#I hope this came out okay

[aceghosts]

I Know You Feel Lost, But I'm Here To Wander With You

Summary: The week that Rooney’s family died is always the worst week of the year.

Rooney is having a bad week, the anniversary of their family death's looming over them. Luckily, they've got Yorinobu in their corner.

Title comes from Being As An Oceans' Find Our Way.

Rating: M

Warnings: PLEASE MIND THE WARNINGS FOR THIS ONE! This deals very explicitly with Rooney's grief and violent loss of their family. (Rooney is originally from Mass Effect with a Colonist background. This fic is adapting that background.) They are in a dark place, and thus, some of Rooney's thoughts, such as not wanting to exist, may be triggering. It also relieves Rooney's memories of that day and the traumatic things they saw, including watching someone die in their arms. Other warnings are depiction of violence, survivor's guilt, childhood trauma, discussions of dysfunctional childhoods (kind of), and drinking to cope. I think that covers everything, but if I need to tag for anything else, let me know.

Words: 5,188 words

Author's Note: Takes place before the events of CP2077, roughly six years before. I strongly encourage you to read Is This the End Or Is This the Beginning if you have not, as this fic directly references events in that fic.

Tagging (Opt In/Out): @bbrocklesnar, @marivenah, @alexxmason, @sergeiravenov, @voidika,

@carlosoliveiraa, @socially-awkward-skeleton, @derelictheretic, @imogenkol, @theelderhazelnut,

@strangefable, @cassietrn, @direwombat, @cloudofbutterflies92

AO3

The week that Rooney’s family died is always the worst week of the year.

Rooney’s normally unflinching, steady demeanor turns brittle. Their mood is an ever-vicious cycle of grief looping into numbness with static in their brain, which eventually loops back into a grief that threatens to swallow them whole, pulling Rooney beneath its dark depths. Their sleep schedule goes to hell, ghosts haunting their dreams. Even in their waking hours, the ghosts haunt them, always in the corner of their mind. Nothing holds any interest for them, and they’re nauseous all the time, only able to pick at their food. The weight of a broken promise weighs heavily on their shoulders, and Rooney feels like they’re drowning underneath it all, exhausted from fighting the tide. All they want to do is hide in their room underneath blankets until the storm passes, when they finally grasp onto some sense of normality. Most years, Rooney powers through, only taking the day of their family’s death off. Their usual ritual is to spend the day alone, writing unsent letters to the ghosts they carry with them. 

Their grief takes on a different form this year, a more malevolent form. It hits harder, a dark, black cloud hanging over them. It’s so hard to breathe, to simply exist. Their limbs are tied down, each movement more difficult than the last. They feel so numb to it all, to the whole point of their existence. All Rooney wants to do is to stop existing, simply dissipate into nothing. They want to let the waves pull them under, to simply stop fighting and give in for once. Rooney wonders if this year is harder because they died and now know death intimately. Maybe, it’s the fact they’re stuck in this Arasaka facility, amongst enemies and isolated from their comrades. Maybe, it’s that small glimpse of what they saw between life and death. Maybe, it’s the fact that they know they will be denied death, doomed to walk this earth as long as someone else demands it. If they died now, Rooney knows Arasaka would pull them back, deny them the dignity of simply being able to die.

And then, there is Yorinobu, Rooney’s only friend in this lonely place. They avoid him, leaving sessions early and ducking into hiding places when he searches for them. He doesn’t need to see Rooney like this, doesn’t have to know about any of this. Rooney doesn’t want him to think less of them, if he doesn’t already know. They need to focus on getting information for him. They need to focus on their mission. And, perhaps selfishly, Rooney does not want Yorinobu to worry about them. No one should have to worry about them. The grief will pass like it always does, and Rooney will be fine...right?

“We’re done, Shepard,” Leah, one of the scientists, says, openly disappointed with their poor performance, a common theme this week, “Go to your next session.” Right, another combat test. Leah had just run through a short test of their quickhacking capabilities. Miles, another scientist, wanted to put Rooney through a combat test with their optical camouflage.

“I will escort them to their next session.” They slowly look over in Yorinobu’s direction, unaware he was there. Arms crossed over his chest, he smiles at them warmly, eyes only on Rooney.

Rooney stares at him blankly, unable to muster even the smallest smile. They should be excited to see Yorinobu, ready to dish out what they know to him. Instead, Rooney feels nothing, hollow, like every other day of this forsaken week. Leah, who must have only realized he was here as well, bows. Shooting a glare at Rooney for their perceived rudeness, she replies, “Yes, Yorinobu-Sama. Shepard would be honored to accompany you.”

Yorinobu’s smile drops, brow furrows in concern as Rooney lethargically walks toward him. Shit, they need to act normally. They fall into step with him as they leave the room, still mute. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine.”

Not nearly a convincing enough answer. “Shepard,” He starts, voice soft, “I know you would prefer to talk with one of your fellow soldiers, but I would like to listen if you need someone.”

Rooney feels a lump in their throat, swallowing it down. “I’m okay,” They assure him, gently brushing their hand against his, “I’m just tired.”

He eyes them suspiciously, eventually relenting. “I have some news that you may be interested in. Some of it I can tell you now, the rest later.” As he talks, Rooney tunes him out, his voice becoming background noise like everything else. Their brain is unable to concentrate, thinking sluggishly. Every once in a while, Rooney offers a nod or a small noise of acknowledgment to keep up the appearance they are listening. “Now, I know you must not be listening.”

Shaking their head as they stop in their tracks, Rooney apologizes, “I’m sorry. Can you repeat that?” Yorinobu stops beside them, placing his hand on their shoulder in concern. Guilt burns within Rooney. He shouldn’t worry about them; no one should. They’ll power through this, just like everyone expects them to.

“I-.”

“Shepard!” Fucking hell, all of the goddamn people it had to be her, Rooney’s least favorite person in the facility. Dr. Naomi Kimura, their psychologist, dredged up every single awful thing mentioned in their psych profile as if it would magically convince Rooney to talk. Instead, Rooney shut down, staring at their hands quietly until their time was up. And this week, she was at her worst, mentioning their family constantly, how hard it must have been, and how Rooney could talk to her. It took every inch of their being to resist punching her, especially when she mentioned Jack. How dare she even mention his name. Rooney prefers dying again to having to talk to Dr. Kimura about one of the worst days of their life. “How are you feeling today, Shepard?” she asks, catching up to the pair.

They look down, staring at their shoes, fists clenched tightly. “I think Shepard is tired,” Yorinobu intervenes, “You should give them space.”

Dr. Kimura sighs. “Yes. Of course, they would be tired,” her pitying voice sounds like nails on a chalkboard, and Rooney bites the inside of their cheek, fighting the urge to scream. “I wanted to make sure that my patient was feeling well, especially on the anniversary of something so tragic.”

“Something tragic?” Yorinobu echoes.

“Their family,” They start walking, unable to listen. Rooney won’t give her the satisfaction of them telling her to shove it. And they don’t know if they can stomach Yorinobu looking at them like…like…

“Excuse us, Dr. Kimura.” Yorinobu excuses himself, catching up to Rooney. “Where are you going? What is goi-?”

“I should go,” Rooney cuts him off, their voice robotic and detached, leaving a confused Yorinobu behind.

—

Later that evening, when Rooney reaches their room after an afternoon of tests, Yorinobu stands outside their room. In his hands, he has a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. “Would you like to talk? Or drink?” Yorinobu holds the bottle of whiskey up for Rooney. They soften, recognizing the name on the bottle. It’s the same brand, the one that led to their first real conversation. To Rooney becoming an informant, and eventually, they suppose, a friend. Their eyes water, a sob stuck in their throat. “Did-Did I do something wrong?”

“It’s complicated,” Rooney wipes at their eyes, clearing their throat, “You didn’t do anything wrong.” He relaxes, his shoulders dropping. Yet, Yorinobu’s brow is furrowed, watching them carefully. “We should talk,” Rooney says, knowing that they owe Yorinobu the truth, “Can we go to your office?”

He nods, wrapping an arm around their shoulder. Rooney leans into him, resting their head on his shoulder. He feels so sturdy when they are so weak, like a small boat being tossed upon the waves in a storm.

—

Making themselves comfortable on the black leather couch in Yorinobu’s office, each with a glass of whiskey, Rooney takes a sip, needing to work up their courage. “I…um…” they start hesitantly, the words reluctant to leave their mouth.

Yorinobu slides an arm behind them, hand on their shoulder. “Take your time.”

“Right,” Rooney takes another sip, “Do you remember what I told you about my family?”

“You mentioned they died when you were sixteen,” a horrified look comes over him, quickly connecting the dots, “Is this the day they-?”

Rooney nods, confirming his suspicion as Yorinobu takes a sharp breath. “I’m sure you’ve heard by now how they’ve died.” Everyone knows. In the Militia, it was an open secret that being around Rooney was likely to get you killed. Unlucky Shepard. Go with them on a mission, and you won’t come back.

“I have not.” Wait, what? They look over at him in confusion. “I knew you would tell me on your own terms,” Yorinobu admits, “You are honest with me. I can be patient if you need me to be.”

Their guarded heart softens at his admission. “Thank you.”

“There is no need to thank me.”

Silence washes over the both of them as Rooney thinks through their next words. They’re so used to people knowing them by their reputation. The Soldier who got shit done. The Sole Survivor. With Yorinobu, none of those expectations are placed upon them. Rooney is free to be themself. It is an oddly wonderful feeling; it is an oddly terrifying one. “I guess I could start at the beginning…”

He nods, allowing Rooney to continue. “I grew up in a small Biotechnica Company Town. My mom, Hannah Shepard, worked as the head of security.” They remember their mother, a former Militech officer, brave and fearless. Never backing down. “She was really brave, taught me how to shoot my first gun too. Taught me that it would be my responsibility to look after Jack.” From a young age, their mom had taught them how to shoot, simply stating: ONE DAY, YOU’LL NEED TO PROTECT YOUR BROTHER. A duty that Rooney solemnly took. A duty they failed. “My dad, Aiden Shepard, was an agricultural engineer. He was so kind, always encouraging my brother and me.” Rooney always remembers their dad as a soft, kind man. He had a green thumb, teaching Rooney all he knew about plants and farming. Their favorite memories of him are sitting with their dad on the porch bench on summer evenings, both reading together in silence, yet enjoying each other’s company.

“I had a younger brother, Jack, and a cousin, Danny, my age. Jack was so bright and so sweet. Didn’t have a mean bone in his body. I’m sure if he were still alive, he would have done something great.” In their mind, Jack smiles brightly at them, fiddling with some machine he was working on. His enthusiasm was infectious. Jack deserved to be alive; he should be alive. Not Rooney. “Danny was always getting into trouble, but it was trouble I always wanted to be a part of.” They remember the way he would grin mischievously, ready to drag Rooney and Jack into some of his schemes. Despite the trouble the trio would get into, Rooney wouldn’t trade any of those memories for the world.

“Home was gorgeous.” Rooney still feels the sun on their face, the warm breeze flowing through their hair. They hear the rustle of the wheat as the breeze flows through it. “The skies were always a soft blue with a gentle breeze blowing through the wheat. It was like paradise.” How naive Rooney was. They should have appreciated it more, enjoyed what little time they had there. Now, home was a memory, a place they could never return to.

 "I…understand.” His soft utterance surprises them. Yorinobu sips his whiskey. “When I think of my childhood, I think about how wonderful it was sometimes, how happy I used to be…”

“How you wish you could go back,” They finish, “But you can’t, you can never go back.”

“Yes,” the understanding look in his eyes makes Rooney feel a little less lonely, “After what my father had shown me, the veil over my eyes had been lifted. It was a lie, a lie to make me complacent, dependent. He used that lie to mold me into the son he thought I should be. Obedient, Deferential. He had destroyed the home I had known. Your situation is different.”

Rooney sips their whiskey. “Yeah,” their voice cracks, “Home doesn’t exist anymore, wiped off the map, all the people gone.” They pause, their throat tight. “Except for me.” Cursed to live; cursed to survive.

“Shepard,” His thumb rubs comfortingly against the bare skin of their freckled shoulder, “You do not have to tell me this. I will respect-.”

“No, I want to,” They cut him off, inhaling a deep breath, “It’s a little raw considering…”

“I do not want to push if it makes you feel unwell.”

“You’re not pushing; you’re the first one who hasn’t pushed me to talk about this,” Their mind flashes back to Dr. Kimura, always pushing and prodding, “I can’t tell you how much that means to me.”   

“I am glad I can be here for you.”

Rooney gives him a watery smile, dropping it a second later. “The first thing I remember about this day is the night before, especially the fight that I had with my mom.” Yorinobu raises an inquisitive eyebrow. “We were fighting a lot. I wanted to join a Corp, Militech specifically, to see the world, and she thought I was naive, that I was going to make a huge mistake.”

“Militech?” Yorinobu blurts out, surprised.

They nod. “Imagine how differently things would have turned out if I still joined Militech afterwards.”

“We would not have met.”

“Yeah, I know how Militech and Arasaka feel about each other.” Rooney looks down at their whiskey glass. “I can’t forget what I told my mom that night. I told her that hated her.” I HATE YOU SO MUCH, the awful words reverberate around in their head.  “I told her that I hated her for trying to keep me in that stupid town, that I wasn’t going to be stuck there forever, miserable like she was.” YOU CAN’T KEEP ME HERE. I WON’T BE STUCK HERE IN THIS TOWN AND END UP A MISERABLE BITCH LIKE YOU. Their hands shake, tears welling in their eyes. Rooney would give anything to take those words back, to reverse the hands of time, and tell their mom one last time that they love her. They love her so much. Rooney would tell her that they were naive and stupid, understanding what Hannah was trying to protect them from. “What a pair we make, huh? You with Saburo, and me with my mom.”

Yorinobu smiles. “It is natural for children to rebel, to want differently than the path their parents planned for them. You are not wrong for wanting that.”

“I suppose so.” Rooney isn’t sure if they were wrong for wanting, but they should have spoken to their mom differently. “The next day, a group of bandits attacked our town. I’m not sure how they managed it. We fended off attacks before with little damage, but this was different.” It was slaughter, an act of cruel and senseless violence. “Jack, Danny, and I were hanging out in the fields. We were up in an oak tree, watching the clouds as we talked. Then, we saw the smoke. We went to check it out.” Rooney still remembers the tree bark scraping against their palms, barely registering the sting as they fling themself from the tree. “We met Mom at the edge of the field. She handed me a pistol and told me to protect Jack and Danny. The last thing she ever told me was for us to hide and for me to be brave.” ROONEY, TAKE THEM AND HIDE. BE BRAVE FOR ME. The last time Rooney sees their mom is with her back turned to the three as she charges into town, red ponytail with strands of gray swinging in the wind. The pistol is heavy in Rooney’s hands, the full burden of responsibility weighing down on them. “Do you ever feel like you have to protect Hanako?”

“Yes. As children, Hanako and I were close. We only had each other, and I knew I needed to be there for her. I would protect her from any trouble. Even now, as adults, despite our distance, I still want to protect her, free her from my father’s influence. Hanako should be allowed to determine her own path, not a puppet of my father.” Yorinobu takes a sip of his whiskey, conflicting emotions on his face. “Now, Hanako feels she must protect me by playing mediator. In her eyes, all would be right if I became the son my father wanted me to be. If I were to be someone else.”

“You shouldn’t be,” He raises an eyebrow as they awkwardly clarify, “You shouldn’t have to be someone else. I like you as you are.” Yorinobu looks taken aback as they backpedal, “I mean-.”

“Shepard, I understand,” Yorinobu replies cutting them off, “I like you as you are too.”

“Thank you.” Another question comes to them. “What about Kei?” In all their time at the facility, Rooney heard about Kei the least. Possibly because he had been dead since 2023. But they wondered about Yorinobu and his relationship.

“Kei and I were not close. As children, Hanako and I rarely saw him, a distant figure in both our lives. Kei always thought of himself as the dutiful older son, the protector of Arasaka’s legacy. When I left,” Yorinobu’s voice turns bitter, “He saw it as his responsibility to strike me down for daring to defy the family, for not falling into line. Kei paid the ultimate price for his foolishness. I stand, still alive, while he is dead.”   

“I’m sorry.”

Yorinobu shakes his head. “It is not your fault. One day, my father will pay for Kei’s death. Continue.”

“I suggested that we should hide. There was a storm shelter beneath the farmhouse where no one would be able to find us. But-.” I CAN’T LEAVE MY MOM AND DAD. WE HAVE TO FIND THEM. They remember how terrified Danny looked, a sixteen-year-old who just wanted his parents. “Danny wanted us to find his parents. He wouldn’t listen to me or Jack.” Danny’s glare is fierce, and he is defiant at Rooney’s suggestion. He storms away with Jack quickly following behind as he tries to calm Danny. “He couldn’t be stopped.” Rooney finishes their glass, reaching out for the bottle of whiskey, and pouring another.

“So, we head to town.” The moment the three teenagers reach town, they all look at each other, knowing they’ve fucked up. Rooney remembers the thick smell of smoke and dead bodies, nearly choking on it. They hold the pistol with the safety off, ready to fire like their mom taught them to. Yet, at the thought of shooting a real person, Rooney’s hands shake, the pistol wobbling. “Danny thought we needed to head to the center of town.” COME ON, MY PARENTS SHOULD BE AT THE CITY HALL. “I try to argue with him, but he takes off running and rounds the corner. And then, I hear it.”

Yorinobu’s mouth drops in horror as a sick feeling rises in their stomach. The gunshots echo in their ears, deafening, as Rooney sprints towards the alley. Danny is on the ground, red pooling beneath him as a bandit stands over him. Rooney raises the pistol, pulling the trigger. The first shot hits the bandit’s shoulder. The second one hits him in the chest. Later, when Rooney learns to shoot a sniper rifle in the militia, they promise to never miss, to always make sure that their bullet hits the target. They will not let another innocent pay with their life. Rooney sips their glass, before continuing, “Jack and I grab Danny,” Danny’s green t-shirt is soaked in blood, only groaning as the two pull him off the ground, “The local town doctor is only two blocks away. If anyone can help Danny, it’s her.” It is only later that Rooney will find out that this was a fool’s errand, that the local doctor is already dead.

“Jack and I manage to get Danny to the clinic. We think we’ve made it, that the three of us are going to be safe.” It feels like a journey of a thousand miles, but relief washes over Rooney as the clinic door slides open. They’re safe; Jack, Danny, and Rooney are going to make it. HEY! Rooney turns as a Bandit turns to face them, raising his rifle at the trio. “As we enter the clinic, another bandit finds us.” Rooney raises the gun, preparing to fire. Jack, blue eyes wide, shoves Rooney and Danny through the doorway. JACK! Shots ring out, deafening as Rooney screams, a desperate plea for someone, anyone, to help. Jack slumps to the ground as Rooney lets Danny go. They raise their pistol, flicking the safety off as they unload the pistol. Rooney empties the pistol into the bandit, each shot ringing loudly in their ears. When the pistol finally clicks empty, long after the bandit has fallen to the ground, Rooney drops it, the pistol clattering loudly to the ground. “He shoots Jack. I’m able to stop the bandit, but it’s already too late.”

“I grab Jack and Danny, dragging them into the clinic. I find an empty room, somewhere we can hide.” Grabbing Jack and Danny, Rooney pulls them into the clinic, a herculean effort fueled by pure adrenaline. They find an empty room, hiding with Jack and Danny in a dark corner. Danny’s eyes are unfocused, his mouth slightly open. Rooney doesn’t need to feel his pulse to know that he is dead. They turn to Jack, who reaches out for his older sibling. “Jack grabs onto me. I beg for him to let me go, but all he wants is his older sibling. His grip loosens…” He wraps his arms around Rooney’s neck tightly, clinging to them as he bleeds out in their arms. Rooney holds him, alternating between telling Jack that they love him (JACK, I LOVE YOU! PLEASE DON’T LEAVE ME!) and begging him to let go so they can help him (YOU HAVE TO LET ME GO! I’LL BE RIGHT BACK WITH HELP!).  Eventually, his grip loosens, Rooney silently sobbing as their brother dies. In the Unification War, when they hold dying young men, trying to comfort them in their last moments, they will always remind Rooney of Jack. They will always be Jack, terrified in their final moments, begging for some sort of comfort, that everything will be okay. “And my brother is dead.”

Tears stream down their face as Rooney grips their whiskey tightly. “I hide in the clinic for what seems like an eternity.” They wait until the screaming dies down, and even then, Rooney doesn’t leave, afraid the bandits will be waiting for them. After the screaming has been dead for a long time, Rooney makes their way out of the clinic, looking upon the destruction of their town.  Every corpse is a familiar face, someone they’ve known their whole life. “Eventually, Nomads, who regularly traded with us and did odd jobs for Biotechnica, pass by, and…” Well, the rest is history.

“Rooney, I’m-I’m so sorry…” Yorinobu seems to be at a loss for words, unsurprising. No one ever seems to know what to say, and Rooney can’t blame them.

“Don’t be. It wasn’t your fault.” They finish off the glass, pouring themself another. Yorinobu tilts his head in confusion, perhaps concerned by their harsh, detached tone. “It’s the bandits fault for destroying my town. It’s my fault that Jack and Danny are dead, that I couldn’t protect them.”

Yorinobu sits straight up, removing his hand from their shoulder. Rooney misses his touch, a sole comfort, perhaps more than they deserve. He places his glass down on the table. Yorinobu grabs their glass, placing it down beside his. Rooney doesn’t fight him, unable to look at him, only looking down at their hands. Yorinobu takes their hands in his, his touch desperate. “You cannot blame yourself. You were sixteen.”             

“I can blame myself,” They look at him, meeting his eyes, “It was my job to protect Jack. He’s my younger brother. He needed me, and I failed him. Danny, too.” After their town, Rooney swore that they would protect others from suffering the same fate.

He looks slightly horrified, and Rooney wonders if he is thinking of himself and Hanako, perhaps seeing a mirror image of Jack in Hanako. Yorinobu releases their hands, only to cup their face, wiping away the tears. “It was not your fault.” He stresses every word, like a general giving a command to a stubborn soldier. On some level, Rooney knows this is irrational. Their psych in the militia, a no-nonsense woman whom Rooney felt safe talking to, used to tell them the same thing. So did their fellow soldiers in their support group. But Rooney couldn’t let it go, not when it had driven them their whole life. Not when their family had rejected them for it. Their tears fall faster, a sob escaping from them as Yorinobu’s eyes widen in surprise. “Something else troubles you.”

“Yeah.”

“Please tell me.”

“Remember our first conversation, when I told you to leave something alone?”

Confusion briefly crosses his face before the realization dawns. “You looked upset when I asked,” They hear a touch of concern in his voice, “Did it involve your family?”

“Yes,” the vision of their family around the dining room table is startlingly clear in their mind, “I saw my family.”

“You…saw them?”

“Don’t know what it was. Might have been a hallucination; might have been my mind playing a trick on me, but I saw them.” Rooney’s voice trembles, “I got to go home, see them all again, and they...they…” Their throat tightens, the words too difficult to speak. “They wouldn’t let me stay.”

“Rooney,” Yorinobu exhales their name, distraught as he wipes away more tears.

“I failed to protect Jack and Danny, and I wasn’t allowed to come home,” Rooney swallows back a sob, “I wasn’t good enough so I couldn’t stay.”

Yorinobu lets go of their face, pulling Rooney into his lap. They straddle his waist, trying to openly sob as they lay their hands on his chest. “Rooney,” His right hand lays on the back of their neck, “You did not fail. You were sixteen. No one could have asked more of you.” Rooney doesn’t believe him; they don’t know if they ever will. This guilt will gnaw at Rooney for the rest of their life until they take their final breath. If Rooney is ever allowed to take one. “Believe me,” Yorinobu pleads sincerely, “Please.”

Yorinobu’s earnestness cracks the stone walls around their heart. They collapse into his chest, burying their face in the crook of his neck. Rooney tightly grips the fabric of his black and magenta silk shirt, holding onto him like an overboard passenger holds onto a raft, adrift in the ocean. A sob escapes them, and Yorinobu’s hand comes to their back, rubbing circles in the black fabric of their tank top. His other hand rests on their thigh, thumb stroking along the seam of the black fabric. “If you need to, cry.”

They can’t fully break down, not for a lack of trying. Instead, Rooney holds him tightly, crying softly as Yorinobu comforts them. His voice is soothing, a tether to reality for them.

—

Eventually, Rooney finds they have no more tears left to cry. They’re exhausted, worn down to the bone. “Thank you.” Their voice feels raw and scratchy, their throat tight.

“Do you feel better?” He asks, watching them with concern. “Please be honest with me.”

Honesty is the least of what he deserves; Yorinobu deserves so much from them. “No,” They’re not sure if they will ever be okay, “I don’t know if I will be, but you being here….”

Yorinobu releases the breath he was holding. “Do you need-?”

They shake their head. “I just want to sleep.”

“Allow me to take you to your room.” Rooney gets up off his lap, untangling themself from Yorinobu. He follows them off the couch, slinging an arm around their shoulder.

They slide their arm around his waist, resting their head on his shoulder. Together, the pair walk silently down the Arasaka halls alone. Rooney feels a swell of affection towards him. There was no reason for him to be this kind to them, and yet…he was. Perhaps Rooney and Yorinobu were kindred souls, both alone in a hostile place looking for someone who would see them as they are.

When the pair reaches Rooney’s room, Yorinobu asks, “Will you be fine if you are left alone tonight?” Maybe. Rooney isn’t going to hurt themself, but the nightmares worry them. Sometimes, they relive the scenes over and over, a gruesome horror movie on repeat. Their silence is enough to answer his question. “I am staying.”

Rooney frowns. “You don’t need to stay.” They won’t be more of a burden on him.

“I want to stay with you,” Yorinobu opens the door, “Please let me.”

A small spark of humor arises in them. “I didn’t know you were eager to get into my bed.”

Yorinobu laughs, slightly surprised. “You must be feeling better.”

“Somewhat,” They smile at him shyly, “Thanks to you.”

He looks smug, clearly proud of himself. “To bed.”

A few minutes later, the duo crawl into bed with Rooney on the right and Yorinobu on the left. The tiny bed is meant for one person, but Rooney and Yorinobu make it work, spooning close together. Rooney’s metal arm wraps around his chest, Yorinobu’s hand resting on top of their hand. They are pressed tight against his back, cuddling him. “Are you comfortable?” He asks, his tone a little unsure. “Would you prefer I hold you?”

“No. I feel better holding you, unless you want to change positions.”

“I like this,” Yorinobu replies softly, his voice sending a warm and tingly feeling through them.

“Good.” The darkness and silence of the room descend upon them. A short while later, as they doze off, Rooney hears a soft snore from Yorinobu. They bite back a soft laugh, striking them as slightly cute. Rooney whispers, careful not to wake him, “Thank you for everything. I don’t know what I would have done without you today. It’s the first time I haven’t felt alone on this day. I don’t know if I can ever return the favor.” They pause briefly. “But I promise I will try to be there for you in any way you need me to be.”

Closing their eyes, Rooney allows themself to fall asleep, comfortable and safe with Yorinobu in their arms.

#cp2077 fanfic #cyberpunk 2077 fanfic #yorinobu arasaka x OC #kate writes #the rooney fic tag #I won't let fear compromise who I am #commander rooney shepard #OTP: It always comes right back to you #death tw #surivor's guilt tw #violence tw #sorry to all the Jack fans this one is gonna be rough for y'all #I would tell everyone to have fun reading this #but this fic was a bummer to write #and I'm sure not the lightest reading #I hope this came out okay #but I've been wanting to explore something like this for a while with Rooney #and I hope I did the concept justice #anyway if you want emotional compensation #I think I have a fluffier fic for Rooney and Yori that I can post later this week

[verflares]

say, what do you think ever happened to that boy from the forest? you think he ever found what he was looking for?

#i have the vaguest hope here that tumblr wont utterly crunch the quality but i think it might be in vain. alas. #anyway take him..... i dont want to look at him anymore #link #oot #mm #loz #oot link #loz fanart #this guy + ss and botw/totk link are my fav guys btw but i think This one has my favourite story across his games and in loz lore itself #gods favourite chewtoy....... he didnt deserve any of that :( #this came out really messy i was kind of just messing around with lineart stuff so im a bit iffy on it but. i like the colours at least #Okay. anyways #my art

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

déjà vu

déjà vu : a french term that translates to "already seen." It is a phenomenon where an individual feels a strong sense of familiarity or recognition with a current situation.

bnha chap. 362 n 403 spoilers ! childhood friends to lovers can you tell i'm inlove with this trope oooorrr…, angsty?? bittersweet hurt/comfort ?? fem reader, reader's height isn't specified but is shorter than katsuki's, reader gets a bit insecure but katsuki fixes that up rq, reader is very mushy n inlove with katsuki, (but aren't we all) katsuki loves reader very much in return

in his final moments, katsuki thinks of you.

he thinks about primary school. you’re both ten, double digits. foolishly believing you were all grown up. katsuki’s fingers are white and dry from cleaning up the chalkboard, since you guys were tasked for clean up duty today.

or at least, you were. but your classmate suddenly vanished without a word and katsuki, as nice and helpful as he was (to you, at least) decided to stay behind to help you, don’t ask him where your cleaning buddy went, he has absolutely no idea and has absolutely nothing to do with it. at all.

“ y’know—” he starts, soaking the soggy sponge into the water bucket next to him, then squeezing it out. “when we’re done with this stupid school stuff, i’ll go pro.” he states, slapping the sponge onto the board, creating a loud splat noise.

you, having heard this time and time before, simply look at him and smile, placing your classmates chairs on top of their desks row by row “mhm, i know !” you grin “ 'n you’ll be number one, right ?” you’re standing in between two desks, hands playing with your uniform skirt behind your back.

“hell yeah i will !” katsuki boasts, smirking. he scrubs at the board a little more vigorously.

“bad word !” you tease, giggling as you point at him “ 'm gonna tell miss you said a cuss word again !”

he huffs, turning around to scrunch his nose up and stick his tongue out at you, you stick yours out back playfully. “as if i care ! yer too much of a wuss to snitch on me anyways.”

“no I’m not, i’ll do it right now !” katsuki rolls his red eyes at you, returning to his task and wiping the board down in a zig zag motion. “ i don’t care” he reiterates.

you pout at his back and just then get an idea you’re sure will piss him off, a cat like grin pulls at your lips.

“okaaayy … then i’ll just tell your mom !” you sing, bursting into giggles when he swiftly turns around and waves the wet sponge in your direction. he’s too far to reach you but you dodge anyway, just to mess with him.

“no you won’t.”

“yeah, i will !” you counter, blowing a raspberry at him. you both break out into a fit of giggles when he aggressively dips the sponge into the water and flicks the droplets at you once more, before he decides to close the distance and chase you around your cramped little classroom growling and screaming, threatening you with the dirty sponge.

you’re squealing and giggling and laughing, trying to fend him off with a broom and even then, at ten. then when the concept of cherishing memories of the time you spend together wasn’t even an afterthought in his mind, katsuki remembers wishing he could stay with you like this forever.

when you’re both out of breath the classroom is just as messy—if not messier than it usually is. you give eachother a look then belly laugh some more.

you’re picking up chairs again and katsuki’s helping you, so it goes even faster. you don’t wanna go home because you won’t be seeing him anymore, but you have to admit your eager to finish and leave school.

katsuki’s back is to you on the second row and he can’t see you looking at him from the back row, he decides it’s time he says what he wanted to say before you got distracted. he clutches the legs of the chair he’s holding a little tighter.

“hey,” his voice comes suddenly in the quiet, it surprises you a little, you hum in response “ 'm really gonna go pro when we’re done with school, y’know.” he insisted.

you tilt your head wearily, looking at him with his back still turned to you. “yeah, i know.” you respond “you said that already.” you’re confused, he can’t hear the scrapping noise of the wooden chairs anymore, it’s annoyingly too quiet now.

“ you’re coming with me” he pauses, turning to you a little so you catch a peak of his quickly reddening face. it sounds like a statement but even then you know better. you don’t miss a beat, nodding furiously “uhuh, always !” his cheeks flare up more as he turns fully towards you. he walks over until the only thing separating you is the desk in between. he turns his back to you again to lean against the desk seperating you both.

“you’ll be with me, and we’ll be pro's together” he maintained. he feels his chest tighten when you offer him more of your pretty bright smiles and nods, you smile at him the way he knows you don’t with the other boys in class who are stupid enough to think they deserve even a second of your time and it makes him feel a little bit more confident as he speaks more clearly “a-and I’ll be number one, and you’ll be number two. but not behind me, with me, yknow ?” he feels stupid for having to explain himself but you don’t mind, as long as you can stay with katsuki you don’t mind which number you are. you move across the table so you can stand next to him. you nod and he let's out a little huff and a smile starts pulling at his mouth.

"a-and" he gulps " 'n then—i'll marry you."

it's quiet for just moment.

and then you register what he said and feel your entire body heat up.

"w-wha ?! " you sputter "marry me ?!" your wide eyes startle him as he glances at you but refuses to look over again. he's red to the tips of his ears, pulling at the bottom of his now longer tucked in shirt. despite the growing lump in his throat, he nods.

"mhm," he kicks at an eraser laying on the floor, the only noise heard coming from it hitting a wall a little further. you don't see where, you're still looking at him. " my ma says i can't do it now, since it's...illegal, or something." he scoffs dissaprovingly "b-but..when 'm older," he sucks in a breath, then suddenly turns to you causing you to sit up straighter in suprise, you feel your hands gripping the desk tighter and tighter as your face feels more and more on fire. "when i'm older—i'll do it. that way, none of those other losers will look at you."

he looks way more flustered than you but he's sitting up straight still, eyes determined and unwavering and it knocks the wind out of you, because for as long as you can remember katsuki's been the coolest.

there's absolutely no doubt in your mind he's embarrassed. if his face wasn't a dead give away, his posture and demeanor give it away just as much. you've known him for a long time now, since you were 6 years old and he had walked up to you. little newbie you, who had transferred in the middle of the school year and with nobody to play with. he was there, head held high with his friends in tow behind him, demanding to know what your quirk was and the rest was history.

katsuki persists even when he knows the odds are low, he perseveres and keeps kicking and punching and blowing up everything in his path where anyone else would've given up while they had the chance. like when he fought against those 4th graders while you were all still only in 2nd grade. his face was all messed up and he had a nosebleed, but he ended up winning. because he swore he would keep winning.

'cus that's what heroes do.'

katsuki fights and keeps fighting even if you think the odds are low, because he doesn't. to him, there's absolutely no doubt in his mind he'd win. even here, when he isn't fighting, instead confessing to you. he's red-faced, embarrassed out of his mind and nervous, but his shoulders are squared and there's no doubt in his eyes after he had just told you he would marry you. when he thought about being older, he thought about you being there with him.

and even after what you'd heard all you can think is that your katsuki is so cool.

so with a bright smile, bright eyes and the summer sun slowly setting in your empty little cramped classroom, you give him your response.

"mhm ! "

katsuki thinks about his last year of middle school.

today's the last day of your middle school life before you go off to high school and katsuki couldn't be happier to leave this shitty school. he's 15 now. older, but besides his features, remained the same (to you, at least) .

it's your last day and you finish it off with cleaning duty, ironically, and he remembers that day back in elementary. then proceeds to shake it off, hoping to shake off the embarrassing memories. but it doesn't seem to work because it feels like the universe is seriously fucking with him.

you're the one tasked with cleaning duty again and with your cleaning buddy, yet again, being nowhere to be found. katsuki yet again staying behind to help you out. and again, katsuki has absolutely no idea where your buddy went and has absolutely nothing to do with it. at all.

it shouldn't be anything new, he stays and helps, albeit begrudingly, every time you have cleaning duty. but it feels different somehow. katsuki chalks it up to it being the end of the year.

the only difference from last time is you actually finish in record time. usually, that would've been great news, less time at school and even more free time katsuki can spend with you.

but you're quiet today.

you usually chat his ear off, and just because it's you, he chat's right back. wether you're messing around teasing each other or just talking about your day at school or who's house you're staying over at for the afternoon and which movie you're watching, you're always talking about something. it's comforting where he'd usually think it to be annoying with anyone else. but they aren't you.

and he doesn't like it.

when you finish you reach for your bag sitting neatly on top of your desk but katsuki stops you, grabbing your wrist. the feel of your soft skin has him involentarily flushing lightly, he ignores it in favor of squeezing your wrist when you don't immediately look back at him.

"what's up with you ?" he questioned gruffly. it comes out harsh, but that's not what you hear. you've known katsuki for a long time, after all. he's worried, you can tell. his words are rough around the edges but his eyes are soft, filled with care and the soft stroke of his thumb against you skin sends slight shivers down your spine when you turn to look at him shyly.

you open your mouth to deny him, but he can practically read your mind "don't give me that 'nothinngg' bullshit" your nose scrunches at the way his voice raises in pitch as he crudely mimicks you and a little smirk pulls at his face for only a moment before it falls again " don't go lyin' to me. know i hate that shit" he rasped.

you sigh, he's known you just as long as you'd known him after all.

you lean against your desk and he copies you, your shoulders brushing as he scoots himself a little closer to you. you jump up a little to sit on your desk, you're the same height as him like this. he scoots a little closer and turns to look at you, placing his hands on your desk to lean on it, fingers inches away from yours.

"i just—" you faltered "this our last day of school. when the day is over we'll be high schoolers." you stated. katsuki scoffs jokingly and leans a bit closer to you "what ? you tellin' me youre gonna miss this dump ? last i heard, you were the first one who wanted to leave so you wouldn't have to deal with mr. nakamura anymore." he jests, trying to lighten the mood as best he could, the worry in his eyes still shining bright. a smile pulls at the corner of his lips when you huff out a little giggle.

"yeah well, i won't be missing mr. nakamura. or his stupid tests" you pretend to shiver as you cringe "at all." katsuki let's out a cute chuckle. he's like a magnet, you feel yourself scooting closer to where he's leaning next to you, like you're being pulled closer to him, you don't mind. you never mind being close to katsuki.

"but..?" he coaxed, knowing that wasn't all you wanted to say.

"but.." you continue "but i'll miss this, yknow ? like—the school itself wasn't..the best" katsuki scoffs in response but doesn't interrupt "the teachers weren't either. but—i dunno—this. being here." you confess, you stare down at your shoes as you kicks your legs aimlessly into the air " we've spent such a long time here, and now we're leaving. we went from being the youngest—to the oldest, to going back to being the youngest again, and that in itself isn't the problem.."

"then what is ?" he raises a brow.

"we're gonna be in a completely different school, with completely different people—"

"but we'll be together." he interrupts "you said you wanted to go to ua too" you said you were gonna stay with me is what he wants to say, but it's childish and that wouldn't be fair to you.

"of course, i still do !" you reassure "but—there'll be tons of new, strong, cool people at ua.."

"maybe even stronger and cooler than me.." you trail off. you don't need to say more for katsuki to understand what you mean and it pissed him off.

"shut up." he growls.

"katsuki—"

"no. shut the fuck up." he's right in front of you before you can blink. you reflexively part your legs and he takes the opportunity to stand even closer to you, right in your space. you feel your cheeks warm at the proximity, you’re close enough to see it's apparently affecting him too, his cheeks turning a cute pink but as stubborn as your katsuki is he doesn't budge. as usual.

you don't exactly know what you and katsuki are. you know you like him, you know you have for a long time. and you'd like to believe he likes you too. he doesn't act the way he does with you the way he does with his other friends (or his lackeys as he calls them, you're the only one he openly calls his friend) but he doesn't really have anyone close to him besides you, so you don't know if he'd act this way with someone else.

the thought leaves a nasty taste in your mouth, so you decide to focus on something else. something else being katsuki, of course, he's all up in your space. his gaze not allowing you to look or even think about anything else but him.

"who i meet at ua doesn't fuckin' matter, they'll all be weaksauce compared to me anyway" he states smugly, causing you to huff out a laugh again " i don't care if theyre cool, or strong" his nose scrunches up in disgust as he quips venomously "i don't care about any of that—and i don't hang out with you because of that either—i fuckin' care about you because you're you."

your heart stutters.

" what, you think i hang out witcha because of superficial shit like that ? you mockin' me or something ?"

"no, no course not !" you insist, shaking your head.

" exactly, so don't..." he huffs, looking away from you towards the ground, there's a random eraser lying on the ground and he kicks it "don't go saying dumb shit like that."

"i don't waste my time with just anyone, 's why i'm wastin' it with your ass" he jokes, chuckling when you squeeze his nose in response. supressing a smile you whine at him when he leans forward to bite yours.

"katsuki, you're gross !" you giggle as you push at his face, he smiles lightly at the sound of your laughter, one of his favorite sounds. "ya started it." he disputes weakly, his smile turning into a smirk when you groan and then it falls again as he looks at you seriously.

" but seriously" he starts "i mean it, y'know. don't just say shit to say it"

"i know" you smile. he grunts in acknowledgement then continues.

"i don't care about how cool those future ua asshats are gonna be. you're different, you're not like that—i mean—that's not what i look at—what i see with you" he fumbles around for his words and groans, slamming his forehead against your shoulder. you're used to katsuki being physical, but that was usually when he was being annoying, pinching and prodding and biting at you. he's rarely ever this affectionate. it's different, but nice..really nice, so you savor it while you can. your fingers twitch a little closer to his and you decide to take a leap of faith, placing your hands ontop of his. he flinches and you're about to pull back when he grips your hands, intertwining his fingers with yours. you feel him huff into your uniform. his hair tickles as he shuffles his head deeper inside your shoulder.

"you're not like those other losers, y'not like anyone" he explains "you're—when you're around it's like you're glowing. you're bright and when you talk, everyone sorta—gets pulled towards you like you're some typa magnet" his hands get warmer against yours as he speaks. you're surprised that he sees you this way, when that's practically the same way you see him.

" you pull people in so easily, and it pisses me off that you don't realise it. you are strong, and cool and everything else but that's not all you are. s'not all i care about."

"you're annoying. and whiney. extremely annoying, actually" he chuckles, and you pull at his ear "but—" he continues "but you're..fun to be around or whatever, wouldn't be around you otherwise. you're too fuckin' nice and your taste in music isn't bad" katsuki grumbles.

he wants to say more, so much more. he wants to say he thinks the way you immerse yourself when you're watching a movie together is adorable. the way you hold yourself back from commenting during the movie so as not to be annoying, even thought he could listen to you naming street signs and never get bored. the way your eyes light up when you get your grade back for a test you had studied your ass off for, when you come to him showing off your hard work it makes him want to hold you and never let go. he wants to say the way you're not scared to banter and bicker with him, the way your nose scrunches up when you try to hold in your laughter when he passes you a crudely drawn picture of your homeroom teacher, the way you smile at him whenever you see him, whenever he shares his umbrella or your lunches even though you have your own and he has his, makes him want to kiss you silly.

he wants to say all this and more, but he knows the words won't come out right, they never do. but somehow you understand and it's another thing he admires—that he loves about you.

"i...didn't know you felt that way" is all you can quietly muster up. you're cute, he feels you squeezing his hands a little tighter " yeah you didn't, cus i didn't tell you" he ribbed. you huff out a 'dont be annoying" gruffly and he chuckles. the asshole.

your asshole, though, your heart decides.

you're both quiet, everything is quiet and you're happy, reassured. you'd be happy if this is where the conversation ended but katsuki never fails to surprise you today it seemed.

" 'sides" he squeezes your hands tighter "i promised you i'd marry you didn't i ? how can i do that if i'm not around you, hah ?"

you're heart skips approximately three beats at the memory of his promise and you lean back to look at his fully red cheeks and his fleeing eyes.

"you still remember that ?" you ask incredulously. he rolls his eyes but you can tell it's simply to save face as he responds " of course i do. wasn't that long ago."

"but—we were like—ten when that happened. "

"so ?" he responds simply "doesn't change nothin'. i told you, i don't say shit to just say it."

you're flustered and so utterly confused, but there's a happy feeling bubbling in your stomach at his words " but we're not even dating !"

"we're not ?" of course not , he knows he hadn't properly asked you to be his girlfriend. but he figured if he talked about the memory that seemed to refuse being pushed aside, he could casually sneak by what he was too embarrassed to ask. but of course, you never make it easy for him.

"no, we aren't" you pout, crossing your arms at him. he grumbles, reaching to pull your arms away from your chest but you're stubborn, he was right about you being extremely annoying. "cut that out," he hissed.

"mm-mm ! " you shake your head "you can't just decide we're together. i didn't even know you liked me like that.." you trail off shyly. katsuki looks utterly baffled "hah?! whaddya mean you didn't know ? you don't see me actin' like this with anyone else do you ?"

"that's cus you're mean to everyone else !" you choked out, puffing your cheeks out at him.

"well yeah ! but—that's the thing, i'm not mean to you !" he defends, faltering when you raise a brow at him "fuck off, m'not that mean ! i'm just messing with you !" he rebutted. you simply roll your eyes at him and after a moment he sighs.

"fine" he concedes "i should've told you i liked you, i don't just decide that i want you to be my girlfriend when it's convenient for me or something" he keeps quiet about how you could of also told him you liked him as well for now, for fear of you getting moody at him again.

you still look away from him and he groans "hey c'mon, look at me." he utters sincerely. after a minute, you offer him a glance and he takes his opportunity, turning your face towards him, holding back a grin when he feels how warm your cheeks are.

"do you...wanna be my girlfriend ?" he stammers, looking at you with his red cheeks and bashful red eyes, and yet his gaze doesn't falter.

so cool.

it's your last day of middle school, your last day before you go off to a different school with different people. but with your katsuki by your side, and that's all that matters to you.

and with a bright smile, bright eyes and the summer sun slowly setting in your empty classroom, you give him your response by pressing your lips to his softly.

katsuki thinks about the night before today, when you'd knocked at his door in the dead of night.

usually, on any other day, he'd have scolded you for being up so late but would've ended up letting you in anyway. but lately, things hadn't been as they had been before..everything happened. and he could tell you were upset, so he simply let you in without a word.

you take the liberty of laying down in his bed like you used to back at his house and back at the dorms. he doesn't mind. it feels familiar, comforting.

he lies down next to you and you immediately latch onto him, seeking his warmth. with your head in his chest, you hold onto him tightly, like he'll dissapear if you don't. he clings to you just as tightly.

"what's up with you ?" he mumbles sleepily, softer than when he would've if he were more awake, but still focusing all of his attention onto you.

he feels you shake against his chest "jus' wanted to be wif you" he hears you mumbles. he presses his lips to the top of your head, pressing a sweet little kiss onto it as you breathe "you know that's bullshit." he reprimands, he feels you squeeze him tighter. he squeezes your waist twice, his warm hands running up and down your sides "c'mon, talk to me" he prodded

you look up at him and he looks down at you. your eyes are glossy, he can tell even in the dark and he's sure you were crying a little. his theory is confirmed when he hears you let out a little sniffle, his heart breaks at the sound. his heart breaks even more when you squeeze your eyes shut, gripping at the front of his shirt.

"baby," he pleads softly, pressing soft kisses to your forehead, mouth and cheeks when you whine. "tell me what's bothering you, yeah ?"

"m'just—you're gonna be fighting tomorrow, and we all are and i know you're strong but you'll be in the front lines against him" you blubbered, you hiccup as tears roll down your cheeks " and i know you're strong. but katsu, i can't—" you gasp. he shushes you softly, pressing kiss after kiss to your lips. he knows what you're gonna say, he knows you're worried. he's known you for so long after all.

he hated himself the day he woke up after the first war. when he woke up to you crying at his side, with you yourself still being injured. he hates how much he worried you that day and he knows that the fleeting glances you give him whenever you have a briefing with the pro's, the way you stare off at nothing whenever you catch a glimpse of his scars, are all out of worry for him. he did the same after he had found out you had also been heavily injured during the brawl, so he can't say he wouldn't do the same way.

"baby, babe—look at me" he intones softly, grabbing onto your tear stained cheeks to get you to look at him, he's close so he's sure you can see him despite the darkness. he can't help pressing another kiss to your lips " nothing's gonna happen, okay ?" he reassures, rubbing your cheek softly.

"i can't see you like that again, katsuki. i just can't" you whimper, leaning into his hand.

"you won't, promise you won't." he vows. he knows you're even more worried because you'll both be in different areas and he hates he won't be able to keep his eye on you. but you're strong and cool and everything else, so he trusts you'll be okay "i need you to trust me"

"i do" you sniffle, taking a deep breath "i do trust you, but i just—don't wanna see you get hurt, kacchan"

he sighs softly, staring at you lovingly as he pulls you towards his chest. you nuzzle against him and he presses his mouth to the side of your head. "i can't promise i won't be gettin' hurt, s'gonna happen on the job" he says carefully, rubbing your back "but i promise i'll always come back to you. no matter how fucked up i get, i'll win. for you." he declares, feeling you shove your head deeper against his shoulder.

you remember how despite getting extremely injured by shigaraki, he recovered in record time. it seemed nothing could stop your boyfriend from proving to the world he was the best. because katsuki fights and keeps fighting even if you think the odds are low, because he doesn't. because to him, there's absolutely no doubt in his mind he'll win.

and despite the worry and the fear gnawing at you, you can't help but think your katsuki is so fucking cool.

so you nod against his shoulder and he feels the collar of his shirt grow wet, but he doesn't mind as your grip on him loosens lightly until you can feel yourself falling asleep.

before you fall though, you hear katsuki speak.

"besides, i promised you i'd marry you didn't i ?"

he feels you smile into his neck, and you give him your response by happily nodding into his shoulder with a hum.

in his final moments, katsuki thinks of you.

he thinks of the promises he's made. he thinks of the promise he made to his old hag to not cause you, such a sweet girl, too much trouble. he remembers the promise he made to his old man to stay safe while he went out on patrol and when he'd fight against shigaraki for the second time. he remembers the promise he made to himself to get his limited edition all might card signed one day. and he remembers the promise he'd made when he said he'd always, always come back to you.

and he remembers the promise he'd made to marry you. the promise that you both would be together and none of the other losers would look at you.

so when he awakens, katsuki doesn't bother to ask why or how.

he simply fights and keeps fighting, so he can win, no matter how fucked up he gets.

and always, always come back to you.

#eeeeeeee this ones a lil long #idk how to feel i like it but idkkkkk #i love my boyfriend tho i know that much #idrk what to do with that ending lol #but i think it came out okay ! #this ended up being rlly long i got in my feels a little LMFAOO #hope yall enjoy tho !! #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugo fluff #bakugou imagine #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou katuski x reader #bakugou fluff #bakugou x you #bakugou x y/n #bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo fluff #bakugou drabble #kacchan #katsuki x y/n #katsuki x you

[nuclearanomaly]

He didn't get the memo...

#ffxiv #Ninira Nira #Estinien #Estinien Wyrmblood #Estinien Varlineau #wolstinien #Y'shtola Rhul #G'raha Tia #woo! managed to finish my haha the gang enjoying chill dawntrail time comic before dawntrail comes out #the comic that I guess maybe could be considered a lore drop lmao #I mentioned this in passing recently and so many people came to scream WHAT at me #teehee :^) #it's okay graha you're not the only one (clearly) #and if I had done this right there would have been a comic before this one actually lmao #but maybe I can make that one happen too (doubt) (hopeful) #technically my brain says there should be a part 3 follow up to this too but we will see #art: mine

[jomteaaa]

pt 1

prompt pt2: wanting to tease tsukishima a bit, you ask him if he was really that worried about not being able to kiss you anymore. he huffs and denies it. he insists that he was trying to save you from the embarrassment of having to go back on your own words once you realise that you can't go on without his kisses. you take that as a challenge. and he isn't going to back down, not with his pride on the line.

so the next few days go about the same, but only without kissing, even including small acts like on the hands and cheeks. without you knowing, he hated those few days. conpletely resented it. tsukishima's ultimate downfall though, is when he sees you eating strawberries. he watches as the juice paints your lips a glossy red. gosh, it drives him nuts. he tries not to look at them, but that's all his mind can focus on.

"dammit, pipsqueak." kei grunts and tugs you in by the wrist, smashing his lips against yours. you taste just like how he expected it to be, sweet strawberries. he relishes in it as he kisses you harder with a hand behind your head. after a while, he pulls away, but not before licking your lips. he sees your victory grin, all cheery and smug. with smile of his own, he brings you in one more time. because at the end of the day he gets to kiss you again, and he's set on making up for lost time.

taglist: @priv-rose

#this came out longer than i thought it'd be #i hope this is okay! #i was supposed to be studying #but tsukki thoooo #tsukishima kei fluff #tsukishima kei x reader #tsukishima x reader #haikyuu tsukishima #haikyuu x reader #tsukishima x y/n #tsukishima x you

[starrcrossrose]

“This Is A Bad Idea”

“I Don’t Care”

Uhh HAPPY VALENTINES DAY *throws guys kissing at you and runs away*

If you wanna see more of them I have a LOT on my Patreon. Uhhhh yeah bYE —

#I’m so tired of being afraid of sharing simple smooching #what’s some making out between two dudes in their mid 20’s? #they are down bad #*shakes them in a jar full of marbles* #kissing #smooching #make out #idk how else to tag this #leoichi #LeoSagi #they ARE ADULTS OKAY #(hate feeling like I need to defend myself before posting anything but it’s my art and my au and I can do what I want) #I hope ppl like this #I just really love how the arm and hand on Leo came out #I LOVE THEM SO MUCH NO ONE UNDERSTANDS ME

[funnyshapedpuddles]

"hmmm I've got two huge tests coming up, i should probably study so i can pass and graduate"

*spends all my free time drawing virgil*

#sanders sides #ts sanders sides #sanders sides fanart #art #virgil sanders #this took longer than i anticipated #i mcfucking hate drawing those skirts #i hope it came out okay #forgive my camera for bad picture quality 🙏🙏 #jksiidiosnabjdowkwndje #AHHHHHHHHHHHH TTPD KSKKDJEHSKWOMWBSUDHE

[deimcs]

WYLL approves of valiant acts of defending the innocent or the defenceless, and appreciates kindness towards children. Peaceful, but decisive actions resonate with him, and those that take a genuine interest in him and the struggles he faces are also well-liked by him.

#bg3edit #gamingedit #baldursgateedit #baldur's gate #bg3 #wyll ravengard #wylledit #userewbie #(hope it's okay if i'm tagging you ♥) #edits #this came out terrible cause i had to go to work mid making it #and i lost my flow #but i couldn't give up posting his sweet face so have it anyway :( #he says this to tav during the party but have you considered this is basically the core of who he is as a character #if only half the world would choose empathy and resilience and selflessness every single time! #if only baby girl! #anyway i'm kissing him on the forehead and wishing him sweet dreams as we speak #also i had to fight for my life trying to find art and models that didn't have mizora in it i'm--

[courviknight]

happy holidays and a happy new year, @ko-rka!! i am your secret santa for @fmasecretsanta ^^

i drew for you emo punk ed fashion, cats, and stars... and let me tell you, it's been SUCH a pleasure drawing as i've listened to your mcr playlist!! i ended up liking a lot of songs on spotify back-to-back, but some of my favorites were "to the end" and "sleep"

i hope you like it, and i'm wishing you the best for the new year! :]

#fma #fullmetal alchemist #edward elric #i do apologize for making you wait for so long!! #and thank you again for the playlist!! i literally listened to it going like... why did i put off listening to mcr again this is literally #the type of music i've been looking for YEARS... the rock instrumentation and the raw vocals?? i have been missing out!! #its definitely going to occupy some brain groove for the foreseeable future... im looking forward to it >:] #i also hope ed's fashion is okay!! i think ed would have pins enforced w bottle caps to make em last! #i also imagine him to be the kind of person to embroider designs he thinks will look cool & also to repair his coat which #i imagine he loved ragged but refuses to replace; the top right img is based off of a time i left my coat out and a cat was sleeping in it #when i came back... joy be upon ye cats

[shepscapades]

I had some old doodles of how this happened that I never got to post, but some better ideas for an updated post-deviancy etho design plagued me and I finally got to make it into another comic :]

It’s worth noting that bdubs isn’t very fond of etho/androids until a while after his deviancy, due to a number of… er. Complications; this is the first of many “… Okay, maybe he ain’t so bad,” moments.

Part 1 (You are Here!)

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

#hermitcraft dbh au #dbhc #hermitcraft #bdubs #etho #ethoslab #i won’t tag the ship since this isn’t shippy hehe #bdoubleo fanart #bdoubleo100 #etho fanart #OUGH I love how this came out I hope you all enjoy :] #art escapades #and for your information no I won’t think about how the first emotion etho feels is fear #taps my pointer on the chalkboard #and if you’ll notice he has creeper blood on his sword so he definitely hit it once before it exploded #so uh. he was too late #it’s okay it shouldn’t leave any lasting trauma #dbhc bdubs #dbhc art #dbhc etho

[candyheartedchy]

Ughhhh…. Yeah have this I guess.

#i hope this is okay to post here… #i just like how this came out 🙈 #*hides in shame* #❤️ scratchyenne ❤️ #🎨 chy creations 🎨 #suggestive??? #suggestive

[aceghosts]

DEAD MAN WALKING

Series Summary: In February 2005, Captain Hunter Delaney is tragically killed in action on a BSAA mission in Northern Canada. After their death, scientists and BSAA agents related to the mission start to die. Albert Wesker intends to find out who is killing them, hoping to use this stranger to his advantage. Rating: Mature Warnings: Canon-Typical Violence, Murder, Graphic Descriptions of Corpses, Betrayal by Teammates, Body Horror, and a conspiracy to cover-up Murder. I highly recommend you head the warnings. This is going to be a gory, brutal fic; it's primary genre is horror. If this isn't your thing, please avoid. If I forget to warn for anything, please let me know. Words: 5,904 words. Ships: No ships in this chapter, but this is intended to be an Albert Wesker x OC fanfic. Author's Note: It's finally here; the first chapter of Dead Man Walking! I really hope you enjoy this! I apologize if this chapter happens to be set-up heavy, I promise future chapters will be less so. Also, Chapter 1's title is from Bring Me The Horizon's Parasite Eve. AO3

CHAPTER 1: IF THE SUSPENSE DOESN'T KILL YOU, SOMETHING ELSE WILL

“Are we clear on the plan?” Hunter asks, shifting in their seat slightly. Through the opposite side helicopter window, they catch a glimpse of the stark white expanse of Northern Canada with little signs of life below. After the destruction of Raccoon City in 1998, some corporations, like the Sirona Corporation, relocated their facilities to remote areas to avoid a similar shitshow. However, like it always went with these fuckers, shit went FUBAR, and the BSAA was called in to deal with the mess. Hunter and their team were going to investigate the outbreak, helping any poor bastards still left alive. They shake their head, wondering how many more innocent people might still be alive if these corporations didn’t try to play God. 

“Yes, we’ll enter the facility from the roof top entrance, determine the nature of the outbreak, and deal with any potential threats.” Arthur responds, his tone sharp and cold. He glares at Hunter, sitting in the seat across from them. Hunter’s frown deepens, uneasy concern settling in their chest. Arthur shouldn’t be here; they shouldn’t have let O’Brien talk them into taking him on the mission.

--

The door swings open forcefully as Hunter stomps into O’Brien’s office. “O’Brien, you can’t be fucking serious about Arthur being allowed to come on this mission,” They exclaim loudly, the door swinging shut violently, shaking the bookcases on the wall.

“Hunter…” O’Brien pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing at their outburst.

“Don’t ‘Hunter’ me. Ever since his actions in Europe, Arthur’s been more of an asshole than normal, which is a fucking achievement. And before you ask, I’ve tried playing nice. None of it fucking works. He barely obeys orders and doesn’t consider the safety of his teammates or civilians.” They cross their arms, letting out a frustrated sigh. Ever since that mission, Arthur had been different. Unhappy with how Hunter interfered, Arthur seemed unwilling to listen as if he wasn’t part of a fucking team. No matter how many olive branches they offered (and they tried-Hunter really did), Arthur was still a major asshole. A major asshole who was going to get someone killed.

“We’ve talked about this Hunter, but I can’t pull Arthur off the team…”

“Because you’re too much of a coward to go against his dad.”

O’Brien shoots them an unamused glare. “Senator Edwards is a major ally of the BSAA, which we have few of. I know you don’t understand this, but sometimes, you have to play politics, Hunter. You can’t brute force your way through everything.”

“What happens when politics gets someone killed,” Hunter seethes, uncrossing their arms and slamming their hands down on his desk, “What then? You gonna look the family in the eye of the person he killed? Or is that duty going to fall on me while you offer fucking platitudes?”

“Agent Edwards understands that if he makes another lapse in judgment like he did in Europe, he will be relegated to desk duty.”

Throwing up their hands, Hunter lets out a dark laugh. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, O’Brien, you make it sound like he’s a puppy who had an accident on the carpet. He needs more than fucking desk duty; He needs to be off my team.”

“Agent Edwards isn’t going to kill anyone. He understands exactly what kind of situation he is in. Understood, Captain Delaney?” Fuck it, O’Brien isn’t going to fucking listen.

“Mark my words, O’Brien. Arthur is going to kill someone, and when he does, I hope you know you’re just as fucking responsible.”

--

“And assist any survivors!” Kevin pipes in helpfully, next to Hunter, pulling them from the memory of their earlier conversation. Hunter nods encouragingly while Arthur scoffs. They shoot him a glare as Arthur rolls his eyes. The team needs to be a united front, especially if they are going to survive this mission. Even on the best days, dealing with outbreaks was dangerous and difficult, prone to going wrong in all the worst fucking ways.

“You think we’re going to find anyone alive?” Patrick asks doubtfully, sitting next to Arthur on his right.

“We need to be prepared for that possibility,” Hunter replies, knowing they could find any untold number of horrors within the facility, “We could find no survivors, or we could find a hundred. As the response team, we need to be prepared for anything.”

“I’m thinking it’s towards the lower end,” Natasha quips on Arthur’s left. Next to her, Arthur smirks, watching Hunter’s reaction.

Ignoring the bait, Hunter opens their mouth to talk more about the mission, only to be cut off by Vincent, their pilot. “Arrival estimated in ten minutes!”

“Everyone, check your gear. We don’t want anyone to go home in a body bag,” Hunter warns.

--

Approximately ten minutes later, Vincent lands the Helicopter on the roof, allowing the team to disembark. The roof is covered in a thick blanket of white snow, crunching beneath the team’s boots. Warm mist escapes Hunter’s mouth as they suck in a deep breath of air, trudging forward. Well, here goes fucking nothing. Everyone pulls out their weapons, preparing for the unknown behind the rooftop entrance. Natasha and Patrick flank the door on either side before Hunter uses the card provided by Sirona Corporation to open it. They push the door open with their left shoulder, reattaching the card to their belt. Flicking on the flashlight attached to their rifle, Hunter steps into the dark stairwell, holding their assault rifle in the ready position. Red emergency lights along the floor guide Hunter’s way as they slowly descend the stairs to the first door they see. Their team follows behind them, the door slamming shut as Natasha brings up the rear. Hunter looks over their shoulder, and everyone nods, indicating they are ready.

Pushing the door open slowly, Hunter’s flashlight illuminates the dark hallway, save for the small portions lit by emergency lights. The hallway is utterly silent; Hunter’s team moving in a careful and controlled manner. There are no signs of life. No survivors rushing into the hallway. No infected hurtling towards the team in a crazed frenzy. Looking down, Hunter spies a puddle of congealed dark red blood. They step around it, Arthur following behind them. As the team walks further into the hallway, all they find is destruction. Tables are flipped over, and medical supplies and papers are strewn all over the floor. Office windows are cracked, the cracks spider webbing out from the center. Some are even broken, splattered with blood and viscera, a stark reminder of the unyielding violence. It’s absolute fucking madness, and it makes Hunter so angry. These people should be alive, not dead because of fucking greed.

Hunter and their team move further into the hallway, eventually finding the body of a woman. Her dark brown eyes are glassy, wide open in fear. Her blond hair is matted with blood as she lies unnaturally still, throat torn open. Her fingers are caked in blood and flesh, probably from a desperate, futile attempt to save her life. Hunter sighs; the woman is dead. The longer they’ve worked on this job, the easier it is to tell the difference between the truly dead and the living dead. Arthur trains his gun on the woman as Hunter kneels, knowing there is no use checking for a pulse. “First casualty confirmed.”

“Not surprising after all we’ve seen,” Arthur responds.

“Do we need to put a bullet in her head? Ya know? To be safe?” Patrick asks.

Hunter shakes their head. “She’s dead, and I don’t want you to desecrate someone’s corpse by wasting a bullet.”

“We don’t have to use our guns,” Arthur slips his combat knife out, kneeling and planting it in her head. He pulls the knife out quickly with a loud squelch, wiping his knife on her black suit jacket. Standing up, Arthur holsters his knife, looking unbothered. “Now, we don’t have to worry.”

Patrick and Natasha share glances as Kevin looks worried, biting his lip. Hunter stands, exasperated by his actions. “Arthur, that was unces-.”

“I was just doing what needed to be done, Captain.”

They shake their head. “It wasn’t what needed to be done. We both know she was a corpse, not one of them.”

“We couldn’t know for sure. Sometimes, you have to make hard choices, Hunter. I know you really-.”

That’s fucking it! Seeing red, Hunter loses their cool, shoving their finger into Arthur’s chest and snarling, “I know all about making hard choices, Arthur! Don’t you dare lecture me on that!” Arthur’s expression turns dark, malice burning in his eyes. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, Hunter needs to regain control of the situation. Now. “Listen,” They order, stepping away from Arthur, “From now on, no sticking corpses with knives unless you believe they might move. I don’t want anyone to get the drop on you because you’re too busy making sure the dead are dead. Be fucking smart about it.”

“Yes, Captain.” Everyone echoes. Natasha and Patrick don’t look convinced while Kevin seems relieved. They don’t even look over at Arthur, too pissed off to even spare a glance in his direction. Fuck, this was not going to end well.

--

The team descends further into the facility, the reality of the situation hanging over them like the blade of a fucking guillotine. Reaching the labs, Hunter’s stomach sinks, dread heavy in their chest. Corpses litter their journey downward, silence and echoes of violence their only companions. Uneasy, Hunter knows the infected will make their entrance soon. They always do, especially in the belly of the beast. As the team steps through the door of the emergency elevator with their rifles at the ready, a monotone voice announces over the loudspeaker: “ORANGE LEVEL THREAT! ALL PERSONNEL EVACUATE!” Red emergency lights light the way forward as Hunter motions for their team to spread out. The team moves into a V formation, stepping silently and slowly as they move forward.

Click.

Hunter stops, their feeling of dread worsening. Fuck.

Click.

They hold out their left hand for their team to stop. Everyone stops as the clicking noises continue, sounding like claws against hard flooring. Hunter looks to their left, meeting Arthur’s eyes. He nods, mercifully giving Hunter no pushback.

Click. Click. Click.

The Licker rounds the corner, unaware of the team’s presence. Hunter and their team have the drop on the Licker, but not for long. Motioning for their team to focus on the Licker, Hunter starts silently counting down with their fingers.

Three. Click.

Two. Click.

One. Click.

On zero, guns fire, shattering the stillness of the facility. The Licker screeches, an unnatural cry of terror and pain before it slumps to the ground, dead.             

Click. Click. Click.Click.Click.Clickclickclick.

Shit, more goddamn Lickers. There always are fucking more. Two more Lickers race into the room, drawn to potential prey by the sound of gunfire, emerging from the same hallway as the last one. Hunter, Kevin, and Patrick fire into the Licker on the right while Arthur and Natasha take care of the one on the left. Gunshots ring loudly, mixing with Licker screams, echoing loudly in a gruesome symphony. The Licker in front of Hunter thrashes, succumbing to the hail of bullets. Looking towards the Licker on the left, Hunter finds it dropping to the ground, pretty much fucking dead.

Glancing over towards Arthur, Hunter catches sight of a third Licker, emerging from the shadows, Arthur seemingly unaware of its presence. The Licker screeches, pouncing toward Arthur like a lion on a gazelle. Without thinking, Hunter throws themself into Arthur, checking him with their shoulder. He grunts as the two crash to the ground. The Licker misses them narrowly; its claws coming too close to Hunter for their comfort. Natasha, Kevin, and Patrick both fire on the Licker, immobilizing it fairly quickly. Hunter scrambles off of Arthur and onto their feet, raising their rifle to shoot a final few shots into a dying Licker.

Sighing in relief as it collapses into a pool of its blood, Hunter turns towards Arthur. They hold out their hand to help him up, “We got lucky that time. Are you okay?” Despite Arthur being a major asshole, Hunter doesn’t wish for him to turn into Licker chow.

Arthur snubs their offered hand, gruffly replying, “I’m fine.” Hunter shakes their head, giving Arthur room to step past them. He kicks the head of the Licker, scoffing as if it wasn’t anything serious. “We should split up. Search the building in Teams.”

No way. Normally, Hunter would be for splitting up, but it just feels like a bad idea in this situation. “Arthur, are you fucking serious? The best plan is for us to stick together, especially if we’re already encountering Lickers.”

“If we continue as we are, we’ll never get through the base.”

“Splitting up might give us the chance to find more survivors too,” Patrick offers nervously, afraid to get between the two.     

They sigh, knowing that Arthur and Patrick have a point, but they don’t have to like it. “Fine, Natasha and Patrick will go on one team. Arthur, Kevin, and I will go on another.” Together, Natasha and Patrick are a solid duo. Hunter trusts them together as long as they aren’t with Arthur. Besides, Hunter wants to keep an eye on Arthur during this mission.

“No, I should go with Natasha and Patrick,” Arthur sneers, shooting a dismissive look toward Kevin.

“Arthur-.”

He cuts them off, “I’m going. Natasha and Patrick, follow me.” Arthur walks off, toward the direction Hunter had ordered Natasha and Patrick. 

“Fucking idiot,” Hunter shakes their head, “If he does anything, radio me immediately. Got it?”

“Yes, Captain,” Natasha states as she and Patrick go to follow Arthur.

Looking over toward Kevin, Hunter finds him with a wounded expression. When Kevin joined a year and a half ago, Arthur had been neutral toward him. After Europe, it was like a switch was flipped. Arthur started trying to make his life miserable. At first, Hunter tried the HR-approved route: reprimand Arthur, write reports to O’Brien, and take incidents to HR. Yet, no one did anything, and Arthur grew bolder. It mercifully stopped when Hunter, fed up with the system failing, snapped and broke Arthur’s nose. They were lucky Redfield and Valentine were there that day to pull Hunter off him. Otherwise, a broken nose and black eye wouldn’t have been the only thing he walked away with. Hunter got in trouble, but they considered it the best kind of trouble: trouble that was worth it. Meanwhile, they encouraged Kevin to get out of the BSAA, implying they would give him a glowing recommendation. Kevin was a good kid with a promising future on his shoulders. He didn’t deserve any of this fucking bullshit. “Come on,” Hunter pats his shoulder, trying to ignore the rising guilt, “We should get a move on.”

“I don’t understand why Arthur has it out for me.” Kevin sounds frustrated, clearly overwhelmed by this and the stress of the already fraught mission.

Hunter stops, Kevin stopping beside them. Turning to him, Hunter grabs his shoulder with their right hand, “You didn’t do anything Kevin. Arthur’s being an asshole. I promise I’m not going to let him hurt you, understood?”

He nods, slightly relieved. “Okay. Thanks for looking out for me.”

They smile. “That’s what teammates do. We’re supposed to look out for each other.” Hunter squeezes his shoulder comfortingly, before releasing him. “Come on. We should continue forward.”

—

Hunter and Kevin venture further into the labs, encountering little on their path. As they round the corner, Hunter hears something, motioning for Kevin to be quiet as he nods in response. They lead the way, holding their rifle ready. If needed, Hunter and Kevin would shoot, but Hunter hopes it was someone alive, someone who could shed some more light on what happened. They turn into the doorway, Kevin following behind them. In front of the pair, a scientist is loading samples into a briefcase, unaware of the two agents behind him. “Sir,” Hunter orders, their voice commanding as they stop moving forward, “Immediately stop what you are doing and raise your hands.”

The scientist stops, not turning to face Hunter or Kevin. He hums thoughtfully, glancing over his shoulder at the pair. His gray eyes narrow, derision clear in his eyes as he notices the BSAA patches on their uniforms. “BSAA Agents,” He replies, his gaze returning to the samples in front of him, “I’ll go with you, but these samples-.”

“No.” It will be a fucking cold day in hell before Hunter lets him take any of those samples outside of the facility. “They need to be destroyed along with the rest of the infected.”

“Destroyed?” The scientist hisses, finally turning to face Hunter and Kevin, sneering at them. “This is my work; it cannot be lost. Do you understand what we might lose?”

“If it creates bastards like the Lickers,” Hunter replies, raising an eyebrow, “I would consider it a win.”

The scientist snorts. “Of course, you would think it a victory. You’ve only seen specimens built for military application. What I aim to do will bring humanity into a new dawn, once I find the missing piece. One day, you will thank me for it.” Hunter glances back over their shoulder towards Kevin, who shrugs his shoulders. This guy was off his fucking rocker. The scientist scoffs, turning back to the briefcase. They hear it snap shut. “Obviously, you wouldn’t understand. You only seek to destroy out of fear because you cannot understand it.”

“Turn around, keep your hands in the air,” Hunter orders, moving closer until they were only a few steps away. They didn’t want to destroy his virus because they didn’t understand it. Hunter understands exactly what it was capable of. They want to destroy it because it will hurt and kill innocent people, something that Hunter was already too familiar with.

“I will acquiesce to your demands, Agent…,” The scientist stops, facing the pair with his hands by his side. His hands are curled into tight, still fists. He looks at them both expectantly, waiting for Hunter to give him their name.

“Captain Hunter Delaney and,” Hunter motions towards Kevin, “Agent Kevin Zhu. We are here to rescue or detain you, based on your perspective. You’ll be brought back to the BSAA for questioning and a medical examination by BSAA Medical Staff. I promise-.”

CRASH!

Hunter and Kevin both turn towards the door, Kevin shooting a glance at Hunter before returning his gaze to the door. “What the fu-?”

Something pricks their neck, followed by a sharp burst of pain. Hunter elbows the person behind them hard, hearing the scientist gasp and slam against the counter. Reaching up, Hunter pulls out what was stuck in their neck. They open their palm to find an injector. An empty one. Fuck.

They open their mouth to ask what the fuck he has done, but their throat tightens, intense pain consuming them. Howling, Hunter drops their gun and falls to the ground, writhing in pain. Every inch of their body feels like it’s burning. Their muscles spasm, heart beating out of their chest. Hunter’s screams stop, as they try to take in air, barely able to breathe or make noise. “CAPTAIN DELANEY!” Kevin yells, running towards them. He drops by their side, looking over them with concern. “What the hell did you do?”

The scientist chuckles, staying out of their view. “I did your Captain a favor,” He lets out another chuckle, “if they manage to survive the process.”

“What do you mean if they survive?”

The scientist enters their view, briefcase in hand. As he edges towards the door, he looks at Hunter curiously, almost as if he wishes he could stay. “None of the other subjects survived yet,” The scientist emphasizes the yet, watching Hunter with a deep fascination as they writhe on the floor. FUCK! Everything hurts so badly! Their skin feels tight, muscles constricting painfully. “Now, if you will excuse me-.“

“Don’t!” Kevin yells, only for the scientist to ignore him. He looks down at Hunter, conflicting emotions running across his face. “I’m sorry, Captain Delaney. I-.” Kevin stops, guilt overwhelming him.

Jaw locked tight, Hunter shakily raises their hand towards him, trying to assuage him of his guilt. Kevin’s eyes widen, taking their left hand into his own. It wasn’t Kevin’s fault; it was Hunter’s fault for not being more careful. “Okay,” He whispers, squeezing their hand in comfort. Good.

--

Hunter doesn��t know how long they spend laying on the floor, but it feels like an eternity, every inch of their body burning. All they can do is watch Kevin’s face contort in terror as their body convulses, painful cries escaping them. Eventually, the fire beneath their skin starts to dim, leaving Hunter feeling feverishly warm. Their muscles relax, allowing Hunter to finally move, their body sore. “Kevin…” They croak, trying to push themself up into a sitting position.

 “Captain!” He sounds relieved, helping them up. Pulling their water bottle from their belt, Kevin helps them take a sip. “How are you feeling?” Kevin asks after they gulp water down like a dying man.

“Like fucking shit,” Hunter grumbles, exhausted by the simple act of drinking.

“I’m-.”

“Don’t.” Hunter doesn’t even have the energy to wave him off. “We need to find the rest of the team and get out of here. Help me up.” It hurts to speak, the act of speaking feels like rubbing sandpaper against their throat. Yet, Hunter pushes through the pain, knowing all they have to do is make it out of here. They’re going to make it out of here.

Kevin nods, pulling Hunter up to their feet. He slings their left arm around his shoulder, slightly taller than Hunter. “Where to-?”

“The control room,” Hunter takes a deep breath, swaying slightly next to Kevin. “Need to set off the purge sequence and then get out.” Fog swirls around their brain, their head pounding. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, it’s so fucking hard to think.

“That sounds like a good plan.” Shit, Kevin sounds scared.

“We’re going to make it out.” Hunter promises, trying to reassure them both.

“But, Captain, you’re inf-.”

“Don’t,” They snarl harshly, panic threatening to overtake them, “I’m not infected; I’ll be fucking fine. Do you understand?”

Kevin doesn’t look convinced as he replies, “Okay.”

—

Hunter and Kevin venture further into the facility, slowly making their way through the winding, labyrinthine hallways. Occasionally, the two duck into a room, hiding from any infected, mainly zombified lab workers. With Hunter’s current condition, neither is in any shape to fight back, leaving their best option to hide. Inhaling shakily, Hunter catches sight of themself in the reflection of a lab window. They’re deathly pale, so much more than normal. A sheen of feverish sweat coats their skin. Dark purplish-black circles form under their eyes, their normally faded green eyes appearing glassy. Hunter’s thoughts are slow, making them feel as if every thought or reaction is in slow motion. Taking another shaky wheeze, Hunter shivers, leaning closer to Kevin. They still feel like they’re on fire, the pain right beneath their skin. Their muscles are weak, leaving Hunter trembling and unsteady as they stumble on. Hunter’s back hurts, something pressing onto their spinal cord. Yet, Hunter feels as if they are being consumed, burned out until they’re nothing more than a hollow husk. Even if it’s a figment of their feverish mind, Hunter will not be consumed. They’re not infected; they’ve survived too much to die here.

“Captain Delaney-?”

“I’m fine,” Their voice is rough and hoarse, Hunter wincing at the stabbing pain in their throat. “We’re almost there.” Kevin doesn’t respond, wisely choosing to help Hunter continue forward. As they reach the outside of the control room, Hunter hears the sound of the keyboard clacking. Their head hurts, every clack a jackhammer slamming painfully into their brain. Kevin pulls out his pistol as they slowly approach the room and enter. Hunter spies a familiar face; one they’ve been itching to wrap their hands around his throat and strangle. “YOU!” Hunter snarls, reaching down for their own Beretta. They manage to pull the pistol out of its holster, only to fumble, dropping the gun as it skitters towards the door. Hunter growls, ripping their gaze away from the gun and back towards the object of their hatred.

The scientist turns away from his computer, raising a grey eyebrow in surprise. He checks his watch, returning his gaze to Hunter a mere few seconds later. The scientist stares at them with interest, making Hunter deeply uncomfortable. If he keeps staring, Hunter is going to punch him in the fucking face. “Interesting,” He muses, a slightly demented gleam in his eyes.

“What’s interesting?” And now the situation was truly fucked. Arthur steps into the room, Natasha and Patrick flanking him. He looks over at Hunter, frowning at their fucking pathetic state. “What the hell happened to you, Hunter? You look like shit.” Natasha and Patrick smirk at each other, like they’re fucking amused. Couldn’t fault Arthur about this one. Hunter looked like fucking shit; hell, they probably looked like they were on death’s fucking door.

“Really? And here I thought I looked fucking fantastic,” Hunter quips as Kevin eases them over to lean against the counter of the terminal. He steps away, almost fearful Hunter might collapse to the ground. Trying to stand up straighter, Hunter reassures their teammates, “I’m fine; I just need to have one of the Doctors at Headquarters look me over.” The scientist chuckles, shaking his head. Fuck.

“Why are you laughing? And who are you?” Arthur asks, pointing his gun toward the scientist.

“Dr. Charles Griffin,” As he speaks, Hunter notices his eyes never leave them, determined not to miss any detail, “Captain Delaney will not be okay. If they survive, they will be better than okay. If they don’t, well…”

“You’re wrong.” A foreboding feeling falls over Hunter, and they swallow, slightly swaying. What Dr. Griffin was saying wasn’t true. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, it couldn’t be fucking true. “I’m not-I’m fucking not…” They can’t get the rest of the words out, their throat tightening up.

“You’re infected, Captain Delaney. I’m sure you are competent enough to understand what that means.”

The world falls out from Hunter as they grip the terminal tightly, knees bucking underneath them. He’s wrong; They’re not infected. “You’re lying, You’re a fucking liar,” They plead, inhaling panicked breaths. Yet, Hunter knows that is not the truth. They’re infected, and there is only one cure for infection. A bullet in the fucking head.

“I am not lying, Captain Delaney. You know this,” His tone is harsh as if he doesn’t have time to deal with a dying person’s hysterics, “Although, you should have mutated by now. None of the subjects lasted this long.” He tilts his head, his gray eyes pensive. “I wonder if there is something special about you, Captain Delaney. To last this long means the virus has found something in you, unique to the other subjects.”

“What happened when the others turned?” Natasha asks, her voice trembling. Her eyes flicker over to Hunter, sympathy and fear both at war.

Dr. Griffin smiles, getting some fucking sick twisted pleasure from the team’s reaction. He turns towards the computer, quickly pulling up a video on the monitors for all to see. With little fanfare, he presses the button, the video playing. A man in his late twenties-early thirties is pacing around a white cell. Even through the not-so-great video quality, Hunter notices he is sweating profusely, feverish like they are. “What did you do to me?” He wheezes, swaying as he paces back and forth. Something grumbles, and the man groans, hunching over. Beneath his skin, Hunter sees something ripple along his spine. “WHAT’S HAPPENING TO ME?” He screams, an animalistic howl of pain and torture. Hunter’s breath catches in their throat as they realize it’s almost like something is moving beneath his skin. Another howl escapes him, and so much happens at once. The man mutates, bones cracking and skin ripping as he changes into a monster. They grip the edge of the terminal tighter, feeling faint. His screams are the worst sounds Hunter has ever heard, and they’ve heard some truly awful fucking sounds. He writhes on the ground, his body changing. Eventually, he stops, laying still for a few moments until he twitches, a sign that he is still alive. A fucking creature rises to its feet, two long appendages protruding from its wrists. The mutation marred the man’s face, his body distorted from the transformation. It had turned him into a tyrant, something Hunter was all too familiar with. The Tyrant looks up at the camera in the room. With a quick motion, it whips one of the appendages, causing the video feed to cut out.

Hunter looks over toward Dr. Griffin in pure horror, only to find him already looking at them. “My virus is not supposed to cause that. I’m missing something,” He pauses, a curious look in his eyes, “but it’s possible that I’ve found that missing component in you, Captain Delaney. I might have found the first perfect host for the virus.” Yet. Their stomach recoils, Hunter rejecting the idea. They weren’t some perfect host for an Evil Genius’ fucking demented virus.

“Is Hunter going to turn into that?” Patrick steps back, training his gun on Hunter.

“I’m not fucking turning into that, Patrick,” Hunter motions to the screen, “I mean, fucking look at me, Patrick! Do I look like a BOW to you?” Hunter wasn’t going to mutate; they would make sure of it.

“No.” Patrick lowers his gun, looking away in slight shame.

“What is the virus supposed to do anyway?” Kevin asks.

“My virus will extend our lives beyond their natural limit, slowing the aging process. It will make humanity faster, stronger, more intelligent. Obviously, I’m missing an essential key to this virus, but one day, I will revolutionize the world with it.”

“Oh? Is that all it’s supposed to do?” Natasha offers sarcastically. Her gun is lowered, but Hunter notices that it’s pointed in their direction.

“Yes,” Dr. Griffin snarls, “I’m not like that hack, Spencer and his ilk.” Another spasm hits Hunter and they let out a low groan. “You should probably do something about your Captain.”     

Arthur raises his rifle at them, Natasha and Patrick following suit. “Sorry, Captain. I hope-.”

“WAIT!” Hunter yells, raising one of their hands as if they might fend off their inevitable death. “Dr. Griffin says most don’t last this long. We may have enough time to get me to the closest BSAA facility.” Dr. Griffin snorts derisively at the mention of the BSAA.

“And what’s to stop you from turning in the helicopter?” Natasha refutes.

“We can’t take the chance that you’ll turn or attack us. We have to do this for the good of the mission.” Arthur states coldly, but Hunter swears they hear something akin to ‘Fuck you, you hardass bitch’.

“There has to be a way to transfer them without them turning. Maybe, we can-.”

Hunter bitterly laughs, cutting Kevin off. “Don’t pretend you’re doing this for the good of the fucking mission,” They sneer at Arthur, “You’ve wanted to put a fucking bullet in my back since Europe. This just give you an excuse.”

“I think the virus is scrambling your brain.”

“Fuck Yo-.”

BANG!

Time slows as Hunter stops mid-curse, looking down at their torso. Spots of red appear; Hunter feels nothing at first. Unfortunately, Hunter doesn’t have long to dwell on that revelation, time resuming its course. More bullets hit their body, knocking them back onto the terminal. It all hurts so fucking much, their body feels like it’s being torn apart. Hunter tries to grab on to steady themself, but their fingers twitch uselessly, barely responding. Sliding down to the ground, Hunter finds themself propped up against the terminal.

“CAPTAIN!” Kevin screams, as Hunter’s eyes still focus on Arthur. He drops beside them, grabbing their right hand as Arthur, Natasha, and Patrick lower their guns. “No, don’t-don’t go.” Kevin pleads, gripping their right hand tightly.

It hurts. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, it all hurts so fucking much. Hunter draws a wet breath, their lungs filling with their own blood. They take another, choking on all that blood. Hunter’s brain screams desperately for oxygen as their heart sluggishly struggles to beat. The edges of their vision blacken, slowly creeping in as their consciousness diminishes. Hunter doesn’t want to go yet. Fuck, they’re not ready to go yet. Faces of family and friends flash through their mind as they fiercely cling to life. Death will not take them. Yet even Hunter Delaney finds that they cannot fend off death, darkness eclipsing their vision. Their consciousness fades into the ether as they drown in blood and pain, only feeling fear and rage as their final emotions.

Hunter Delaney dies for the first time.

—

Kevin sits numbly as the helicopter flies away from the Sirona Corporation facility. He stares down at the blood-stained dog tags, tags stained with Captain Delaney’s blood. It hits Kevin all at once, like a freight train. Captain Delaney is gone; they’re really gone. He tears his gaze away from the dog tags, looking out at the facility. A few seconds later, it explodes, flames and smoke shooting out. Eventually, the building collapses on itself, dust rising. His hand tightens around the dog tags, tears stinging at the corner of his eyes. Shit, what was Kevin going to tell Frankie? What was he going to tell any of the Delaney Family? Captain Delaney had been his mentor, and their family had become close to him. He was supposed to watch Captain Delaney’s back, and they died. It was his-. “There was nothing you could do for your Captain. They would have most likely died anyway.”

He looks up, glaring at Dr. Griffin. “Don’t you dare speak about them,” Kevin snarls, “Besides, we’re all responsible for their death, you included Dr. Griffin.”

Dr. Griffin shakes his head. “I know you are upset about the loss of your friend, but blame is very unhelpful.”

“Speaking of blame,” Arthur cuts in, glaring sharply at Kevin from Dr. Griffin’s right as he lowers his voice, “Captain Delaney’s death was tragic, but unavoidable. They were infected and mutating, giving us no choice but to kill them. Understood?”

Natasha and Patrick nod while Kevin stares at him in stunned shock. “You want me to-?”

“No,” Arthur shakes his head, his hand dropping down towards his pistol, “I want to make sure we all understand what happened on that mission.” Yet, the threat was left unsaid. Play along or you might be the next one to end up with a bullet in your back.

Kevin looks around, wondering if anyone else is bothered. Natasha and Patrick both look away from him while Dr. Griffin looks bored. Turning back to Arthur, who is watching him with cold eyes, Kevin quietly admits, “Okay.” The only person who would have looked out for him is dead. His gaze drops down to Captain Delaney’s dog tags. No one else is going to help him. Kevin is alone, utterly alone.

“Good. I’m glad we all understand what happened.” 

Taglist: @sstewyhosseini, @detectivelokis, @mishwanders (If you want to be added or removed, just let me know!)

#Kate Writes #The Hunter Fic Tag #fic: dead man walking #Hunter Delaney #resident evil fanfic #albert wesker x oc #resident evil fic #biohazard fanfic #death tw #body horror tw #OTP: Love Me Mercilessly #I hope this came out okay #I'm actually really nervous about this #I promise that the future chapters will be better #I'm worried that some of the characters don't make sense now #But I'm planning to lay out their motivations over the fic #AHHH!!!! I'm just really nervous about this

[channnel]

He was a skater boy... she said see ya later boy... I have no explanation for this.

#I named the bright Alan as “RadicALAN” in my folder... #shitpost #my dear hatchet man #mdhm game #Mdhm James #alan orion #my art #James Harrison #mdhm fanart #okay- look.. i saw skater alan and i like to think that James probably think Alan looks cool while skating #and want to draw a wholesome piece with it... but the Freshified Alan and Avril lavigne pic came out of nowhere cause the bg is too empty- #hope.. hope you like it #i genuinely tried to draw avril lavigne in the circle style

[relaxxattack]

“The MOIRAIL is obliged to pacify the other, to function as the better half. The two partners in a strong pale relationship will serve to balance and complement each other’s emotional profiles.”

♢ ♢ ♢ - ♢ ♢ ♢ - ♢ ♢ ♢

#homestuck #moirallegiance #quadrant stim boards #quadrants #stimboard #my boards #pink #pastel #SPENT YEARS FINDING AND EDITING THE PERFECT GIFS I HOPE IT CAME OUT OKAY

[vh-ras]

8:11 drawing req /submission

#8:11 game #accardi florentino #digital art #my art #i dont know anything about this game so i hope this looks okay : #i feel like the pose is a little stiff but i think the rendering came out alright enough for that not to matter #gift for my sister

[zer0pm]

Imagine Luis casually claiming that he’s a better shot than you. Not going to take that lying down, you challenge him in the shooting range.

“You certainly know your way around a gun, my friend.”

A short subconscious grunt was given as an acknowledgement, you were too engrossed in cleaning your firearm to fully engage him.

The Spanish man continues with a pensive nod, “One can see that you’ve taken many shots, as well as many lives. You’re a force to be reckoned with for certain.”

“Thanks, Luis.” you reply with nary a hint of interest in the conversation. Was there a point to all of this praise, you wondered but did not want to ask aloud, minding your own business.

“It’s such a shame really,” Luis shrugs, leaning against one of the wooden barrels beside you. He then comments nonchalantly, “Your accuracy leaves much to be desired. Even I could do better.”

The room suddenly falls into silence. Tension hangs by a dainty pin threatening to drop. You were no longer tinkering with your weapon. Leon and Ashley, who were having their own friendly chat on the side, stopped talking to stare at you two intently. Even the Merchant, who possesses a socially animated personality, went completely quiet. The mysterious man who possesses questionably limitless contraband leans far over his table to observe the interaction between you and the cheeky Spaniard with great interest. Or rather, he was interested to see your reaction. The stillness drags on. Then finally, you rise up from your seat. A stony expression hardened on your face as you share eye contact with the dark-haired man beside you.

“Shooting range. Now.”

The elevator ride was just as tense, only the two of you were aboard inside. Leon and Ashley stayed behind for reasons undisclosed, but if you had to take a guess, they didn’t want to see the potential feud between you and Luis escalate in a cramped, underground space. Speaking of Luis. The instigator of this game stood on the opposite side of the shaft from you. He had an infuriatingly smug grin on his lips and a confident, carefree air emanating from his relaxed posture.

Normally, Luis presented himself as an amiable and charming man with a witty sense of humor that bordered on teasing depending on the context provided to him amidst conversation. You haven’t interacted with him as much as Leon or Ashley, too focused on survival to even consider forging any meaningful bonds. The few instances that you have engaged him, the man left a good enough impression for you to tolerate his presence. If you were to truly be honest with yourself, however, you were drawn to him. He had that sort of magnetic personality that you secretly could not get enough of. Your heart flutters whenever he focuses his attention solely on you, whether it be a seductive remark or a teasing joke, he made you forget for a moment of the difficulties you were facing. But you didn’t have it in you to reciprocate out of fear of growing attached what with certain death looming over you all constantly. So instead, you cherished those moments in silence, stealing glances his way every once in awhile when you thought he wasn’t looking.

Unfortunately, this time you’re looking at him for an entirely different reason. Daggers in your eyes pointed straight at the Spaniard. You’ve saved this man against from numerous plaga encounters. He knows what you are capable of. And for him to say that? The nerve.

Luis catches you glaring at him and he shamelessly winks back at you. You scoff and return your attention to your gloved hands, trying not to let this man dig under your skin further than he already has.

The elevators descent comes to a halt and you exit as soon as the doors ping open with Luis following not too far behind. The Merchant was already down at the range even though he was up on the ground level when you took the shaft. At this point, you never questioned the masked man or how he works. Some mysteries are better left unsolved. The real mystery here, however, is Luis’ sudden (and uncalled for) bout of disrespect for your combative skills. He thoughtlessly casted your abilities into doubt in front of your peers and in such a casual manner no less. What else could you do to restore your pride but challenge him and bring him down a peg?

“Welcome, strangers!” The Merchant greets you both jovially once the two of you reached him. “Today, we will be playing a new game. A game of skill and finesse, your patience and speed. Just like any other, really- but with a twist! A competition between two fine patrons of the gunslinging arts!”

“No competition,” you quickly corrected with crossed arms and a deadpan tone. “Just putting someone in their rightful place.”

Luis, who took his spot beside you, merely maintained his easygoing demeanor, not at all bothered by your attitude with him.

“Ooh! Let me guess, is it beneath you? That can be easily arranged. No contest needed.” He chimes in suggestively.

An annoyed grunt escapes your throat, you pinch the bridge of your nose to lessen the irritation bubbling inside. “Get on with it, Merch. Please.”

“That’s the spirit!” the mysterious vendor claps. “Let’s establish the ground rules, then. Firearm of choice?”

The Spaniard waves his hand to you. “You decide, I insist.”

“Such a gentleman,” you roll your eyes. “Pistols. Figured this is fair since you’re only barely capable of handling one type of weapon.”

The dark-haired man pouts exaggeratedly, “Such harsh words for a squire.”

The Merchant ignores him, nodding at your choice, “Pistols it is. Game conditions?”

“Doesn’t matter to me.” Boredom dripping from your lips, “You figure this out, Serra.”

“So confident, my friend. Very well. Let’s see…” Luis grabs his chin between his fingers, appearing to ponder heavily before lifting one ringed finger.

“Quick fire. One shot per target. Every target will be timed for five seconds. Every rest period in between will last just as long. A penalty will apply for each missed shot. Victor is decided when penalties can no longer be given to either player. Or one admits defeat. Naturally, I’ll decide what these penalties shall be. It’ll be a surprise, just to make things fun.”

Your brow lifts at these terms. With how he delivered them without a single stutter, one would think that he thought about this considerably. They were unusual too and you could not help the gnawing sense of undeniable intrigue and due wariness from showing upon your face. The last part stood out to you as the most interesting of the rules. What sort of penalties were going to be delivered? What does this man have up his sleeve?

The Merchant laughs boisterously in agreement, evidently deeming the terms to be acceptable for the little competition. He turns his head towards you once more. “Any contest?”

With a shake of your head, you confirm with cold confidence, “None. I won’t miss.”

Luis’ grin doesn’t falter at your words. If anything, it only grew wider.

The masked man continues, “And the prize?”

“Ha, easy.” Deadly eyes shoot at Luis with threatening intensity, “You eat your words and…” A pointed finger gestures towards his upper body.

“The jacket is mine.”

A gasp leaves Luis’ throat, genuine surprise glints in his widened eyes. “You’d really strip a knight from his armor?”

It was no secret that the man loved to keep appearances, his jacket being the main focal point to represent his sense of style as well as serving to draw wandering eyes towards the rest of his form. Taking it from him would be a considerable hit to his confidence and it was not at all because you were curious to see how the white button shirt underneath fitted his body.

The memory of defined muscle sneaks into the forefront of your traitorous mind. You once spotted a distinctive scar peeking beneath the fabric and asked about it. Luis, always taking the extra mile, pulled open his jacket and shirt to not only put the colored scar in full display, but the rest of his chiseled upper torso as well. You had to rip your eyes away at the time to hide the blush that was burning quickly on your cheeks, disguising it with a scoff of disgust. Ever since then, however, you couldn’t get the tantalizing sight out of your thoughts.

With a furious shake of your head, you give him an indifferent, level response, “Take it or leave it.”

After a thoughtful moment, the man sighs in consensus. “Alright then. But if I win- you must admit that I’m the better marksman.”

You waited a moment before blinking, “That’s it?”

“Eso es todo, my friend.” Luis nods, “A simple prize, no?”

Without further ado, the competition went underway. After setting aside a pair of handguns and enough ammo to take down an entire country, the Merchant strides out of the range. He also disclosed that the target mechanisms have already been set to Luis’ specific conditions with increased difficulty as the game goes on. Not only this, but the targets are color coordinated to match your respective gun handles. Yours are blue; Luis’, red. Again, you didn’t question how the Merchant achieved this feat in such an impossibly short amount of time.

“Range is set to go. Shooting a target that isn’t yours, missing a target, or taking no shot at all will count as a penalty,” the masked man advised. “Press the button to begin… and have lots of fun, strangers. Ehehehe!” His characteristic cackling echoes off the walls even as the elevator doors closed. Now, it was just you and Luis.

The clicks of a gun cocking brings you back to the present. “Prepárate, my friend.” Luis’ voice is laced with determination as he spoke to you. “It’s game time!”

Without warning, a swift hand slams the button and the first target quickly pops into view. Blue. Frantically, you take aim and fire. Although you weren’t in a readied stance, the bullet pierces through the blue-striped pirate cutout nearly at the edge. The timer nearly hits the last second. A close call.

You whip your head at the Spaniard in exacerbation. “That was dirty!”

His face dons a playful look. “Why so angry, my friend? You were successful, no?”

Your glare sends him running. The timer resets and a red target appears. Compared to you, Luis seemed prepared as he takes his shot and hits the target with ease.

Timer resets, blue. Timer resets, red. It went on like this for a few rounds. The cutouts popped up in random spots at close range only to be shot back down immediately. It was too easy. You use a rest period to reload before the timer resets once more and a red pirate whooshes into view. This one was placed much farther than the rest and was surrounded by multiple sailor cutouts. When the Merchant said that the difficulty would increase over time, you didn’t consider that he would turn the notch by this much. Luis would have to fire at an angle to hit the target and avoid the other obstacles while also being agile enough to hit it before the countdown.

A grimace curves down upon Luis’ lips, he jumps to a spot and lifts the pistol quickly. Ready, aim, fire!

He misses, lead hitting the back of the range with a resonating sound.

A snort almost escapes you and you couldn’t help but taunt him. “What? Feelin’ the heat already, Luis?”

Luis looks at you with the same unwavering smile. “Just warming up, actually. Don’t you worry.”

The man pulls his rings off his fingers and sets them atop the wooden counter. The two of you then switched places and a thought comes to mind. What is his penalty? There’s nothing else on the range that would identify as a scoring system. Perhaps an even harder target to hit? That seems rather punishing. You couldn’t ponder over this any further as your turn came up.

Timer resets. Blue target glides in, sailor cutouts surrounding them as well. This time, however, the angle was easy to spot and you didn’t have to move from your spot to take the shot. It falls back with a satisfying ping upon hit.

“Nice one!” Luis praises. It was genuine, devoid of his characteristic witty drawl. You couldn’t help but mutter a low thanks. Switching spots again, the competition continues. The man manages to find his groove once more and the both of you fell into a good rhythm between shots.

You will not lie, this was kind of fun. Luis truly was a decent shot and seeing him like this, focused and different from his usual suave demeanor that he exhibits like a tattoo on his sleeve, grows within you a newfound form of respect and admiration. He was pulling you to him all over again and he wasn’t even trying.

Timer resets. Red target. More sailors. And they’re all moving! Luis didn’t have the time to follow the pattern of all of their movements and fires blindly. He hits a sailor and mutters a half-hearted curse before proceeding to remove his shoes and socks.

“Luis, what are you doing-”

“No time for any questions. It’s your move.” The man motions you to take your stance and indeed a blue target flies in on the far end. Thankfully it slid about from the ceiling and became an easy shot despite it moving at a fast pace. Your shot lands successfully. As you switch places with Luis again, the gnawing question returns-

What is the penalty?

Luis is the only one that has been missing and nothing seems to have happened. The rounds have gotten harder for certain, but your targets have been set with the same difficulty. How is it shown that he is losing? Again, you didn’t have the time to question it as your turn came up soon enough.

Timer resets, blue target. Shot is fired, it’s a hit.

Timer resets, red target. Shot is fired, it’s a miss.

Luis exhales deeply from his chest. At first, you thought he was frustrated but your ears catch undertones of relief which you could not deduce until you see him unzip his signature jacket and shrug the leather off his shoulders.

“What the hell is this, Luis?”

“Ah this? The penalties for missing. Was it not obvious when I removed my other effects?”

Timer resets, blue target. Nothing.

It dawned on you in full force what this whole game was really all about. You thought it a genuine competition, a battle of egos. However, it became blatantly clear that Luis was shooting on a different range altogether. And he tricked you into playing with him.

You gaped in bewilderment. It was then replaced with embarrassed aggravation. “You’re an idiot. I’m not playing this stupid game. I’m out of here.”

Just as you were about to enter the parlor where the elevator was, Luis speaks up. “You can leave, sure. Pero, you’ll first have to admit that I’m the better marksman.”

Timer resets, red target.

Swiftly you turn back to him, your tone seething with heat. “You’ve missed a few shots while I’ve missed none. What makes you think-”

Bam!

The bullet cleanly hits the moving target from a range that should have required eyes. But the Spaniard was looking at you this whole time, wearing a confident (and infuriating) grin. You were speechless.

“If I remember correctly, you didn’t take the last shot. ¿Sí?”

This man is going to be the end of you one day. But damn was that a good hit. Renewed determination and excitement flows through your body. You take off one glove with your teeth and spit it at the ground before practically shoving the man out of your spot with your now bare hand. You can hear Luis’ cheeky chuckle behind you. Your attitude towards him may have started cold, but it is he who is making you shiver now.

Timer resets, blue target. Shot is fired.

These things were getting harder and harder to hit. Both of you are barely getting along. Luis was doing well enough though. Reduced to just his pants and shirt, he kept up his momentum. You, however, were not faring just as well. Now that you know the real game you were playing, you became undeniably anxious and it showed in your aim. You missed a few shots and had to shed your shoes, socks, remaining glove, and jacket. The only comfort you took from this was that you were relieving yourself from the unbearable heat permeating within the room.

Shot is fired. No hit. Blue target still standing.

Now it was Luis’ turn to taunt. “¿Qué? You missed? Is everything alright, my good friend?”

You ignore him out of spite and tugged at the hem of your top. As you pull the fabric over your head, your ears catch an appreciative whistle nearby. Once your shirt was completely off, you whip your head back to sharply glare at the shameless man who did not hide his appraisal of you. Grey eyes run along the length of your form slowly, lingering upon your newly exposed skin. There was no denying the desire in his eyes. It didn’t leave even as the timer restarted and a red target appeared.

He didn’t take the shot.

It was the perfect opportunity to mock him back, but nothing comes out. In fact, neither of you said anything for the longest time. The only sounds in the range were the pings of the timer and the cardboard targets popping in and out- both effectively ignored and zoned out.

Luis lifts his hands to unbutton his white shirt and throws it atop his jacket. He was bare from his neck down to his waist. Sweat glistened on his well-built chest, the hard muscles of his arms flexing as he stretched. He was probably the hottest thing you’ve ever seen in your life and he was looking straight at you when you finally found the courage to meet his burning stare. The heavy weight of his grey gaze pressed something deep and carnal within your soul.

After what felt like an eternity, the man picks up his jacket from the ground and moves over to one of the sturdy wooden barrels in the room. He leans against it before facing you once again and speaks in an intimately gruff tone.

“Tú ganas. You win.”

Luis stretches out a strong arm, signature jacket in hand. All you did was stare. Looking back and forth between his rugged face and the fine article of clothing he held.

When you didn’t make a move or say anything, he offers again, “Well? Are you going to claim your prize?”

Time marches on, accompanied by silence. Then finally, the floorboard creaks meaningfully under your stride towards him. Luis’ jacket is smacked out of his hand.

It laid forgotten for a long time.

#luis serra #luis serra navarro #luis serra x reader #luis serra imagine #resident evil 4 #if a man twirls into a range like this i would just let him win #why couldn’t they let Luis shoot targets with us 😩 #my writing #gender neutral reader #re4 remake #re4 luis #resident evil imagines #zer0pm imagine #long post #this took far too long so I hope it came out okay #will edit as needed #long read #resident evil 4 remake #resident evil x reader