a way to go back to earth were true then he just needed to press that desesperation.

~☆~☆~☆~☆

Oh! Charlie loved you!! Being honest she was warned from her father years back about you, she had read the previous information of you and was so interested!! If she could make the Gun Devil redeem then sinner and heaven would give her a chance, right?

Well all her hope crash down when you politely declined her offer but told her that if she needed help you would do it if she got you a way back to earth.

~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆

The V's wanted to get their claws on you as fast as they could. You would be such a good weapon! Vox had his second thoughts about being able to hypnotize you....knowing your streght, but negotiations were still open.

Till Valentino made a comment that caused you to shoot him on his shoulder ending the meeting and you leaving with a proud smirk.

~☆~☆~☆~☆

Characters who are romantic interest:

Carmilla: she finds your personality to be one to fall for. Your ferocity is cruel but your soft side is likeable to her. She loves how you treat her daugthers.

Zestial: Its a crush but is there! Not lots of sinner gets his attention but he so interested in you.

Lucifer: May not trust you but years seeing you from afar (totally not stalking) made him have a crush. He also likes how you never really revealed yourself to others but it was the others who figured it out. Maybe one day he will invite you over for tea and to try and talk you out of your plans on killing so many humans. Maybe wait till they are in hell to make your revenge.

[lizaluvsthis]

"I... -Love-Y-ou... Three..."

BLOOD WARNING!

"I had no choice four..." the spark on his eyes remained unseen, showing out his alter side, his 'careless' side.

"Your time is up." SMG4 looked at the gun, pointing at his chest. Then into Three's motionless eyes... oh poor red, the shot of a bullet, to a soul, to a partner.

Four believed to himself, he can never stand to think. He knew that someday... this... will happen to him... that three himself, would be the one to shoot Four. Coming back to him. As the person he knew back then. The "old" three...

Four just stood on foot, he wasn't angry for this. He wasn't mad at three, because he has the rights to know it'll end up being his own nightmare of killing him. Even when after, he completely destroyed everything that three had.

He accepted his faith.

"Then my last words..." he frowned, with a heavy emotional blow from his chest that poured down every moments and adventures he had with three. It was all too good to be true...

He smiled within the response, eyes softened drowning Three emotionally with tears holding from his eyes. "I love you Three..."

SMG3's motionless eyes gave back an act of a stunned expression, been drowned by his deep sea blue eyes overflowing his heart. That can't be true...

That. CANNOT. be true...

Four would never say such thing like that, why now? Why when the most heaviest part of this way when you're about to die. You put this word out?

Lie... Liar... LIAR!

"TO DETERMINE TO DIE WITH A LIE ON YOUR LIP?!" Three points up his gun and pulled the trigger, sending shocks of the sound filling the room with the echo *BANG* SMG4, who'd been shot from his left. Remains standing until his very final breath.

He will never stop, until he admits everything...

Blood splattered around the floor, coughing the heavy feeling from his chest. He was loosing alot amount of blood, feeling the damage from his organ.

It was very hard to breath, but Four didn't care if it hurt... what mattered... was three... struggling to put up the words t'ill his final breath flows away...

He looked up at three's red motionless eyes, with tears finally coming out. "I...-Love-Y-ou...Three..."

"Always and forever..."

Muttered words by four, slowly losing his balance sending his head through space as everything around him spin around in circles...

Hitting the ground, his blood poured out from his chest. Surrounding his whole body and the floor with red stains..

Eyes dull, with a final exhale, he stopped.

...

"Oh God..." SMG3 finally came to his senses, he had realized what he had just done. And he could never forgive himself. "Four... I... I'm sorry..." Three dropped his glock to the floor, knelt down on his knees. Holding his corpse with uncontrollable tears swept to his face.

"It was all too good to be true... to be real... to experience... to feel... to... have..."

Three hugged him closer, seeing by now from what he had just done. He killed his one and only partner... the one he loved... the one he wanted to be with... the one he went... soft because of... everything... about four...

Out of all hope thats lost. He lost four even after with saving him and causing his own life at risk to save four by bunch of times... he protected the man... but in the end...

He ended up killing him instead...

Losing four felt like he had lost every remains that could function his life. He felt lost and dead... why must this happen to him...

*sniff* "I... I... I-I'm sorry four... I'M SORRY! I'M VERY SORRY!!!"

He hugged his body, staining the blood from his clothes. Crying endlessly from the intense pain he felt right after hearing those final words...

How could three have been such a fool?

"Hoo hoo good job, guess I underestimated your evil intentions 3. I'm glad my old evil buddy is still-"

Eggman wanted to continue, but to be stopped by seeing Three holding his dead partner close. Crying...

"You've changed..." Eggman eyed down from the blood. "I see... you've grown soft because of him."

"Why does it all matter to you now- I F-CKING KILLED THE ONLY PARTNER I HAD..."

-

Whoopsies :3 (oh no dont give me that lo- *RUNS*)

[girls-alias]

Break - Sam Winchester

Title: Break - Sam Winchester

Words: 1,673

Relations: Sam Winchester X Reader.

TW: Strong language, slight violence.

Prompt:

Telling Sam you're taking a break from hunting. (BASED NEAR END OF SEASON 1)

"I just don't see why you keep her around," John sighed as he pushed his way into the motel room. I scoffed but groaned when I put the tiniest amount of pressure on my leg, Sam and Dean had put my arms over their shoulders guiding me inside. I was bleeding from my thigh from the hunt, I was shot by a Djinn after John fought it. The thing grabbed his gun and tried to shoot him with it, I stupidly jumped in front of him, I wasn't saving him because I like him, I was saving him because I knew Sam and Dean would struggle to cope without their dad no matter how much of a prick he is. The boys exchanged an annoyed look as they carefully placed me on one of the beds.

"She took a bullet for you and you're saying she's a waste of space?!" Dean almost shouted in an annoyed tone. Sam was too focused on trying to stop my bleeding to even think about arguing. I was fascinated by Dean and John's argument that was sure to take place. I was always nice to John, trying way too hard to get him to like me. He'd been with us for about two months but it felt like years, it was exhausting. Always watching what I say and trying to breathe a certain way so that he might accept me. This is the last straw. I put up with his comments, disapproving looks, the sexism and never being alone with Sam. Sam and I were in a weird place. We were practically dating, always going on dates and always at each other's side but then John returned, the only thing stopping us from being happy. Since John turned up we've barely been alone together, kissed maybe once. 

When Sam said that John was toxic I didn't realise it was this intense. The kind of intense that catches in your throat. 

"She didn't take a bullet for me, she just got in the way," John argued dumping his bag on the floor. Dean scoffed in disbelief. I opened my mouth to argue and shout, anything to make him as miserable as he has made me in the past two months. I groaned, instantly tensing my whole body as Sam applied pressure in the wrong place. I swear the bullet just went deeper. John looked at me with a tut and rolled his eyes, I clenched my jaw. 

"Why did I look up to you? Why did I ever look up to you?!" Dean practically screamed. Never meet your heroes I guess. I was surprised Dean was defending me, I mean we're close but he is the last person I thought would fight John. Dean stood there red in the face, fist clenched at his side as he saw John in a new light. 

"You should stop with that tone, boy," John added showing he was getting angrier. Dean didn't even hesitate as he looked him dead in the eyes. 

"You should leave," Dean said in a straight tone. John seemed, well I don't know. It was a mix of hurt, shock and anger. He stared Dean down expecting him to shy away from him but if anything this was the tallest Dean had ever looked. John scoffed as he nodded. He walked out slamming the door behind him. Not long after I passed out from the pain of Sam and Dean trying to take the bullet out of my thigh.

I woke up to see I was in bed alone. Something I was getting used to with John around. Normally Sam and I would cuddle but now we barely even hug. I sighed as I looked over to the clock seeing it was 4 am. I looked over at the bed beside me where Dean was asleep, I sat up looked at the couch and smiled sadly when I saw Sam's feet hanging over the edge. I sighed knowing for a fact I couldn't sleep anymore. 

Hours pass and I am still alone with my thoughts. The only difference between then and now is I know what I'm doing. I'm leaving. I need a break not only from hunting but in all honesty the Winchesters too. I love Sam and Dean I do but John being around really showed me how much of a family we weren't. I called Bobby in a hushed tone to come and get me when most convenient for him and of course, he instantly started driving. I knew I would be safe with Bobby to heal and have a break. He texted when he was close by so I carefully got my stuff and woke Sam. He groaned but smiled as soon as he saw me. My leg was killing me from standing over the back of the couch.

"I thought I would best let you know that I'm leaving," I informed with a sad smile. He looked at me confused. He began sitting up. 

"Where are we going?" He asked wiping his eyes. Dean groaned in the bed behind me.

"Not, we. Sam, I'm heading out. I need a break from hunting," He went to argue but a tear escaping my eyes stopped him. He had never seen me cry before. Not many people had. "I'm sorry, Sam. I'll let you know if I get back into hunting but please don't try and change my mind or argue... I have to go," I informed giving him a longing kiss on the cheek before limping off towards Dean who was now sitting up in bed listening to the conversation. He had tears in his eyes but smiled at me. We were always best friends and it honestly hurt to leave him too. He stood up and started walking towards me. I struggled with a smile. He wrapped his arms around me and hugged me tightly. 

"We'll miss you," He said sadly. 

"I know," I said cockily but joking. "I'll miss you too." I looked over to Sam to see a broken-hearted man. He seemed stunned and silent. Like he had no idea what to say. "I'll see you around," I added before continuing to limp off. It hurt to put pressure on my leg but I was never the type to stray away from pain. Once the door closed behind me my breath hitched in my throat. I hope they stay safe. I looked around to see if Bobby's truck was around but instead, I found John Winchester approaching the room. 

"Leg isn't broken I see," He commented spitefully as he approached. As soon as he was close enough I punched him square in the nose. He took a few steps back almost falling to the floor. He looked ready to hit me back but I'm not afraid of him. 

"You treat those boys like shit but since they can't choose their family they're stuck with you, do better for them or so help me I will limp, crawl, I'll even fucking drag myself out of hell to whatever shit hole you're hiding in and kill you myself," I bore gritted teeth showing my anger, disappointment and sheer rath. "Your boys are amazing and know more than you think they do. You don't have to do things alone, you need them just as much as they need you." I explained readying to beat the shit out of John if it meant he'd listen to me.

"They were kids when I lost Mary, you wouldn't know how that feels," He retaliated about to walk around me. 

"They're not kids anymore!" I shouted shocking him instantly. He stopped dead in his tracks. I wasn't sure if he was more surprised by me shouting or realising that the boys hadn't been kids for years. I might hate John but this was the first time I raised my voice at him... Surprisingly. "You might have lost Mary but they did too, they lost their mother, their childhood. And they lost their father to his obsession with revenge." I screamed and he finally looked like he was thinking about what I was saying. I knew my face was probably red from the shouting and Sam and Dean were listening to me but I don't give a shit right now. "I don't care if you're hurting, you have two sons who looked up to you and all you do is let them down every single time. You have a chance to raise those boys now, take them fishing, throw a ball around, I don't give a shit just raise them like you didn't before." I puffed the hot air from my chest and finally looked at John calmly. He had tears in his eyes, lips tight like he was trying to stop them from trembling. At least he listened to me. 

"Is everything alright here?" Bobby asked I looked over John's shoulder to see Bobby getting out of his truck with a shotgun in hand, cocked and all. 

"We're fine just having a heart-to-heart. See you around, John." I added as I began approaching Bobby. 

"Y/N," John called after me. I turned around to see him slightly smiling. "Thank you for looking after my boys while I was away," He added making me smile slightly. He quickly wiped his eye as a tear escaped and turned to go inside the motel room. I smiled looking at the closed door. I nodded slightly before making it to Bobby. He helped me in the truck and wanted to know exactly what I said to John. He loves to gossip. I laughed with Bobby but the further away I got from my boys the more it hurt. I smiled sadly when Bobby stopped the truck at his house and looked at me. His arms were around me faster than my first sob made a noise. We were in the car until I calmed down enough to get out. 

I have no idea how life works without living it for Sam and Dean.

Masterlist

Part 2

[miss-oranje-disco-dancer]

but the fighter still remains

pairing: leon kennedy x chris redfield

cw: homophobia, dubious (at best) consent during past experiences, childhood trauma, referenced spousal abuse, use of homophobic slurs by unnamed characters, smut and angst, anal sex

summary: Leon struggles with his sexuality until he sees Chris after the events of Vendetta, and has his first consensual sexual experience.

a/n: This story does include homophobia by unnamed characters and internalized homophobia. It's meant to be an accurate depiction of the overt homophobia of the 90s and 00s. While Leon being gay/bisexual is a headcanon of mine, this story was never solely about Leon for me. Leon's sexuality crisis and realization of both his own queerness and the dubious (at best) consent of his past experiences is based on my own journey of accepting my own identity as a lesbian. That is to say that some elements in this fic might be uncomfortable to read, but it is not my intention to endorse or make light of the homophobia and other struggles that come with the queer experience.

also, the title is a reference to a lyric from the song "the boxer" by simon and garfunkel (you should listen to it if you haven't)

wc: 6.3k

i. Raccoon City was the second worst beating Leon’s ever taken. The first was from his father. Leon felt guilty for secretly being happy about his father’s death. He’d never tell his grandmother that, but he’d also never tell her about when his father punched him so hard he couldn’t see out of one eye for a week. 

Leon’s not gay and that’s because he isn’t allowed to be. 

It was against his parents’ rules and their religion too. He doesn’t remember when he stopped believing in God, but that may have been the last straw for him. If my father is a good, god-fearing man, who’s on the right track to heaven, then who am I? Can I pray to the same god my father does after he hits me?  

Leon met a nice girl at church camp one summer in his early high school years. His parents liked her. They insisted that she come over for dinner to meet them. The first time they held hands was at the table when they prayed - Thank you God for this food, this family, and Leon’s new friend . The way his father chuckled after the collective “Amen” was foreign. He was happy his son found a girl, a hand to hold, a vacant ring finger. His father was more pleasant with the rest of the family than he had been in a while. 

Leon’s father didn’t hit his mother often, but in retrospect, the bruises on her arm weren’t from the car door like she told him they were. Leon’s father was lucky Leon didn’t see any marks on his mother by the time he was in high school. Maybe he knew Leon had been lifting. Maybe he knew why. Leon would’ve stood up for his mother in the way that he didn’t for himself. He would’ve come in armed - with a bat, maybe a kitchen knife - if it were his mother. His father had a gun and he wouldn’t have hesitated to shoot the son he never wanted. 

Leon’s dad thought he wanted a son until he met Leon. It took him years to accept the fact that such a pansy of a boy could be his offspring. Leon wished he’d never heard his father’s talk with his mother that night. It wasn’t that his father degraded him or was humiliated to have him as a son - what hurt Leon most was the fact that his father was convinced his mother must’ve cheated on him “‘cause that sissy isn’t my son”. The sound of a belt buckle sent Leon across the hall to his room where he could cry his mother’s muffled tears into his own pillow. 

Church girl was appropriately named “Faith”. The only “Faith” Leon ever had gave him a handjob in the pews. They sat in the chapel after bible study and she kissed him, joking that they should practice at the altar. The sounds of their lips smacking echoed off the tall ceilings. Leon felt a brief sense of relief when his zipper got stuck, protesting Faith’s deft fingers, thought to be already tainted by the french tips her mother hated. Her pale skin was painted by the light that passed through the stained glass windows, jewel tones that formed the image of the Virgin Mary. Aside from her hand stroking his length, Leon felt nothing at all.

When they got caught kissing in the basement, Leon got a stern talking to and Faith got sent home. It was when he got caught with a boy who lived down the street that he got the black eye, and the boy was also sent home. Leon begged his father not to call the other boy’s parents, and that was the one ounce of mercy his father gave him that night. 

The next day at school, the boy came up to him at lunch. “Your dad-” he said softly, gesturing to Leon’s eye. 

“No, I hit my head on the car door this morning. I was exhausted and out of it I guess.” Leon couldn’t look him in the eyes while he lied through his teeth. 

“I know that’s not the truth, but I won’t tell if you won’t say anything about what happened between us. I liked it, I like you, but-”

“Just don’t, please, just don’t,” Leon said, putting his hand out to stop him from talking. Anything that could come out of his mouth would only hurt Leon more.  

They couldn’t see each other again, so it wasn’t worth agonizing over it, was it? He caught Faith cheating on him with another guy and he pretended to be upset. He wished there was a non-offensive way to say “it’s actually better this way. I’m not mad at you at all.”, but there isn’t. 

When Leon mentioned off-handedly at dinner that he wanted to become a cop, the look his father gave him was the closest one to pride he’d ever seen. 

“I think that’s a great idea, son,” he said. The only other time his father called him son was when his application to the police academy was officially accepted. 

Leon knew that if his father had figured out why he was so interested in law enforcement, he wouldn’t have been so keen on the idea. “I want to fight crime. I want to make sure criminals get locked up, and I want to keep civilians safe,” he told a superior officer, who seemed to find his enthusiasm cute. 

I want to make sure criminals like my father get locked up, is what Leon meant. I want to learn how to shoot a gun and be able to bring it home just in case he goes too far and I need to defend my mother. 

ii. When Leon entered the police academy, he remained certain of his heterosexuality. Sure, he sucked dick at least a dozen times, but he wasn’t actually gay. He pretended not to like it, and sometimes he actually didn’t like it because a bunch of single guys stuck in dormitories aren’t great at washing their dicks properly. 

Plus, it was nothing more than blowjobs. One, he’d never been fucked before, and two, he hadn’t kissed anyone since that guy in high school. Well, he hadn’t kissed any guys since then. He’d made out with a few girls, mostly motivated by peer pressure. It was a path to popularity because popularity required normalcy. Or the illusion of it. He’d never been the one to come onto a girl, but he rarely backed down either. It was like a challenge, like the exercises they did in the academy. These hookups were exercises in composure and mental fortitude. Distress tolerance. 

During his time in the academy, Leon found out that it’s actually cool to not have a girlfriend. Leon’s “ a player ” and he’s “ not ready to settle down ”. The other guys were jealous that he fucked around. He didn’t fuck around that much, and when he did, he tried to be polite about it. He might not have been particularly aroused by the activity, but he was indifferent to it after a few beers. Once he got into liquor, it was just “whiskey dick” when he couldn't get it up. It’s not you, it’s me. It is him, he comes to find years later when he finally accepts it. 

When he was younger, Leon was easy. Reverse glory hole of sorts. He let any interested woman ride his dick. Physical interaction was nice, and if he closed his eyes, it wasn’t hard for him to get off. He lasted longer than most guys, which just gave women another incentive to fuck him, and men another reason to envy him. Oddly enough, being gay was one of the things that other men - unknowingly - envied him for. But, he’s not gay. Bicurious at best. If he were gay, he would never cum from a woman riding his dick. Having the girl on top was his favorite position. Drunk sex is easier when your job is to just lie there. 

Leon was a firm believer in ass over tits because tits lie too close to the face, and being face to face with a girl means letting her kiss you. Kissing was too romantic, Leon decided, and that’s why he disliked it. Lipstick tasted gross and it was hard to get it off his face. “It’s cute,” a girl once said, “It’ll be like a reminder of me”. And it was a reminder in the same way that a scar is. The lipstick remark came after Leon asked her not to leave a hickey on his neck. “We’re not in high school,” he said. It’s juvenile, we’ll look stupid, we should act like adults. A hickey is just a bruise like any other. Why do you have to hurt me for me to remember? Why do you have to leave marks? If you like me, why do you hurt me? Why does being together hurt? Can you like someone so much it pains you? I think it’s just butterflies in my stomach. I like you so much that I’m nervous. I’m not scared. I’m a man. It’s heartache, so it hurts. I’m lovesick, so it hurts. 

iii. Life was different post-Raccoon City. Training under Krauser was a paradoxical Hell. You had to get fucked in the ass literally - not necessarily by him - if you didn’t want to get fucked in the ass metaphorically. On the other hand, you were worse off liking it. You cannot be a fag in USSTRATCOM. 

So, he liked Major Krauser in a way that one is supposed to like their mentor – he looked up to Krauser. It was nothing more than that until they were both a few drinks deep. Like everything with Jack, it all went down like punishment. Krauser liked when Leon put up a fight – he liked when Leon used the skills he taught him for the never-ending “mission” against him. 

But, Major Krauser got too used to bloodshed and it started to look as sexy as anything else which is why everything went down the way that it did in Spain. Leon won the fight for the first time by willpower and luck. It was the fact that his mother was blonde like Ashley and there was finally a woman in front of him that he could save. After all the years he wasted fighting an endless war against Umbrella and whoever their successors were, he’d finally get some sort of justice for himself. When Ashley arrived home safe it was one of the only times he felt like he’d “won” anything - not the princess, but the pride of being the knight. The slight self-esteem boost was enough to keep him alive.

At this point, Leon considered the possibility that he might like guys, but he’d never fallen in love with a guy. It was nothing more than lust, possibly the pull towards romance, but he never let himself go there. Gay men fall in love with other men. Leon’s not gay.

If he were gay, he wouldn’t cry during sex. (It only took him a few weeks in the barracks to learn to save his tears for later. Crying in private would save him his last shred of dignity or self-worth. Everything else had been taken, nothing remained untainted). Leon considered the possibility of prepping beforehand to avoid the physical pain, but then they’d make assumptions, so he took it like a good little soldier. Bit the bullet while he got ‘raped’, as his therapist would later claim. Leon never trusted her, though, because she tried to tell him that women were taking advantage of him, but he assured her that he’d never said ‘no’. 

She was obstinate, too. “Have you always known you were gay?”

“I’m not gay.” Fucking invasive, repetitive questions. He would never have seen a therapist if the DSO wasn’t up his ass about it. 

He could give her a list of women he'd had feelings for - Ada, Ashley, maybe Claire, Shemei for a minute, but mostly she just reminded him of Ada (not because she was Chinese - Leon’s not sure that Ada is Chinese, or even named Ada for that matter - but because he could sense the betrayal before it happened and for some reason, it made the whole dalliance sexier). 

He realized later that the feelings he had for Ashley and Claire were mostly a strong platonic affection. Ada remained a mystery, as always. 

iv. In retrospect, the first guy he felt anything real for was Chris Redfield. Not STARS Alpha Team point man Chris Redfield, whom he would’ve met if Raccoon City hadn’t been blown to smithereens, effectively terminating his position as a cop on his first and only day. Leon caught feelings for Claire Redfield’s older brother, Chris Redfield. 

Leon and Claire shared a unique trauma bond, and he wondered at first if she asked him to hang out with her because he was the only one who she could relate to anymore, or if she actually enjoyed his company in any way. It took him years to accept that it was the latter. Leon didn’t have many friends, not many he really felt connected to, so he was surprised to have a certified cool girl want him as part of her posse. Claire already had a support system in the form of her brother, Chris, who had gone through hell more than once. 

When Leon met Chris on a night out with Claire, the first thing he noticed was the way Chris looked - hot. Leon assumed it was envy, when all along it was lust. “I want to be him” turned out to be a facade for “I want to be with him”, but it took well over a decade for Leon to come to that conclusion. 

“Claire told me you’re in STARS?”

“Yeah, I mean, I was.” Chris laughed, but grief hid behind his smile. “STARS doesn’t really exist anymore, since Raccoon City doesn’t really exist anymore.”

“Oh, yeah, slipped my mind for a sec,” Leon joked. He wished he could forget.

“It’s not all bad. That fucker Irons is dead.” Leon recognized that look. It was the one he had on his own face when his father died. 

“I had no idea he wasn’t a good guy until Sherry…” Leon couldn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t know the details of what did or didn’t happen. Leon never dared to ask. 

“The kid?” Chris confirmed.

“Yeah, I’m sure Claire mentioned her.”

“She didn’t mention Irons. Kinda sad he’s not dead. I wish I could kill him myself.”

“I’m glad I didn’t have the chance to meet him.”

“Anyway,” Chris said, “Let’s not damper the mood with all this morbid shit.”

“Amen to that.”

They shot the shit for a while and Chris taught Leon how to play darts - or how to play right since Leon couldn’t aim for shit until Chris helped him get his arm in the proper position. 

“How’d you learn that?” Leon asked. 

“We had a dartboard in the STARS office. We had more downtime than you’d think, you know, especially with your first day at the RPD being the most chaotic in history.”

Leon didn’t realize that to an onlooker it might’ve seemed like they were flirting because it felt so natural to him. When Chris went to have a cigarette outside, they were mid-conversation so Leon followed him. Leon was never a smoker, and quite frankly, hated the smell of cigarettes, but liked Chris' company enough to put those feelings aside.

A group of a few drunk guys started hollering at them, throwing around various slurs and making lewd gestures. Chris ignored them until they walked closer, clearly trying to start a fight. 

Chris gave the leader of the pack a look that said "what do you want?" and that was the last thing Leon remembered before Chris had one of the guys pinned to the wall while another tended to a likely-broken nose and the third was nowhere to be found. 

“Are we done here?” Chris asked. There was no response and he let go of the guy’s collar. He looked to Leon who was standing by in shock and nodded towards the door. Leon walked back into the bar and tried to wipe the look of bewilderment off his face. 

“What? Never seen a fight before?” Chris asked, in a more joking manner than one would expect from someone with bloody knuckles. 

“I have, but that was impressive. Does that kind of thing happen often?”

“More than I’d like it to. I don’t tend to start fights, but I don’t hesitate to finish them either.”

Before Leon could say something stupid, Claire stumbled over to Chris, practically falling into his arms. 

“Claire?! What the fuck? I told you one drink.”

“I only bought one,” she slurred. “Some guys bought me more.”

“Where are those guys?” Chris asked with a face that said he was ready for another round in the ring. 

“Oh c’mon, Chris,” Claire said, “You don’t have to be so ‘protective’. I’m not a little kid anymore.”

He sighed and took her by the hand, leading her towards the door. 

“Where are we going?”

“Home,” Chris said. 

“Want me to help?” Leon offered. 

“Be my guest.”

Claire ended up with one arm over each of their shoulders, and slumped over Leon’s lap in the backseat. Chris drove because it was his car and he was the most sober. 

Chris put a cassette in the tape player before he started the car. Leon could identify Freddie Mercury’s voice but he didn’t know the name of the album. He didn’t ask lest he embarrass himself. Freddie Mercury is gay and that’s why his parents don’t listen to Queen in the car anymore, he thought to himself. 

They got Claire situated in bed with a glass of water and two ibuprofen on her nightstand. Chris decided to sleep on her couch, and Leon went home for the night. 

“Need a ride home?” Chris asked. 

“Nah, I’ll call a cab. Wouldn’t want Claire to get into any trouble if you left her alone.”

“Fair enough.” Chris’ smile was warm under the porch light and Leon assumed it was no different from Chris’ regular smile. It was no different from the way he ever smiled at Leon . 

Leon felt his heart rate rapidly increasing when Chris gave him a hug goodbye. It was a friendly hug, but not the type that’s half-hearted, accompanied by a pat on the back that’s equivalent to saying "no homo".

v. The first time they kissed it was barely even real. It was a game and it was for the amusement of others. That’s what spin the bottle and truth or dare are - games, nothing more. Never back down from a dare. Leon was invited by Claire to another get-together, which was attended by a handful of people who would become long-time friends of Leon’s - including, and most notably, Chris. 

They sat in Claire’s living room, all a little buzzed when the master-of-ceremonies, Claire Refield, suggested a game of truth or dare, which most of the group was less than enthused about since it’s a game for teenagers. Barry set a rule that he wouldn’t take on any dares that would make him cheat on his wife and the group agreed unanimously with a collective “aww” at the rare good man. 

“I wish I could have a loyal man like you, Barry,” Claire remarked. “You will. Don’t settle for less.” Leon didn’t learn until years later how Barry was there for the Redfields after their parents’ passing. 

Claire was the one who dared Leon and Chris to kiss. It shouldn’t have been unexpected after she dared Jill and Carlos to kiss about three turns prior. Leon didn’t notice the tension in the room when he leaned in. It’s nothing, but it feels like something. The feeling of Chris’ lips against his that night was something that stuck with him for well-over a decade. His freshly-shaven face, his breath like beer and cigarettes since there was no time to disguise the taste with a breath mint. The tips of their tongues brushed ever-so-slightly and Leon only pulled away because he was worried he’d embarrass himself if he didn't. 

Leon tried not to think of Chris when he jerked off later that night. It was a futile effort. He successfully covered his mouth before he moaned Chris’ name when he came. He lived alone, but he didn't want to hear it come out of his own mouth. 

Straight women get off to lesbian porn all the time, so when Leon gets off to gay porn, it seems normal to him. Straight women don’t talk about watching lesbian porn, just like how Leon doesn’t talk about watching gay porn. 

It was the next century when Chris made a move on Leon. “Would you ever wanna go out sometime?”

Shockingly, Leon didn’t take the hint. Chris waited, teeth on the lip of the beer bottle, slowly regretting his words. 

“Go out where?”

“I mean, anywhere you want…” Chris is rarely nervous. However, he also rarely asks anyone out. He almost never gets asked out, either - at least, not by men. 

Leon cocked his head to the side like a fucking idiot. “Like, hanging out… or-?”

“Or…”

“Oh . You’re asking me on a date.”

“I was trying to.”

“I would, but I’m not gay.”

And that was the truth in his mind. 

“Oh. Forget I said that then. I assumed you were ‘cause I’ve seen you brush women off who are flirting with you. Now, I know you’re just oblivious.” Chris said the last bit with a laugh, hoping the friendly jab at Leon will lighten the mood, but internally he was beating himself up.

They parted ways and it was awkward. Chris confided in Claire, who went on to tell him an hour-and-a-half’s worth of awful dating stories. She’d had her share of times where she embarrassed herself in front of guys. 

Leon struggled to get off, sleep was nowhere in sight, and for the first time in years, he decided to pray. God didn’t respond. It was the last time Leon even tried.

vi. It was years later when they saw each other again in China. They fought over a woman, well, kinda, but it was still ironic enough that it made Leon laugh in hindsight. It was not the way Leon had imagined Chris’ hands all over him. They didn’t do that in China. 

Leon was too focused on 70,000 civilian deaths and the fact that he shot the president. It was not a John Hinkley Jr/Ronald Reagan situation. Leon knew the man as “Adam” not President Benford. It was personal. It wasn’t the first time Leon had to shoot someone he knew and it wouldn’t be the last. He was found “not guilty”, but he felt very guilty. About everything. 

Leon was way too focused on the fact that Ada may or may not have died - information he got from Chris Redfield himself, a fairly reliable source. We both want the same thing. Leon meant that in the realm of bioterrorism. They both wanted the other’s touch in a way that was hot, sweaty, rough enough to leave marks, but entirely differently from the way they ended up in the aforementioned tussle.

vii. They didn’t see each other in person again until ‘14, Colorado. Leon was the worst he’d been in awhile. The man he’d been lusting after for over a decade in secret walks into a bar mid-morning to find him deep in the bottle. Of course this shit would happen to Leon. They yell first, makeup later. After all the killing is done and the blood is off their hands. 

It’s easier to be angry than anything else. You don’t have to bare your soul to yell. Vulnerable, from the Latin vulnus - wound. Somehow new bruises are easier. Leon didn’t notice the ones on his knuckles until the next day. His headache was worse. The purple marks make him feel guilty, but they'll fade. They always do. 

Chris caught Leon with a flask in his hand the moment the op was “over” - nothing is ever really over in Leon’s life. Even the dead come back to life - undead on Earth, ghosts in his dreams, whatever the fuck Ada is and has always been to him. 

“Hey,” Chris said. It was neutral but Leon could hear pity in his voice. He fucking hated it. He didn’t want to be someone who deserves pity. Someone pitiful. 

“I almost pity you,” his father said. Leon was pitiful, but his father was cruel. 

“What d’ya want?” Leon said, not turning towards Chris, though he could feel his gaze boring through his frail figure. How funny it was that Leon was deteriorating. He should’ve been in one of those body bags. 

“I don’t want anything.”

“Then why are you talking to me?”

“I’m worried about you.”

Leon scoffed. “Don’t be.”

Chris stood over him and reached for the flask, but when Leon dodged his grasp, he didn’t force his hand. “You know it’ll hurt in the morning,” he said. 

“Think I can handle a little headache.”

“You think I don’t understand, but I do.”

“What?” Leon met Chris’ eyes. “You wanna have a sweet bonding moment? This isn’t an afterschool special. You can save your breath.”

“Why can’t you accept that people care about you?” Chris was indignant. 

There wasn’t much to say to that. I don’t care about me, he wanted to say. Leon sighed. Chris looked at the spot next to Leon, then at his face. “Can I sit?”

Leon nodded reluctantly. He set the flask down next to him, and put his head in his hands. Chris didn’t say anything. Instead, he placed his hand on Leon’s back. It wasn’t a pat on the back - empty, friendly, platitudinous. He didn’t rub in soft circles like Leon’s mother did when he was little - nurturing, familial, pitying. It was just his hand, placed firmly, not letting up, not pressing down - grounding, steadfast, sincere. 

Leon sniffled, wiped a tear from his eye with the back of his hand, and tried to half-laugh it off. 

“Just let it out.” I won’t say anything. 

The tears fell. Commanding officer even in friendship - or whatever this was. Leon leaned onto Chris’ shoulder, meeting him halfway. Chris pulled him into a hug. 

“This is pathetic,” Leon said into Chris’ shirt. 

“Only because you’re so resistant to it.”

“You’re gonna blame me for my own patheticness?”

“Yeah, I am.”

“I thought you were supposed to be cheering me up.”

“I never said that.”

“Then why are you holding me like I’m a fucking child?”

“Because you’re acting like one.”

Somehow crying turned to laughing. 

“I really am,” Leon said, lifting his head. “I even got snot on your shirt.”

“Not the worst thing that’s gotten on my clothes in the last 24 hours.”

“Glad I’m not as gross as a BOW.”

“Far from it.”

“Thanks.”

“I didn’t say how far.”

“What? Are you calling me ugly?”

“You’ve looked better.”

“So have you!”

“I know I have. I’m 40 fucking years old. But you look-”

“Pathetic?”

“Yeah, and somehow you still manage to make it work for you.”

“How’s it ‘working for me’? Am I wooing you right now? Do you enjoy watching a grown man cry?”

“You don’t have to ‘woo’ me. You did that a long time ago.”

It took Leon’s drunken brain a minute to wrap his head around the words. 

“When?”

“‘98.”

“That was…” Leon did the mental math. “Sixteen fucking years ago. And you never told me?”

“I asked you on a date, Leon. I thought it was clear.”

“Maybe I’m just an idiot.” A date doesn’t mean anything, he thought, I’ve been on plenty of dates just for the hell of it. 

“I think you might be.”

“Fuck. I’m ugly and stupid.”

“Just stupid. You’ve never been ugly. That’s how you get away with it.”

“Hey, fuck you!”

“I’d prefer to fuck you, but…”

Leon shook his head, snickering - mostly at himself. He took them both by surprise when he kissed Chris, hard on the mouth. It only took a few swigs from the flask to get him here. He was nearly sober, too sober in his mind. Chris’ hands were all over him and Leon’s dick wanted this, but something in his brain stopped him. 

“Wait,” he said, catching his breath. Nerves had taken over. “Maybe we should have a drink first, you know… to-to loosen up… metaphorically…”

Chris stared at Leon, trying to read his mind. “We don’t have to do anything. I’m not going to do anything if you don’t want to.”

“No, no, it’s not that I don’t want to- believe me, I want to,” he said, “but, uh, this isn’t really the kind of thing you do sober, right? Not like, entirely…?” It only sounded weird when he heard the words come out of his mouth. 

A moment of silence passed as Chris processed Leon’s unintentional admission. “You… don’t do these things sober?”

“No…?”

“Never? You’ve never done anything more than kissing sober?”

“I guess, yeah, but it was a long time ago… in high school, I had a girlfriend and,” he laughed, somewhat ironically, “she gave me a handjob in the pews of the church we both went to.”

“That’s it? Nothing since high school?”

“Well, there was some stuff at bootcamp, back in STRATCOM, and at the police academy, too…” he winced before he said, “it wasn’t exactly my choice. I would’ve preferred to not be that sober.”

Chris’s mouth moved, but he didn't speak at first. “I’m sorry that stuff happened to you,” he said, choosing his words carefully. 

“Why?” Leon said with such genuine confusion that it pained Chris.

“I mean, it doesn’t sound like you’ve had any good experiences… maybe not any completely… consensual experiences…” The last part sounded like a question, though he was pretty confident that his assumptions were true. 

“Are you gonna try to get me to “process my trauma” or are you gonna fuck me?” Leon said to avoid the awkwardness. Nothing like trauma to ruin a perfectly good moment. 

Leon captured Chris’ lips in a kiss, but Chris pulled back. “I have to know that you actually want this.”

“I’m the one who started it, aren’t I?”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Yes, I want this.”

Leon was ready to tear Chris’ clothes off, but again,  Chris stopped him. “We’ll go slowly,” he said, prompting Leon to sigh. “Or,” Chris continued, “I won’t fuck you at all.”

“You’d never turn down the chance.”

“Oh? Mr. Pity Party’s feeling so confident all of a sudden? Try me.”

Chris crossed his arms and stared at Leon, who eventually gave in. “Fine. Do you have more terms and conditions? Or can we get on with it?”

“Why are you so insistent on “getting on with it”? Why do you feel the need to rush things? Why not let yourself experience some enjoyment for once?”

“I enjoy it fast and rough-”

“No, that’s just the only way you’ve ever had it.”

The truth cuts like a knife. Leon didn’t know he was being defensive. Chris was right. He’d never had it slow or sober. He closed his eyes and nodded, trying desperately to accept the revelation he’d just been forced to have. 

Chris grabbed Leon by the back of his neck, seemingly pulling him in for another kiss, but he whispered in Leon’s ear, “I wanna make you feel good.”

The words sent a shiver down Leon’s spine. Chris’ voice was low in pitch and in volume, and Leon knew every word was for his ears only. It’s no longer reassurance, it’s flirtation, bordering on dirty talk. 

Then, Chris went in for the kiss with more confidence, dedication turned devotion. Chris was gentle when he pushed Leon onto the bed, so much so that Leon tried to find a joke somewhere in his foggy brain to avoid the fact that he felt like a virgin in the face of such tenderness.

“Any chance you have any lube?” 

“No, but I bet you five bucks that concierge does.”

Chris scoffed in disbelief. “Deal.”

Approximately five minutes later Leon returned with a bottle in his hand. 

“No fucking way.”

“Pay up, Redfield,” Leon said, holding out his palm. 

“Really? I don’t even think I have cash.”

“There’s an ATM downstairs.”

“How about I offer you something else, maybe another form of payment will suffice…?”

“Just this once. I’ll let you get away with it… because you look hot even when you’re all covered in blood.”

Chris’ lips curved upward into a smile so genuine that it was foreign to him. Leon realized that maybe he didn’t get complimented very often, and surely not enough. Leon didn’t have time to compliment Chris to the extent that he deserved - that would take a lifetime. 

Chris pulled Leon by the hand so that Leon was straddling his lap. Leon leaned down to kiss Chris with less force in the absence of haste. This time he melted into Chris’ lips. 

It wasn’t Leon’s first time being penetrated, but it was the first time someone cared enough to prepare him before shoving their cock inside him. Chris’ fingers, slick with lube, made him tense due to their gentleness. It was a novel thing to Leon. 

“You’re tensing up,” Chris said. 

“I’m not trying to,” Leon said, lashing out at Chris, though he was upset at his own inability to relax. 

“Just relax.”

“It’s easier said than done.”

Chris pulled Leon into a kiss and it seemed to help him, taking his mind off the fact that Chris’ fingers were inside him, slowly stretching him out. Leon’s breath quickened and he grunted into Chris’ mouth. 

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” Leon’s voice was shaky. “It actually feels… good.”

“Yeah? Like this?” Chris curled his fingers to meet the same spot, making Leon moan louder than this time.

“Yeah, right there. It feels really fuckin’ good.” Leon didn’t need to say it for Chris to know - the way his dick twitched told him enough. 

“Think you’re ready?”

“Hope so. I want it.”

Chris removed his pants and upon seeing what he’d been hiding under them, Leon changed his mind. “Maybe I’m not as ready as I thought.” He was wide-eyed and hungry for it, but more nervous given Chris’ size. 

“I’ll go slow,” he promised. “And we can stop whenever you want.”

For many years, Leon struggled to pinpoint his exact feelings for Chris. Was it lust? Affection? Connection due to their similar circumstances? The one thing he'd known from the start was that he trusted Chris. 

Leon gulped down his anticipatory nerves and nodded, giving Chris the go ahead. Before entering Leon, he was diligent enough to lube himself up, giving Leon a nice view.

Leon hissed at the initial stretch. “I knew you’d be big, but not this big.”

“Sorry, nothing I can do about it.” Chris laughed a little, forced to take it as a compliment. 

“It’s fine,” Leon said, though his words were beginning to slur. “It’s hot. Just gonna take a minute to get used to it.”

Leon learned that Chris likes to makeout during sex and he would’ve thought it was too romantic if Chris’ lips didn’t feel so good pressed against his. Eventually, they both were running short on breath, so they fucked forehead-to-forehead until they climaxed - Leon first, shortly followed by Chris. 

Chris collapsed next to Leon and Leon sunk further into the mattress. His eyes had fallen shut and his hands laid on his stomach, unsure of their place. Someone is supposed to leave now, he thought. That was the way it had gone every other time Leon had done this before.  

“You okay?” Chris’ voice called him back to reality. 

“Yeah,” he said. And, besides his confusion, he was. Very okay, which confused him more. It was the first time he'd felt truly at ease lying naked next to someone. He might be sore the next day, but only physically.  

“You look… awkward.”

“I’m not used to… this part.”

“Oh, yeah. It’s pretty easy. It’s similar to lying down alone. You just have another person there.”

“Thanks, asshole. I got that much.”

“Do you want me to leave you alone or…?”

“Are you asking me if I want to cuddle with you?”

“Yeah, I am.”

“If that’s what you want.”

“No, if that’s what you want.”

“I don’t care either way. I want whatever you want.”

Chris pulled Leon towards him in a way that would be startling if it were anyone else’s hands. 

“I knew you were too stubborn to say ‘yes’,” he whispered, answering the unasked question. 

“How are we supposed to do this?”

“I don’t think there’s a right or wrong way.”

Leon sighed, and Chris took it as a plea for directions. 

“I can hold you from behind like this,” Chris offered, manhandling Leon. “Or, you can lie on top of me.”

Leon rolled over and put his head on Chris’ chest. 

“C’mon,” Chris said, “You can’t crush me.”

Leon pretended to be reluctant when he wrapped his leg over Chris so that he was sprawled halfway across his chest. He admitted, accidentally, the next morning that it was the best sleep of his life. Leon locked eyes with Chris and noticed the way the corners of his eyes wrinkle when he smiles, how the demarcations have made their place more permanent over time, the subtle reminders of happiness becoming more prominent with age. 

It was about an hour later when Leon looked at himself in the bathroom mirror and noticed his own smile. His expression was so unusual it almost made him suspicious. He was under the impression that the previous night’s experience would’ve brought about some change within him. It was only then, that he realized he’s exactly the same as he’s always been. The only new thing was the certainty he felt when he stared at his own reflection. Denial was just a phase. 

[kyndredravenstories]

Eyes of Infinity: Delirium Chapter 1

Hello, I have been posting my work on AO3 and recently decided to venture here to Tumblr. Please note: This story is 18+. No minors. Please read tags carefully. Link to AO3 below but I will also be posting the chapters here.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/53564641/chapters/148132144

Pairing: Sylus/Female MC with some elements of Xavier/Female MC

Genre: Romance, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Angst, Adventure, Smut, Porn with Big Plot and Big Feelings

Content Warning (For the entire fic): Explicit sexual content, spoilers and alterations to existing lore and cards/memories/tender moments/secret times, size kink, size difference, vaginal sex, cunnilingus, anal sex, fingering, all kinds of fingering, elements of consensual somno, dom!Sylus, jealousy, possessive!Sylus, Mephisto stalking, typical game violence, battle and combat

Summary: To love him meant stepping over the threshold and crossing into darkness. To be with him meant accepting the lure of the shadows. And to protect him from betrayal meant sacrifice. I knew not how, only that I would not let time sever our paths ever again.

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"Trapped in the abyss, I long for you in this delirium. There's so much to say, but I'm silent. Too much time has passed since I held you, and now I fear that my love will just break you. So, into the darkness I go to protect you. Yet, no matter where I roam or how far I fall, half of my heart is always with you. "

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Wrong place. Wrong time. Wrong people. Wrong everything.

Wrong wrong wrong.

I never should have volunteered to go on this trip!

Over and over, that mantra loops in my mind, cranking up the pressure of my rising anger so tight that my teeth grind together painfully. Sulking in a petulant silence, I wrap the worn hotel quilt tighter around my shoulders to keep out the chill. The furnace is blasting, but it's not enough to warm me up after a thorough dousing in freezing rain. 

I'm on high alert despite my misery. My gaze never strays from the man across from me on the narrow couch. Wariness and suspicion keep my back and shoulders tense even as I shiver in my sodden and frozen clothes. My eyes follow his long fingers as they absentmindedly manipulate the phone screen held between a pair of large hands.

Sharing the raggedy couch with me is none other than Sylus, though his demeanor is a far cry from mine. Despite the glowing and hissing Linkage wrapped like a manacle around his wrist, he sits with his legs crossed and his body relaxed. His blood red eyes take in a virtual Auction on the TV while his free hand makes sales and purchases on his phone.

A gun sits beside him on the armrest, but it doesn't concern me. This man needs no physical weapon to be terrifying. It is his Evol that's the true threat. That, and his ruthless and calculating nature. It's not a struggle to remember just how cruel and merciless he can be, even as he looks perfectly divine and statuesque while sitting still.

Yet, it's not his past or his reputation that has me wringing my hands and forcing myself to breathe deeply in order to stay calm.

It's an internal moral battle that has me on edge - one that's been tormenting me for months.

It's the struggle between knowing I am less than three feet away from the most dangerous man I've ever met and also admitting that I find him impossibly disturbingly attractive. Not just his looks. One doesn't need to have good vision to appreciate this man's allure. It's the conundrum that makes up all that he is.

A dangerous man who has taken lives many times before. A man that forced me to point a gun to his chest and shoot. A man whose mere name is enough to make monsters fall in line. Yet also, a man that's saved my life. A man who smiles at me and teases me. A man I've danced with on more than one pleasant occasion. 

A bottomless, tempting, mystery.

Outside, a storm howls and thunders just like my thoughts. Periodic flashes break through the murky grey skies, each noise grinding on my nerves. I've had a bad day already; worse than bad. But, I dare not wonder how it could possibly get worse. That's what got me in trouble at the train station in the first place when I stepped out into a blizzard without any kind of weather gear to learn that the staff had misplaced my bags and luggage.

I'd wondered, then, how things could get worse.

Precisely one hour after, fate dropped this confounding man into my path. Then, precisely ten minutes after that, our Evols had locked us together.

With a crack of lightning, my patience snaps.

"Oi...Sylus..."

He doesn't look at me as he answers. "What is it?"

His voice is soft, like velvet; he sounds bored, though I'd never been able to read any of his thoughts or predict any of his actions.

I hate how calm he is.

I hate that despite running beneath the rain to make it to the hotel, he seems to be a lot more dry than me. His hair isn't dripping wet like mine, though his grey designer sweatshirt does cling to his muscular chest more than I'm comfortable observing.

I clear my throat.

"You've spent the last two hours calmly bidding on who knows what while we're trapped here. You've bought enough weapons to stock an armory. Just how the hell are you so relaxed?"

Still tapping away on his phone, Sylus maintains a calm and neutral expression. "It's not like there's anything I can do to remove this at the moment," he wiggles his Linked arm, tugging on my own manacle in the process.

I grind my teeth to the point of pain, forcing down my irritation as water drips from my hair onto the quilt. "Fine. Time for you to answer some questions, then."

"Ask away," he hums in that composed and arrogant tone that always riles me up. He sounds about as interested in this conversation as a tired Hunter recruit at orientation. And no wonder; despite the murky weather, it is only 2:00 PM. For Sylus, it's the middle of the night. He's likely exhausted, but I'm not feeling particularly empathetic at the moment.

"First question. I travel to the Arctic, 3688 kilometers away from the N109 Zone. I lose my luggage and get caught in a ferocious rainstorm on my way to the hotel. I then bump into you. Why?"

He finally glances at me, and my heart leaps into my throat when the emptiness in his crimson orbs twinkles with a hint of amusement. The corner of his full lips turns up just enough to transform his expression from annoyed to mildly entertained. On Sylus's face, this looks like a kind of hunger; like a hawk catching sight of a mouse.

"I'm also curious," he drawls, making me squirm in my seat. "I would have thought that the Hunter's Association would take better care of their employees."

I glare at his flippant reply, and he rests the side of his head gracefully on his hand, leaning against the nearby armrest.

"I don't often take vacations, and yet here I saw a familiar face. A lost little dove that needed my protection, if you will."

I huff, wrinkling my nose. "I already told you. I'm the farthest thing from a small animal that needs looking after, especially by a predator like you."

The amusement lingers in his gaze, and I press on.

"Second question. I'm here for a symposium with the Arctic Hunters in this hotel. What about you? Are you here to turn yourself in?"

"You didn't book the entire hotel. I have the money, and they had a vacant room. Why can't I stay here?"

His calm and steady logic sours my mood even farther. Seething now, I raise my Linked arm.

"Third question. Why does this blasted tether's duration increase every single time?" My anxiety eats away at my bravado, and my voice wavers. "What if it doesn't go away when the event starts later tonight?"

Sylus doesn't seem bothered by that prospect. He shrugs, his eyes fading back to those of a bored bystander. "We can go together. Probably."

I can't help it. I snort at his proposal. "Oh yeah, I should definitely introduce my Hunter friends to the renowned leader of Onychinus."

"All you can do is pray for divine intervention, then. Remember piety is key," he advises, his voice overflowing with sarcasm.

I give him a withering glare. "That's rich, coming from you."

Feeling defeated, I stare at the Evol Linkage that's impossible to cut. "This thing didn't bind us together for no reason. There has to be a way to break it."

Sylus tilts his head, frowning. "How? You were asleep the last two times it untethered itself. You even pinned down my arm. It was very inconvenient."

Heat rushes up into my cheeks at the memory. I try not to think about how close I've gotten to this man over the last half a year. To say he makes me uncomfortable is an understatement, mostly because it is not the kind of discomfort one feels when one is close to an enemy. Instead, it's the kind of feeling that makes it impossible to meet his gaze directly for too long. The kind of frustration that has my eyes lingering over his long-legged muscular form far too often.

I hate being close to him. Hate the way his hair, even when mussed, falls perfectly over the side of his face. Hate the sculpted line of his jaw and the attractive ridges and dips of his neck and his shoulders. My fingers squeeze into my palms, remembering how it felt to wrap measuring tape around him during our escapade in the boutique a few weeks back.

"You've been staring at me quietly for some time. Isn't there a fourth question coming?" He leans back against the pillows, and I have to wonder for the hundredth time whether this arrogant and sly man can actually read my mind.

"You have a point, Sylus," I concede. "What if we recreate the circumstances of when the Linkage disconnected itself? We should be able to figure out the trigger, right?"

Sylus glances at his phone, dismissing me. "That sounds more like superstition than science. Do you expect me to lull you to sleep?"

"Do you have a better idea?"

He lets out a short breath, rubbing a furrow between the wings of his graceful eyebrows. Pinching the bridge of his aquiline nose, he waves his hand in the air. Black mist rises up and swishes around the room, shutting all the blackout curtains and leaving us in near darkness. The only light remaining is a small desk lamp. He glances at me, curled up in my quilt as far from him as possible. His eyes glitter as he motions for me to come close.

"Alright, then, sweetie. Time for bed."

There's a sudden intimacy in his voice. It cuts me to the quick, stealing my breath and numbing my mind. I can hardly formulate an immediate response.

"I'll get water on you," I grumble, glad for the darkness; glad he can't see how red my face must be. That's another thing I hate. His pet names for me. At least, I try to hate them. Lately, hearing them makes my heart beat just a little faster.

"I'm not perfectly dry myself," he says, running a large hand down his chest.

"Still..."

"Then you should change. Unless you want to catch a cold."

"My luggage was lost, remember?" I wrap the quilt tighter around myself. "Besides, there's no way I can change while I'm chained to you."

I inwardly curse as I shiver again. This time, Sylus notices. His smile grows, and he gestures for me to approach again.

"Come on, kitten. Last time I checked, I'm not going to melt if I get some water on me." His voice deepens as he adds. "I'll even warm you up."

I squirm in my seat again, now entirely against moving anywhere near him. Something still hangs in the air between us, the same charged atmosphere that I experienced while taking his measurements and asking for his help picking out a dress at the boutique.

Seeing my reluctance, he rubs his fingers on his lips thoughtfully. "Alright, then. Suit yourself. But I somehow doubt you can fall asleep when you're shivering like a rabbit in a snare."

My eyes narrow. "Stop comparing me to small animals. It's rather insulting, considering that I fight just as well as you do."

It's a lie, of course. Sylus's power is incomparable, but I can hold my own at his side for the most part.

I try to cross my arms angrily, but the Linkage stops me. Though I yank hard on the chain, Sylus might as well be a boulder. His wrist doesn't move an inch.

"Just calling it as I see it," he continues to tease, his gaze unyielding and unwavering. "The way you look now," his eyes scan me up and down, "reminds me of a grumpy, hungry, and very tired kitten."

My eyes can't help but follow his hand as he continues to stroke his full lips. Hypnotized, I hardly hear it when he asks me a question in turn.

"You are hungry, aren't you? We've been here several hours, and I doubt someone as frugal as you would have splurged to buy something on the train."

My stomach chooses that moment to let out a rather loud groan of protest. Mortified, I sink into my quilt and look away from him. Sylus chuckles softly.

"I can order room service, at least."

"No!" I rush to stop him when he reaches for his phone. As I lunge for his hand, he grabs my wrist and pulls me into his lap. It's awkward. It's embarrassing. He's as large as a full grown grizzly bear, and he makes me feel completely helpless and tiny when I'm close to him. It's a thrilling kind of feeling, and one that I also really truly want to despise...

...but can't.

I squirm to get away from him, but he holds fast. In moments, I'm settled in his embrace, left with no options for escape.

"Shall I sing you a lullaby?" he asks sarcastically.

"Please don't. Being draped over you like this is bad enough."

We sit in silence for a time, my heart beating faster and faster as his body heat begins to seep into me. He's like a furnace, and soon I start to overheat. His chest undulates with deep steady breaths. His toned abs burn into my back; his huge arm wraps around me, shackling me in place just like the Linkage on my wrist. I can smell his aftershave, and it does terrible things to my rational mind.

"Sylus, I can't do this. I'm uncomfortable. The couch is too small. Let's try something else."

"As if," he sighs then yawns.

With his hand laying casually on my stomach, I can't relax at all. In an attempt to steer myself back in a morally acceptable direction, I run one of my fingers across the back of his hand. His palm is like two of mine. His skin is a mixture of smooth expanse and rough spots at points where it would normally rest against a weapon in combat. His knuckles are rough, too. Realizing that I'm taking liberties, I scramble to move my hands away and mutter an apology.

"Did you find something interesting on my hands?"

"Just remembering how much blood is on them," I say spitefully.

Instantly, I regret my sharp tongue. I squeeze his thumb apologetically and nearly jump out of my skin when his free hand strokes the ends of my hair.

"Then, I suppose it's a good thing you're not squeamish." His voice is softer now, but I don't trust myself to look up at him.

"This really isn't going to work," I tell him again. "Please, Sylus. Let's' try something else."

"I give you an inch...and you take..." his voice drifts off.

Silence, then.

"Sylus?" I whisper in the darkness.

No way. He did not just fall asleep while in the middle of a sentence. The tension drains out of me all at once, and I rest my head against his chest so I can see his face. Sure enough, his eyes are closed, his face relaxed in repose. He's resting the side of his face on the hand that was just stroking my hair, long black lashes fanning out on his regal cheekbones.

He's devastatingly handsome, like an artist sculpted his features from the finest alabaster. 

My chest tightens. All my frustrations aside, to think that a man like Sylus could fall dead asleep in a strange room with a strange woman tethered to him is unthinkable. Either his confidence exceeds my expectations or...

He trusts me.

I let that sink in for a minute, frustrated when the knowledge leaves me even more confused.

In the last six months, we've been through quite a few ordeals and crazy situations together. He's become a rather constant presence in my life, enough for me to worry when I didn't hear from him for several days. Enough, too, for me to dream about tending to his wounds.

But, even after spending all that time with him, I'm still processing all the things he makes me feel.

He scares the hell out of me. But, I feel absolutely safe with him. I can rely on him in a pinch. If I ask him to, he will clear obstacles out of my path. But, too often, he ends up being an obstacle and a source of strife himself.

I stroke the back of his hand with my fingers, making circles as I mumble to myself. "Every time we meet, something bad happens. Usually for me. You must be the harbinger of trouble."

"Hmm?" he stirs, opening his breathtaking red eyes to give me a disapproving look. His brow furrows, sensual lips curving down in mild irritation. "Stop chattering and go to sleep," he rumbles down at me. "This was your idea, after all."

We lapse into silence again, but nothing changes. Now that my head rests against his chest, I can hear his heartbeat. It's slow and steady, but it sounds different than any heartbeat I've heard before. It's almost like there's an echo behind every beat.

His necklace catches my eye, and I can't help but bring my hand up to fiddle with it. I toy with the chain for a moment then slide my finger upwards to the neckline of Sylus's sweatshirt. It's just a normal piece of clothing with a cut that isn't any lower than an average shirt of its type. But, the way it fits on Sylus is borderline criminal. The casual cut leaves his neck and collarbone exposed.

Entranced, I tap the pad of my finger against the base of his throat. His neck is muscular, but also long and graceful. A steady pulse flutters against my fingertip, and I quickly lower my hand, shocked that I allowed myself such liberties. I can't help it, though. This man absolutely confounds me, and despite my best judgement I can't help but want to know everything about him.

I take a deep breath as quietly as I can.

"Sylus, I can't sleep."

"I can," he retorts calmly. "If you'll let me."

In the face of his indifference, my irritation grows. I want to retaliate, but while I'm thinking about a way to do so, one of his eyes opens to look at me.

"Today's patience is wearing thin," he frowns. "Though I don't dislike your explorations, it's better if you just calm down and go to sleep."

A large hand presses my head against his shoulder. My cheek brushes against his sweatshirt, releasing a cloud of scent. Manly. Clean. Sharp.

Calm down? As if!

My heart is thundering in my chest now, and I don't think I can stand being this close to him for another second. I renew my efforts to squirm out of his grasp, my actions greatly annoying my oversized human pillow. In a single powerful motion, Sylus gets to his feet and lifts me into his arms. Not like a princess, but like a sack of potatoes that he practically tosses over his shoulder.

"Put me down," I demand, but he doesn't bother to listen. Two or three steps with his long legs takes us to the bed. He throws me down onto it then leans over me, pressing my Linked wrist into the mattress. His leg settles between mine, and I stop breathing entirely. With my free hand, I push against his shoulder.

His other hand takes control of my wrist, and he guides it down onto the mattress next until I'm completely pinned beneath him. His grip doesn't hurt. He's somehow careful not to cause me pain, yet he is as unyielding as a dam against rushing water.

"You've been letting these hands run wild for a while now," he murmurs, his gaze unreadable. "Is it my turn for exploration?"

"What are you talking about?" I ask, breathless.

"Should I do to you what you've been doing to me for the last hour?" His crooked smirk returns. When he tilts his head, some of his bangs fall forward, giving him a rough and tumble or "just out of bed" kind of appearance. Alarm bells go off in my head. I have to get away.

Now.

I'm a Hunter.

He's a king of the criminal underworld.

There could not be a worse match-up in all of history.

But, the thought of pushing him away now hurts. What I really want isn't escape. I'm no fool, even if I am terrible with love and with relationships. The closest I've come to intimacy in the last few years has been a battery powered quick fix lying in a dusty box under my bed. Even so; even without having a wholesome understanding of what it means to yearn for someone, I can no longer deny that I want this man more than I've ever wanted someone before.

It's unhealthy. It's ill advised.

"Please, Sylus," I breathe, and his eyes slip to my lips. His dark pupils dilate.

"What are you asking me, kitten?" he murmurs, letting go of my wrists to slide his hands up until our fingers wrap around one another. "The terms of a contract should be clearly stipulated."

"Let me go," I beg him.

He doesn't miss a beat, as though he already knew what I was going to say.

"That's not what your eyes are asking me," he counters.

"It's what I'm asking," I insist, my heart squeezing painfully.

Something yanks on the Linkage, then, and before I can react, the same force pulls Sylus towards me. I gasp as he presses into me. In a blink, he brings up an arm to rest on his elbow, keeping most of his weight off to avoid hurting me. He sighs, glancing at the Linkages. Somehow the chain between our wrists has disappeared. The manacles are interlocked, forcing Sylus and I into even greater proximity.

"What have you done now?" he groans. My body grows taught at the vibrations of his voice in my ear. So soft. Languid. Like a lazy afternoon in the sun.

"N-Nothing," I insist. "You threw yourself at me."

"Then how do you explain this?" he gestures with his head to the Linkages.

I honestly have no good answer. Right now, it's all I can do to stare at the corner of the ceiling so I don't meet his gaze. "I don't know what happened, but they're like two snakes trying to devour each other," I mumble.

Desperate, I try to move myself out and away from him. To my horror, the manacle around my wrist tightens even more. I yelp at the painful pressure.

Sylus's low chuckle ruffles the fine hairs at my ear. "You know, sweetie, the more a snake's prey tries to escape, the more tightly it gets strangled."

I shiver, closing my eyes. "That's within your control, then, isn't it? Please, you need to move first. Let me go."

He shifts marginally, his shoulders tensing. "Hm, looks like someone is about to walk in."

I finally look at his face. "What? Walk in where?"

"I'm saying we're about to have a guest."

"Stop trying to scare me. Do you enjoy being an as--"

Past the wall of the bedroom, I hear the sound of a scraping key card over the white noise of the TV. My heart leaps into my throat, body breaking out in cold sweat. Oh no! I'd forgotten that we have assigned room mates on this trip, too. It must be Lois, the young Hunter girl I'd met at headquarters a week ago. If she sees us like this --

I buck beneath Sylus's hold, now putting everything I have into getting him off of me. Fortunately, he decides to cooperate. I manage to push him off me and scramble to the edge of the bed. I look around wildly, my heart pounding. The hotel room has only one exit, which means we need to hide. I spot the closet a short distance away.

"Get in," I hiss violently, yanking on our Linkage and stuffing us both into the tiny space. I slam the door shut and struggle to breathe. At this point, I'm in serious deep water. Even if nobody knows that this is the the Sylus, I will have a witness that saw me bringing a man to my hotel room on a business trip. My reputation will be ruined, and I will likely face temporary suspension. Just imagining the spreading rumors makes me want to vomit.

If someone sees me like this, I won't be able to clear my name even with a redemption arc.

"Ellara!" a cheerful voice resounds from the living area. "Are you here, girl? I can't believe you missed the first part of the presentation!"

I stay silent, chanting prayers to whatever deity would listen in my mind.

"I heard you lost your luggage. Poor thing, but you can borrow some of my clothes if you want." Her footsteps and voice grow louder. "Tara's downstairs waiting, come on!"

My back cramps, and I look down. In my rush, I sat down in an awkward position on the ground. Something hard digs into my back and shoulder blade. Worse yet, Sylus is right on top of me. His size makes this space feel like a broom closet. Our noses are nearly touching, and his breath fans against my face. Some of his hair tickles my forehead.

For a split second, I lose myself in his red eyes.

Not a romantic red like a fading sunset.

Red like fresh blood.

And right now, those eyes are filled to the brim with displeasure.

Memories flash of my first few days with him, back when he tried to use those terrible eyes against me. Of the voice in my head begging me to devour him. The way he used his frightening black Evol to move and manipulate my body to his whims.

I struggle to inhale. Claustrophobia assails me.

Panicking, I push my hand against his chest.

"Sylus, move. I can't breathe."

"Ordering me around, are you?" He glances at my hands; his frown intensifies. "Why are your hands shaking?" He seems genuinely bothered by my fear, but I don't have the capacity to process that right now.

I yank on our Linked wrists for emphasis. "I can't move until you do," I tell him.

Still frowning, he accommodates my request. He shifts his body, wrapping his arms around my waist. I gasp when he lifts me up and sets me on top of him so his legs can stretch out and give me room to move. Somehow, I end up in his lap yet again.

"No, Sylus. This isn't--" his hand settles over my mouth. Huge and hot. He presses a finger to his own lips in turn.

"She's coming. Shh..."

Lois calls my name again, and this time she's in the doorway of the bedroom. My palms grow sweaty. There's no way she won't look inside the closet. My hands tremble where they grip Sylus's shirt. He glances down at them again, then at back at me. His fingers force me to look at him.

Being the sole focus of his gaze is an experience I can't put into words. I feel like I'm standing on the edge of a cliff faced with a huge red tidal wave. Any moment now, the wave will push me back, and who knows whether I'll fall to my death or find salvation?

Leaning forward, he whispers in my ear, "If you're anxious, just close your eyes."

His hand slips from my face, but his thumb grazes my lower lip in passing. His huge palm presses me forward to rest against his chest.

His heartbeat pulses against my ear, body heat enveloping me like a blanket.

Ba-dum lub-dub, ba-dum lub-dub, ba-dum lub-dub...

Steady.

Slow.

Just like it had been when he was sleeping.

My trembling slows, breathing evening out.

His free hand reaches out and presses against the door right as Lois approaches the closet.

"Ellara? Are you here?" I hear the rolling of luggage wheels. "Well, no matter. I'll just leave this here for her for when she gets back." She tugs on the closet door. Again and again. I squeeze my eyes shut; it feels like she'll never stop.

"Why isn't this opening? Is it stuck?"

She pulls harder, but she's no match for Sylus's strength. If she wants to open that door, she'll need to tear it off its hinges.

"Gotta call maintenance, I guess," she sighs. Like salvation, her phone rings. She picks it up, engaging whomever it was in conversation and padding back out of the bedroom.

I breathe out raggedly.

Beneath me, Sylus makes a sound of amusement.

"Your mental fortitude is terrible in situations like this," he observes.

"If we're seen--"

"So your reputation matters more to you than your life?" he asks. There's no judgement in his voice, just curiosity. "You were never this afraid when we were faced with a hail of bullets and assailants."

This is different. Completely different. But now is not the time to try to explain it.

Sylus smiles. "If we're discovered, I suppose we should just confess."

"To what, exactly?" I hiss defiantly.

His fingertips snake down the nape of my neck to the base of my spine. My eyes go wide when those same fingers sneak beneath the edge of my shirt and slip inside. In a blink, he's caressing my bare skin. I suck in a breath as my whole body breaks out in goosebumps.

"What are you...doing?"

Without answering, he keeps going. His fingers move up. Higher and higher, until his knuckles graze the underside of my bra. Splayed open, his fingers span almost my entire back.

Our eyes lock, devouring each other much like the Linkages around our wrists.

A single moment hangs between us in time.

And then his fingers slip beneath the barrier between us.

My breath hitches in my throat.

My skin pulses with anticipation.

My lips part, my mouth opening on a protest. His crimson eyes sear into me, daring me to speak, daring me to try to stop him. They aren't asking for permission; there's really no need. He already knows what my body wants, and he's prepared to ignore my lips trying to stop him.

Outside, Lois' voice fades away. Keys jingle. The front door to the hotel room slams shut. Silence fills the air, broken only by the humming of the furnace and my labored breaths.

I can't tear my eyes away from Sylus's lips. They're so close now. It would only take a single motion on my part, a single adjustment to my posture to taste them.

With a herculean effort, I keep myself still.

When our eyes meet next, his are hooded and burning. A volcano simmers beneath - boiling lava waiting to erupt.

"So what's it to be, kitten?" he teases. His fingers move a little higher, pressing up against my breast. "Should we continue?"

"Nn..." I could hardly recognize my own voice as a needy mewl rips itself from me. I slip forward, just that much closer. My resolve is breaking, bit by bit. Or maybe mile by mile. My body grows restless, sore, impoverished.

 "Your hands are cold as ice, but you feel quite warm here now." He rocks his hips against me, and I close my eyes against a pang of dizziness. Warm fluid floods my panties, my body betraying all my morals.

I whimper when the tips of his fingers nudge against my nipple. A need so deep, raw, and painful slams into my groin that I can't help but throw my head back. His huge hand supports me as I sigh in pleasure, keeping me from falling.

A breath against my chest and then cold air as my shirt is lifted up. Lost in wave upon wave of desire, I gasp when his lips press right between my breasts. He plants a hungry kiss there. Then another, his silvery hair tickling my skin. Hungry, but gentle. So very gentle.

He breathes me in then exhales, and the rolling of his hot wet breath has me gripping him tighter.

Then he stops. Leans back.

In a haze, I glance down to find him smirking, his sharp eyes narrowed and challenging. He tilts up his chin in that arrogant way of his, daring me to protest.

We have to stop. This is madness.

Really, Ellara? Making out with the Sylus in the middle of Hunter symposium in a damn closet?

I need to push him away. Push him away. Push him away.

I wince as the Linkage tightens painfully on my wrist. Bruising. Aching. Punishing me for going against the wishes of my heart.

"Sylus, we can't do this," I whisper. "I'm a Hunter, and you're..."

"I'm what?"

"You're the leader of Onychinus..."

"Is that all I am?" he asks, placing another kiss on my shoulder. "Does that title define me?" Another feathery kiss. "Are you just a Hunter? Or are you not Ellara as well?"

"Of c-course I am," I gasp. "B-But...we...this is..."

"Alright, then," he says, his expression still amused. He pulls back, and it feel like someone reached in and ripped out a part of me.

"If that's what you want."

It isn't, and he knows it well.

Anger floods me. How dare he play with me like this? How dare he act like he could stop now when we've already clearly crossed a line? When I need him this much? Furious, I grab the collar of his shirt. Why am I always the one being toyed with? Am I just another amusement to stave off boredom?

I want to shout at him.

I want to wipe the smirk off his beautiful face.

But, more than that, I deeply, desperately need to kiss him.

And so, that's exactly what I do.

I pull him towards me, molding my mouth to his.

He's shocked. His whole body tenses. But, I'm over it. Over all of this. No more stops. No more hesitation. I'm pretty sure I will spontaneously combust if I don't get a taste of him immediately. With a lustful moan, I run my tongue against his lips. He immediately grants me entry, and my mind goes blank as we vie for dominance.

His mouth is smooth and molten hot.

His saliva is slick and sweet.

He tastes like peppermint and heaven.

He tastes like home.

I'd spent so many cold and hollow nights imagining what a perfect kiss might be. Secretly, I thought nothing in reality could measure up.

What an idiot I was...

Without breaking away from me, his fingers move again. I can't hold back a ragged moan as he plays with my nipple and rocks me against him. Gentle, yet insistent. Rhythmic. Constant. His touch builds like a crescendo; my blood surges and sings, breasts seeming to swell as bliss shoots from my chest to my fingers and toes.

I try to move back, nearly overstimulated, but he holds me still. His mouth absorbs my wanton moans as he unhooks the back of my bra with his free hand. At last, we come up for air. I curve into him like an eager she-cat when he palms both of my breasts and presses his mouth to them. My hands bury into his hair, fingernails digging into his scalp.

Worried that I'm hurting him, I hesitate. He nips at my neck, making me squeal.

"I'm not afraid of your claws," he purrs against me. "Do what you want. I won't break."

A pressure grows and hardens against my core, assuring me that despite Sylus' outward composure, he's just as affected as I am. I cry out when he pinches me, nearly cumming at the sound of his deep voice humming a note of approval. He licks his way up my neck.

"All this just from my tongue and lips on you? Looks like my little kitten is pent up."

I let him have that victory. He's not wrong, after all.

I'm climbing to the pinnacle so fast that I'm dizzy, but I've plateaued. My hips begin moving on their own, my body seeking him, searching for pressure - any pressure - to ease the agony between my legs. He knows what I need, but he denies me, choosing to focus on just touches, kisses, caresses. His hands and mouth drive me to delirium until all I can do is hang onto his hair and his shoulders and beg.

"Sylus..." I rasp.

He smiles against my breasts.

"Sylus- ah!"

I almost want to cry when one of his hands glides down my thigh and stops just short of touching my center.

"...need you...need this..." I bump against his growing erection. 

"Are you sure?" he breathes, nipping at my ear. "You want me to do you right here?" 

"Nnn...yes...yes..."

I shudder when his finger passes over my apex, his touch dulled by layers of clothes. I try to lift myself up, but I'm clumsy, uncoordinated, weak with want. It's cramped in here, and there's no room for either of us to move much. Frantic, I buck my hips and whine. When I reach for the door, Sylus grips my hand and brings it to his lips.

"Patience, sweetie," he coos, kissing my knuckles. "I'll take care of you."

He settles his hands on my hips and lifts me up. The buckle of his pants clinks as he undoes it. Next, he reaches up and tears a hole in my leggings. I'm too far gone for any kind of outrage at my lost garment, especially when his pulsating cock brushes up against my bare skin. I'm so drenched that I slip and slide against him.

His hiss of pleasure thrills me.

I can feel every inch of him as he moves. He's huge, and for a moment I feel a flash of trepidation. Then it passes, and all I can think about is how badly I need him to ruin me right now.

"Sylus..."

His hands squeeze my ass, spreading me wide. "I know, kitten. Breathe."

With that, he slips into me. He's gentle. Slow. Careful. But, I'm still overwhelmed. My thoughts white out. All worries, hesitations, moral tugs of war. Everything dissipates into the breathtaking sensation of him filling me. There's some pain, but its a passing thing. Not worthy of note, not when he pulls me down into a kiss and fills me with his tongue as well. My nails tattoo my ecstasy into his shoulders, my insides squeezing him so tight as I climax that he has to break our kiss so he doesn't bite down on my tongue.

I wiggle on him, wanting him to move, needing to know what it feels like for him to scramble me up inside.

"Easy," he warns. "Are you alright?"

"No," I confess, drinking in the blood of his crimson gaze like a ravenous beast. But I can't find the right words to describe my need. "More," I plead. "Just...more..."

"Reckless as ever," he chuckles, but he's out of breath too.

I watch the Adam's apple move on his gorgeous neck as he swallows. I move my hips again, urging him to take me, break me, whatever he wants. His hands tighten their grip on my hips. I dearly hope he leaves bruises. I don't want to forget this moment for days. Weeks. Not ever. It's so perfect. He's so perfect.

With a snap, the Linkage around our wrists shatters.

Sylus doesn't give it a second glance. The moment we're free, he moves my body around.

"Relax," he breathes into my ear and kisses it. "Turn this way." Without pulling out of me, he shifts us around so my back faces him. I rest my hands against the opposite wall, whimpering when he spreads my legs open and positions me on my knees. He hulks over me, one big hand holding my waist while the other rests beside mine on the wall.

He starts to move, and I can no longer stop myself from making obscene sounds of bliss. Every thrust threatens to split me in half, the friction making me dig my nails into the wall. His cock hits me so deep inside that I swear I'll shatter into a million pieces. But, the pain is indescribably wonderful, and as my body adjusts to take in his size and girth, only pleasure remains.

"Ah...mmn...ah...Sylus...Sylus!"

"That's it," he huffs right into my ear, licking every nook and crevice. "Scream for me." His fingers slip from my waist to torment my clit. I shatter on the rocks, losing track of what's happening. He pounds into me until I feel him start to swell even more.

"Mmn...ah...yes!...please...please...inside me...give me all of you..."

His rumbling chuckle throws me over another edge as he explodes into me. He's breathing hard, his heart pounding against my back. His hips keep moving as white hot cum leaks down my thighs. He nuzzles into the crook between my neck and shoulder. Kissing my skin. Grazing his teeth on it.

We float in a haze, surrounded by our breaths and heartbeats. He doesn't pull out of me for some time, and I try to process what just happened. I'm joined with him in the most intimate way, and I've never felt anything more natural.

His sensual lips rain kisses on my back, his hand stroking my belly, my chest, my arm - helping me come down from the most incredible high of my life. 

"Sylus..." I whisper, my arms shaking. "I can't move."

"I have you," he soothes, pressing a kiss to my temple. I gasp when he pulls back. The sound of his belt clicking as he tucks himself back into his jeans.

"I'm going to move us now. Trust me, alright?"

I nod weakly.

The world tilts and spins. Vibrations of Evol pulsate through me. I remember this feeling, though the last time it flowed through my body it was like an aggressive snake. This time, it's warm and reassuring. Sylus's arms wrap around me. I smell that delicious aftershave again. Or maybe it's something else. Maybe this is just his smell.

Just as his kiss tastes of home, his scent smells of safety and security.

Wrapped up in his embrace, nothing can hurt me.

The closet disappears, and before I can make a single sound, Sylus is standing in the middle of the bedroom with me in his arms. He pulls the sheets and blanket off the bed and wraps them around me.

"Two more jumps," he smiles, and my heart flutters at the softness of his gaze. No longer like blood. More like a deep ruby wine. "I'm on the top floor."

Again, my surroundings spin and whirl like a hurricane. Colors blur together. It's disorienting, but I'm not afraid, trusting that the one holding me won't let me fall. When it all settles, we are no longer in my hotel room. Instead, we're standing in some kind of penthouse suite. I blink as I look around.

"Is this your room?"

"Did you want to stay downstairs?" He raises a brow at me.

I shake my head. "No. I guess I'm just wondering why we didn't come here sooner."

"And miss out on nearly getting caught?" he teases.

Again, I give him this one. Despite how terrifying it was when Lois nearly found us, the aftermath was...well...

I can't really be mad at him, and I'm too tired to try.

"Your hands are still like ice," he frowns. "Let's get warmed up." He pads to the bathroom as I poke his chest.

"You're not cold at all, though."

The master bath is a sight to behold. White marble with contrasting black and gold swirls. Frosted glass etched with patterns of rare flowers accents the rich colorations around it. The shower alone is larger than the walk-in closet in my apartment. Taken aback, I'm still marveling at the decor as Sylus sets me down on a nearby loveseat.

He starts when I wince and make a sound of pain. I shift in my seat, trying to find a position that doesn't hurt. Immediately, he's kneeling in front of me, his hand cupping my face. Those deep ruby eyes take me in, searching for the source of my discomfort. My heart races to be the focus of those slanted sharp eyes.

"Was I too rough?" he asks.

My hand covers his. "I'm alright. It's just...been a while." I smile at him and stroke his hair. As he closes his eyes in pleasure at my touch, I'm completely at my wit's end. There's no logic or reason that can stop the tenderness running through me now. There's no reason I can think of to push this man away any longer.

This man.

Not the Sylus of Onychinus.

Not the king of N109.

Just a man.

An incredible, wonderful, and mysterious man.

"A hot bath will help me feel better," I tell him.

He glances at the tub, stopping my heart with his special half smile. "I think we'll both fit in this one."

I pull him down for a long slow and thorough kiss. "Then, what are we waiting for?"

.

[faulty-writes]

[ This is a continuation of the Katsuki Bakugou x Male!Reader headcanon set. Fair warning there are implied feelings between other characters at the end of this. I hope all of you enjoy it! Again Happy Pride y'all! ]

[ Headcanons Summary: Your efforts to get closer to Katsuki and accept your sexuality continue. Luckily, an opportunity arises at the Fireworks Festival. While you were also ordered by Best Jeanist to be vigilant during the event, Katsuki proves to show a little jealousy when it comes to you and by the end of the night, turns a little possessive. ]

As luck would have it, Best Jeanist invited his agency's members and interns to the Fireworks Festival to support the community and act as a safety measure in case villain's attack. You saw this as an opportunity to make your move as Camie suggested.

On the day of the Fireworks Festival, Camie helped pick your outfit claiming that Katsuki "Totes won't be able to resist you!" which you hoped worked considering when you arrived, he looked stunned when he saw you and shyly glanced away. Although you didn't have much time to process this because Best Jeanist gave the laydown of what you had to do during the festival.

"You are welcome to partake in the events and games, but I require you to patrol the perimeter of the festival every hour," he explained, gazing over his employees but lingering on Katsuki and you. 'I hope Bakugou treats them well,' he thought. If not, he'd try his hardest to set him straight, but knew matters of the heart were to be settled between those involved.

Despite wanting to make a move, your thoughts were jumbled, and you weren't sure how to approach Katsuki, even if you did, there was no telling what his reaction would be. You still remember how tender and sore your neck was from the last time he was angry at you. So, you decided to play a few festival games to calm yourself.

"Ah, come on!" you shouted, lowering the BB gun. Maybe a shooting game wasn't the ideal way to win a prize. "Are you having trouble?" came a deep voice, and you turned to see Shinya Kamihara also known as the Ninja Hero: Edgeshot. As usual, he was dressed in his hero costume and took the BB gun from you. "Allow me to try," he insisted, gently cupping your chin with one hand before turning to the booth and more importantly, the moving red targets.

Katsuki became extremely angry when he saw you with Shinya who handed you a stuffed animal and kissed you on the cheek. As he approached, he demanded, "What the hell is going on here?!" Shinya smiled from underneath his mask. "Ah, Bakugou it's wonderful to-" he glared at the older man. "What's the big idea, huh? Trying to win him over or something!?" he said before unleashing his quirk.

After the shooting game booth incident, you were in shock and needed more time to think. Katsuki cared enough to impress you. But he only did it out of jealousy or so you suspected given how Shinya not only won you a prize but kissed your cheek. Why did he do that anyway and was Katsuki jealous because another man gave you attention? There were so many questions and so few answers.

"Hey dumbass!" you heard him call. The sun was setting, and you were almost finished with your patrol. "Oh, h-hi Bakugou uh-ah!" He grabbed you by the front of your shirt and pulled you close. Your face flushed as you stared into his red eyes. "You're watching the fireworks show with me," he said before releasing you.

You were tempted to call Camie and have her save you. However, she would only tell you not to give up and to "Totes go after him!" You still struggled to accept the fact that you were gay and when you thought about it, love was scary. But you were a hero and couldn't back down from this challenge, right?

You decided to get cotton candy before walking to the fireworks show entrance where Katsuki was waiting for you. You nervously ate as you sat in the grass beside him. "Hey!" he shouted, almost making you choke. "I want a piece," he said. "Uh, it's nearly gone but okay," you replied, handing him a piece before helping yourself to the last bite.

As the fireworks continued, you smiled at the colorful hues and images blasting into the sky. Your hands were curled into the grass and Katsuki grinned, placing his hand over yours and catching your attention. "Uh, B-Bakugou what are-" You shivered when you saw his angry expression. "Focus on the fireworks," he demanded, and you nodded before turning your head back.

"Come on!" Katsuki grabbed your wrist and pulled you to your feet after the fireworks show ended. "Ah, hey! W-where are we going?" you asked as you were dragged past the closed food stands and game booths. "None of your damn business!" Katsuki replied, which didn't make sense to you unless he wanted it to be a surprise.

You cried out when he pinned you against the wall of the nearby building outside the Fireworks Festival. "I'm hungry," he stated, leering down at you. Despite your rapid heart rate and flushed cheeks, you look at him confused. "W-what do you mean you're hungry? Get something to eat! There's a bunch of restaurants and-" You were silenced by his hand grasping your jaw. "I'm craving something else dumbass!" he growled.

His lips tasted sweet and whether that was due to the cotton candy he ate or just his natural taste was unknown. His kiss was desperate and sent shivers down your spine. "Mm, wait!" you said, leaning back and panting desperately. "I...I t-thought you were straight," you commented, making him growl. "Does it matter what gender I like, dumbass! I like you, so shut the hell up and kiss me!" he demanded.

"Should we intervene?" Shinya questioned, turning to Tsunagu. The two of them were sitting atop a building together, perhaps on night patrol. In actuality, they had been watching you and Katsuki. If Keigo were here, Tsunagu assumed he'd make a humorous joke about being 'chaperone hawks.' He shook his head in reply. "I trust Bakugou will not hurt them," he said before walking away. "I also believe you have interfered enough," he stated as Shinya followed him.

Once they were far away enough, Tsunagu turned to him. "How did you know young Bakugou would react so negatively to your advancements towards Y/n?" he questioned. Shinya chuckled in response. "I have reacted and felt a similar way when others speak to you," he admitted before glancing up at the stars. "It is brave to be a hero, but even braver to be yourself in this otherwise judgemental world," he smiled, turned to face the taller man, and cupped his cheek. "They will be fine," he assured.

[thisisarcanereverie]

When the World Went to Shit (Joel x Reader) Chapter 8!

Joel Miller x FEM! Reader

A/N: this is a SPOILER WARNING, this contains spoilers from the series in general.

A/N: I am so sorry for the almost 1 year delay on this chapter life has been insane. If you want more details go to my Archive to see.

(All my other links to my masterlist and archive)

WARNINGS: Canon level of violence, swears, Joel is sad, talks of grief, PTSD, brief mentions of gore, Eventual Smut, pining (on both ends), grumpy idiots in love, reader is in her late 30's to early to mid 40's. Major character deaths. DISCLAIMER NO CHARACTERS/GIFS/PICS USED ARE MINE.

Summary: 20 years later after the world went to shit you, Joel, and Tess have to take 14 year old Ellie to the Firefly base outside of Boston QZ. What was supposed to be a simple plan turned into something much more complicated.

Prev. Chapter

It wasn’t long until Joel woke you up, you couldn’t have been asleep for longer than 30 minutes before you felt Joel’s hand gently nudge you awake. 

“Gotta go Doc,” you hear him say as you blink the blurriness away, “Trucks have stopped moving and we’re losing daylight.” With a grunt you accept his hand as he pulls you to your feet, ignoring the initial dizziness to suddenly being upright. Joel is generous enough to help you regain balance until he was sure you wouldn’t fall over, you tried to ignore how warm and worn his hands were, and how they seemed to fit perfectly within yours. 

“Just hold on to my hand,” Joel says, his eyes not leaving yours, “and try not to fall behind.”  you simply nod as your hand remained in his, not finding it in you to fight him on this. His bare palm was warm and rough against yours, now your hands weren’t soft by any means, but his were different. His had been rough for years, even before the outbreak from the army and hard work, however they felt safe to you, and that scared you more than you thought it would. 

“Alright,” you hear Joel say, “let’s go.” and with that you hurried out the door, his one hand gripping yours firmly while the other held onto the gun, ready to shoot if necessary. You three made it across the street and into a dimly lit alley, one that you probably would’ve avoided twenty years ago. It was there that Joel slowed down from a run to a brisk walk, and began looking around for what you assumed to be a door or window to climb through. It wasn’t long until you found one, the wall covered with graffiti and one door next to a vent. “Here,” Joel quietly pointed, as he rushed you and Ellie to the door. You let his hand go and leaned against the wall instead as he tried to open the door. You watched as Joel struggled with opening the door, fuck, it’s locked. You looked at the vent, it wasn’t too bad, it wasn’t too terribly small but neither you or Joel would be able to fit through there. A small sneeze alerted you to Ellie, who just stood there watching Joel get more and more violent with the door. You looked at Ellie for a bit, she was on the short and smaller side of fourteen; then you looked at the vent. Ellie was too short to reach it by herself but if you and Joel lifted her up then she could probably easily go through it. The only problem you could think of was that you didn’t know what was inside. There could be a clicker in there for all you knew or worse, other people. But as you look over to Joel who had made no progress with the door, you resigned yourself to the fact that there was no other choice. 

“Ellie,” you called over to her, you saw the young girl look at you and walk to your side. You pointed to the vent above you, “do you think you can fit in there and unlock the door?” 

“Yeah,” Ellie said with no hesitance, “but I’ll need a boost.” 

“Joel,” you call out for him, you see the peppered haired man stop before turning his attention to you, “I’m gonna need help boosting her up.” you see his face scrunch up in confusion at first before finally getting the picture. 

“Are you sure?” he asked. 

“There’s no other option,” you said, “she’ll be alright.” You hoped you sounded convincing, for the most part you were sure that she would be alright, Ellie was tougher than she looks. You knew that. Still though, you couldn’t help but worry a small amount, despite her loud mouth and the corny pun jokes that made even your eyes roll you’ve come to care about her (at least a little). 

Joel gave you one more look around to see if there was another way before sighing and walking towards where you and Ellie stood. “You’re sure you can help lift her?” He asked. 

“I’m a kid,” Ellie sasses, “not an elephant.” 

You swear you hear him say something under his breath before he gets on one side of Ellie and you on the other. He grabs her one foot and you the other as you both lift her up to the small opening, she was lighter than you anticipated. Once through the opening you see Ellie crawl before a silent thunk. 

“Ok,” you hear her say on the other side of the wall, “I’m in, I’m going to take a  look around first.” 

“Ellie,” Joel says, you don’t take your eyes off the opening but you can imagine the look he has on his face right now. The big brown sad look he gets in his eyes every time he’s worried, his knuckles turning white slightly from gripping the handle of his gun a little too tight in case he needs to use it immediately. It’s a thing you’re catching him doing more and more often. Suddenly you both hear a clanking sound from the door, as you take a few steps in that direction you hear him mutter a few curses before it opens to reveal Ellie, no worse for wear. 

“Where would you be without me?” Ellie smiles cheekily, you pretend not to see how Joel’s broad shoulders sag a little before moving past her. 

“By now Wyoming.” 

You chuckled a little before ruffling up her hair before moving past her, “you walked right into that one kiddo.” You hear her mutter something under her breath, not too unlike the man ahead of you before letting the door shut. The noise echoing slightly in what appears to be an abandoned garage beneath the building or perhaps this is where the maintenance workers worked you weren’t quite sure about it other than it had surely been ransacked and abandoned. You were not likely to find anything of use like food or ammo, something you were sure you were running low on by now considering all of your supplies were destroyed during the crash. 

You three make your way to what seemed the only door leading to the way out, B3-42 No Roof Access. 

“All right,” You hear Joel say beside you, “We’ll make our way up come morning, I’ll take a look at the city and find our way out.” the door creaked as it opened and a sense of dread filled you as you realized what you had to do. 

Fuck this. 

****************************************************************************************

Joel POV. 

His chest burns as it seems as Joel struggles to get enough air, everything hurts, even the places he had no idea could hurt. It didn’t seem like you were doing much better, you were struggling for air like him but at least it didn’t seem like your head hurt…just everything else. Fuck, how many floor had they made it up, 33? When did he get so old that climbing 33 floors feels akin to 200? He looks over to the smaller girl who, while being out of breath, didn’t look like it had winded her like you and him. It was slightly irritating, on a multitude of fronts none of which he would ever admit to. His back slid against the wall as he prays that he doesn’t have a heart attack before getting Ellie out of the city at least. He looks over at you, sitting against the wall half bent. You were breathing out before leaning back and breathing in and repeating. At first he had no idea what you were doing, and he knew that if he wasn’t so exhausted he would have had to force himself to look away from the sliver of cleavage that you bending down exposed or the sweat that made you glow somehow even in the darkness. 

“Doing this helps,” you say to him, looking over at him. “Exhaling while down helps get all the air out and inhaling while sitting up opens them back up.” he must have given you a look because you then added, “it was something I picked up while studying to be a nurse,” your eyes got a strange look while a sad smile graced your features, “it came in handy a lot when…when I went jogging before the outbreak.” He doesn’t know what you're thinking most of the time, something equal parts frustrating and intriguing…what he wouldn’t give right now to know. 

“Thirty three floors,” Ellie remarks, still standing, barely a drop of sweat on her, “that’s good.” 

Joel and you shared a look, one that clearly said. 

Damn youth. 

“It’s gonna have to be,” you said, voice still breathy,  “otherwise you’re gonna have to drag Joel and I up the rest of the way.” He sees Ellie make a face, if it wasn’t for the burning in his lungs he probably would’ve smiled. After a few more minutes of breathing he sees Ellie reach out a hand to him. 

“C’mon” she says and at this point he is pretty sure he would rather a clicker bite him than get up. 

“Gimme a minute”  he breathed, his legs still aching he was almost certain that if he stood up right now his knees would give out. 

“Get up, you lazy ass.” 

He looked at her for a minute, silently he wondered if she had a death wish, before accepting the helping hand. He could feel the creaking and cracking of his joints as he stood upright again. 

“Lazy ass” he groaned, turning to his right to see if you needed any help. Upon seeing that you’ve more or less recovered he walked past Ellie and continued. “I’m fifty-six years old, you little shit.” He hears Ellie laugh a little, he was willing to bet that if he turned his head around he would see you mocking him, and if he wasn’t so tired and ready to lay down and sleep for a couple of hours he would’ve. 

It wasn’t long until they came across a glass door, one easily broken by force. One swift hit from the but of his shotgun and it shattered, at least, it shattered enough for him to reach the handle without cutting himself on the jagged edges of what remained. He entered first, in case there was danger it would hit him first instead of you or Ellie; but after it was clear that there was nothing dangerous between the four walls of what appeared to be the living room of an abandoned apartment he felt a certain stiffness in his shoulders ease a little. While looking around he took a moment, just one…just to look at you. It was clear now that whatever affects the head injury caused had subsided, however, even after reassuring himself that you were fine he couldn’t find the will to look away from you. His eyes studied the way your hair swayed as you moved around, he didn’t care about the gray streaks–in fact he found each wrinkle, each sign of aging to be beautiful on you. You wore it well, age complimented you. He wondered, though, if things were different–if there were no such things as clickers or if the cordyceps never evolved, if he would still think the same way; or if he would think of you at all. 

“What now?” 

He blinked and turned his gaze away from you, he must be more tired than he thought. Lack of sleep can really mess with someone's head, Joel thought. 

“We will stay here for a couple of hours,” he said, adjusting the strap on his shoulder. “I’m going to scout out the rest of the apartment ... .it's a long shot but maybe there’s some supplies, see what you can find here."He was about to leave the room when he felt a hand on his shoulder, he turned to look at you, you who always seemed to study him as if you haven’t known each other most of your lives. 

“You should rest,” you said, “I’ll go ahead and look around, and before you argue I’m feeling better so don’t worry about me.” and with that you walked away, no room for arguments. He grumbled something intelligible even to himself when he heard you from the other room. “Go ahead and set up camp if you’re so antsy! “ it was amazing how you could tell exactly what he was doing without having to even look at him. He grumbled something else before gathering the cushions off of chairs and sofas, making makeshift beds on the floor, dust circling around them before settling back down onto the ground. There wasn’t much in terms of blankets other than what they had on their backs, but all in all they’ve slept in worse conditions before. Or at least, you and Joel had, to be completely honest, despite all of her talking Joel still knew next to nothing about the young girl that he was protecting. He knew she liked video games, and music, but most of all she seemed to like puns. Joel knew Ellie talked a lot and despite the million words per second that seemed to escape her, but how much of that was her saying something. He had some idea of what life was like for her back in the QZ, she obviously had a friend, but figuring by the way of her not saying much the friendship didn’t end well. With the current youth growing up in the midst of this futile war, they’re more violent (feral, really), they’ve got bigger mouths and moral compasses all askew, though he really couldn’t think of one person whose moral compass had never strayed from the straight and narrow even once since the outbreak. 

There’s really only enough cushions to make two beds on the ground, realistically one of them would have to sleep upright in the chair. Joel groaned as he could already feel the crick in his neck forming at the thought. But it would be better if it was him with the crick in his neck than you. 

You were taking  your time scouting out the rest of the apartment, or maybe it just felt that way to him, maybe you’ve only been gone for a few minutes but it felt longer to him. Everytime you’re out of his sight it feels like you’re a million miles away even though he knows otherwise. It was odd, this hold that you had on him, it hadn’t been there before, or at least he thinks it hadn’t. A lot has changed since leaving the QZ, you both weren’t exactly the same people you were when this job started, or maybe it just took this job to see what was always there? Joel wasn’t sure, and honestly, by the way his limbs ached as he gathered the bucket and grabbed pieces of shattered glass fragments he was too tired to think further on it. 

He had just finished setting the alarm trap when you appeared from the other room. 

“There were two cans of food and a blanket, other than that it seems like this place had already been scouted for supplies ages ago.” you placed the two cans of peas by Joel to open and handed Ellie the blanket while you assessed the camping site. He had just finished slicing the lid off of one of the cans when you turned to him. 

“So where is everyone sleeping?” You asked, not wanting to overstep or assume. 

“I’m sleeping right here on the chair while you and Ellie get the cushions.” Joel replied, handing the open can to you only to watch as you passed it to Ellie. That was the other thing about you that had never changed, even when the outbreak happened. You always thought of other people before yourself, sometimes Joel wished he could be more like that, other times he wished you were less like that. It would save him a lot of stress. 

“That’s ridiculous,” you objected, “I don’t see why you have to get a crick in your neck while we can both just lay on one set of cushions together.” the knife slips from his hand a little before readjusting his grip. 

“Someone’s gotta keep watch.” he excused, but already he could see your eyes practically roll themselves out of your skull. 

“It’s cold out,” you said, “I gave Ellie a blanket cause I figured she probably wouldn’t want to be huddled together with either of us for warmth–” 

“Good call.” Ellie agreed. 

“And it’s not like you and I haven’t slept side by side before, or huddled together for warmth. You set up an alarm trap, it’ll wake all of us up in case someone tries to kill us before sunrise. So quit with the excuses, eat some dinner and get some sleep.” 

There was nothing left to say, no more room for argument as you get the familiar stubborn look on your face that he’s learned to associate finality with. With a sigh he responded with the only thing he could, “Yes Ma’am.” 

Dinner had been quiet save for the scraping of forks against the metal tin of the inside of the can. Joel had shared his with you while Ellie had a can of her own. Both of you were used to eating half portions, though if he was honest, he had only a few bites while he let you have the majority of the cans contents. 

                   Soon enough all of you had laid down, the cushions were a little worse for wear, covered in years worth of dust and a little flat but it was better than nothing. No, it wasn’t the dust burning his eyes a little or the hardness of the floor that prevented him from sleeping. It was you, your back was to him but he could still feel you next to him, hear the gentle noise of your breathing and while you didn’t exactly smell like a bouquet of roses, you smelled faintly of sweat but the scent of the lavender and peppermint bar soap that you took from Bill and Frank’s still lingered. Joel fought back the urge to get closer to you, it was frustrating, he can’t recall the number of times he’s slept next to you and yet this was never an issue–well–he can’t really say that. There would be times when he would wake and find himself closer to you with your arm hanging loosely around his waist, he would pretend later on that those interactions never happened, or that he didn’t spend a good few minutes looking at you, watching your nose twitch occasionally and hearing your slow and steady breathing. Joel turned over until he was facing the door, careful with his movements so as to not disturb you. Joel felt silly–stupid–really, he needed to kill whatever the hell this feeling was, he was protective of you because you grew up together and were friends that was it. He couldn’t afford to have you be anything else despite what that letter to Bill had said. 

Joel tried closing his eyes and putting you from his mind, but once he finally managed to put you on the backburner Ellie came into mind. She was 14, Joel couldn’t even remember what he was like at fourteen except that he was punk. Always doing something he wasn’t supposed to do like smoke or sneak a swig of beer when no one had looked. Meanwhile here was Ellie, there was no doubt that she would be a punk too, skating after dark and probably stealing gum or something small from a convenience store. Instead she’s been forced to have a gun in her hand and had to learn to survive since she came into this world. She’s only fourteen and she went from being an ordinary person to the last hope humanity has to create a vaccine so that clickers become a thing of the past. A world without clickers…would Joel even want to live in a world like that? Was there a place for him in that world anymore? Without Sarah?...Joel didn’t like to think about how similar they were. Both funny and discerning and most of all brave. Too damn brave, too damn young. In a secret, awful way he was relieved that Sarah never had to be the one behind the gun but so damn angry to be the one in front of it. His mind brought him back to that look in Ellie’s eyes, that cold and angry look she said it wasn’t her first time shooting someone. 

“Hey,” he said quietly, trying not to wake you, “you up?”

“Yeah?”

“When we were talking’ bout hurting people…what did you mean it wasn’t your first time?” 

“I don’t want to talk about it.” There was an edge to her tone, one that clearly said to leave it alone. It was something he had to respect. 

“All right,” he gave in. moments of silence pass between them, the only silence was your soft snoring…still it ate at him so gently he rolled back over to see Ellie, who was looking at the ceiling. “You don’t have to, I’m just saying it’s not fair, your age…having to deal with all this…” he trailed off, fuck you were better at this than he was. He sees Ellie turn her gaze from the ceiling to him, brown eyes filled with a sadness that didn’t suit her age. 

“So it gets easier when you’re older?” 

“No,” he says honestly, “not really…but still.”  there was a pause, some silence between them. Honestly, killing never does get easier, it just becomes the choice you have to make in dire situations, but it doesn’t make it easier to live with. 

“The reason I asked whether you’d hear the glass or not earlier is cause I’ve noticed you don’t hear too well from your right side.” Ellie said, breaking the pause, “is it because you got shot there?” 

“Probably more from shooting.” he answers before turning himself in for the final time, “so if you want to keep hearing I’d stick to the knife.” he closes his eyes, once again trying to clear his mind from thoughts of you or Ellie or anything really. 

“Joel?”

He hummed in response.

“Did you know diarrhea is hereditary?” 

“What?” opening his eyes and wondering what the hell she was going on about?

“Yeah,” she said somberly before following up with, “it runs in your jeans.” 

It was an awful joke really, it shouldn’t have been as funny as it was but still he felt the laughter bubble up from his chest and shake him a little. It hurt a little, the sensation of laughter was something foreign to him now but still, it was pleasant. After that neither of them said a word, drifting off to sleep before they had to wake up and find their way out of this city. 

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

“Joel.”

He groaned

“Joel”

He groaned again. 

“Joel I’m gonna need you to wake the hell up right now but be calm ok?”

Slowly his eyes opened, and the first thing he saw wasn’t you but of a man, couldn’t be younger than 18  with a gun pointed at you and Ellie while another kid, couldn’t be any older than eleven stood over him, orange facepaint over his eyes as he held Joel at gunpoint. Shit.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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