#it’s too much of a pain to tag all the fucking dr tags

[hugs4neth-backup]

update:

(if this cuts off suddenly, its cause my mom walked in. better to give yall something than nothing) some of this information wont be relevant to everyone but im tagging my irl friend that needs it for reasons ill explain below

if you are poet, read all of this please its very important. anyone else feel free to skip its pretty distressing lol.

reblog if you can so the other moots see this. (also so they can find this account, only 19 of yall have found it and should be over a hundred)

tw for parental abuse and self harm

we're still lying low. i cant afford to get caught on tumblr rn

love yall so much, im glad so many people have found this blog

my mom is fucking pissed. ive lost my phone completely, and i might be losing the ipad too. im hoping that because i use the ipad for school she wont take that. my computer is safe for now, she doesnt know the password and knows that people would ask questions if she took it

my texts have been comprimised. im not allowed to text anymore, and shes reading everything. already got texting from my ipad once, fortunatly i dont think that she knows it was from my ipad so she hasnt taken it (yet)

poet we need to figure out a way to comunicate from my computer that isnt tumblr.

my mental state is stable-ish currently, but it wasnt 2 hours ago.

she has threatened physical abuse.

she has also said "I wish i had the luxury of kicking you out"

due to number 8, im working on a go bag.

the only sh ive done so far is head banging, which is bad but not the worst form. i think i left a bruise tho. no signs of brain damage

i got my grades back and theyre all pretty high, so im not in trouble for that. but i think she is pissed that im doing my work in school and not at home? idfk

she promised thursday to put me back in therapy. she has taken that back

apparently the reason she thinks im not disabled is because she thinks im faking all these injurys. her reasoning for this is "last time we saw [dr name] he said that nothing was wrong" (he said that there was nothing wrong other than the previously diagnosed severe generalized hypermobility syndrome) i think its fucking hysterical that she thinks i would fake not being able to do fucking anything because of my pain

i did absoluletly have a full full full mental breakdown from about 10:30 this morning to about 3:45 in the afternoon

if i get anymore "injuries out of nowhere" shes gonna cancel all my summer plans. (translation: no medical care for the rest of the year)

@poettheythem

#da cool shit #<- lmao the irony of my talking tag

[cl0wnfiish]

confessions !?

#saiouma #danganronpa #oumasai #saioma #omasai #shuichi saihara #saihara shuichi #kokichi ouma #ouma kokichi #shuichi x kokichi #u know me #back at it again #w these fuckers #i love these idiots #drv3 shuichi #drv3 kokichi #danganronpa killing harmony #ndrv3 killing harmony #it’s too much of a pain to tag all the fucking dr tags #fanart #art #danganronpa fanart #cl0wnfiish art

[submalevolentgrace]

Hi! I'm very interested in attempting to write a disabled character (not for this blog, I assure, for an book I'm writing) in which the story doesn't fetishize/objectify her prosthetic limb. I'm in many writing circles and have been for a long while, but I've never seen this issue brought to light which I realise is a very important one. I have much to change in my thought process, and thank you for bringing this issue to attention.

I'm curious, and I apologise if this has been asked before, but what sort of design could you see for a functional prosthetic that doesn't go for a plainly aesthetic appearance, or is soully to please others? I do note that you said prosthetics are generally... not that helpful. So is there a way that it could be? Or do you think it would always generally be better to not use a prosthetic, as its mostly for aesthetic purposes, as you said?

I apologise if this ask is too outright or anything, and I don't mean to intrude. Thank you for your time and have a beautiful day!

okay, i want to answer this as in depth as possible, because whenever i talk about having a prosthesis, someone will always tag some variation of "#writing reference" and i do wonder what message they're taking away, and i want to get as much of my experience out as possible to maybe help shape how this is all portrayed in the future. and yeah… this is gonna be one of those rambly smg posts that the expand feature was invented for, so i'll start with the very abridged TL;DR:

if you're writing a character with an upper limb prosthesis; don't. arm amputees are unicorn level rare even compared to leg amputees, and i've never interacted with or even heard of an upper limb amputee that regularly uses a prosthesis, let alone relies on one. fiction has lied to you for the sake of cool aesthetics, don't repeat the cycle. more in depth writing advice including nuance and "but i waaaant to" will follow.

that said, grab your donning parachute and let's get started...

context for everyone involved: i am an upper limb amputee that rants a lot about how prostheses suck, i lost my right hand roughly five years ago at roughly the age of 30 after a very rough decline in health… it was pretty rough. this question is being asked in the context of a previous rant post of mine, and i checked that the ask is about an upper limb prosthesis in particular.

the situation regarding the usefulness of lower limb prostheses is totally different; i am definitely no expert, but by all accounts, prosthetic legs are incredibly useful for many people. getting a good leg can be absolutely life changing and more or less necessary for day to day life for some; mostly because infrastructure and society is just so fucking hostile to wheelchair users. being able to walk - at the cost of pressure sores and rashes and increased residual limb pain - is a preferable option to many people than being unable to fit through a doorway or in a bathroom stall or find out that the key to unlock the only elevator is in the admin office up three flights of stairs (true story).

but upper limb prostheses… see, the thing is, hands are incredibly complex organs that rely on a lot of immediate haptic feedback to work at all. hand dexterity is all about control, you need fine granular movements of the digits yes, but you also need the subtle sensations of pressure and proprioception in order to adjust your movements on the fly. i speak from experience, in the years leading up to the full loss of my hand, i was slowly losing function of it, usually swinging between numbness that made it clumsy at best, or screaming overstimulation from moving it at all resulting in unpredictable spasms… and let me tell you, a half working hand is infuriating to try and deal with. you can never know if you have a good grip on something or if it's slipping because of the wrong amount of pressure, and there's only so many smashed bottles of pickles on the floor before you give up using it all together… so amputation wasn't a great loss there, i had time to adapt.

a prosthetic hand of any kind has all of those issues and more. they're heavy and bulky, the cosmetic faux fingers or gripping claw have crude movement at best, and there's zero feedback (put a pin in this). 100% of the time you're using a prosthetic hand you have to keep your eyes on the grip and visually guesstimate whether or not the thing you're carrying is held tight enough but not too tight, that is if your "heavy duty" prosthesis can even support the weight without the servos disengaging or the wrist attachment socket just busting loose. i dropped a whippersnipper on my foot last week when my socket couldn't take the weight and i think that was the final straw in me desperately trying to prove to myself that there is a single task my prosthesis actually helps with.

this is usually where fully two handed people start talking about bleeding edge DARPA tech, and how we just need to invest more,research more, develop more. better tech, more tech, neural integration, more more more. okay i promise the writing advice is coming! for starters on tech, my experience is already with a mid-to-high end ottobock terminal device: i've got a myoelectric nerve-signal operated proportional control heavy duty greifer; about the only upgrade left for me to get would be a rotating wrist joint if i could coflex. it's not military, it's not "rockclimber that owns a prosthetic company", but it's quality tech. it still fucking sucks. secondly, that high level military tech exists primary for PR purposes so they can say they treat their discarded casualties well, "we can rebuild him, we have the technology" style. every war vet i've read about or heard from that's been gifted that high level tech also abandons it for the same reasons; it's imprecise, there's no feedback (or the haptic interface has to be fully recalibrated every time they put it on), but mostly they're more capable without one.

okay, the transhumanist ableds say (i should know, i used to be one), what if we did more ~research and development~ and got that neural feedback working? then we could have fireproof superhumanly strong robot arms to fix up everyone! here's where i take out that pin we put up before and i tell you that a class of prosthetic arms/hands already exists that has perfect proportional control, fine motor control, and physics perfect pressure feedback piped directly into the patients' existing sensory systems! they're called body-powered prostheses, and they were invented in like the 1600s. you strap a whole bunch of stuff to your arm and shoulders shoulders, and control the operation of the terminal device and elbow through cable tension by flexing your shoulders. they do take a considerable amount of training to operate - though hell i spent 18 months training to use my myo - but based on everything i've read, body-powered prostheses are the best option if you're an upper limb amputee and absolutely need a second hand for some reason.

but they don't look cool and futuristic, and according to my prosthetist, most people give up on using them too. we all give up on our prostheses, no matter the type. my rehab OT was impressed i lasted the 18 months of my training. towards the end, they even asked if the clinic director could drop in to one of my sessions to see my progress; he expressed genuine amazement at me casually using my bulky robot claw to use a brush and dustpan, and made an offhanded (hah) comment about what someone can achieve "if they stick it out to the end", implying it was somewhat of a rarity for me to have done so. several years on, and yesterday i wedged the dustpan between my ankles to sweep up into it, awkward but exponentially less effort than putting my dusty robot arm on. which, by the way, is a whole thing. look up some videos, they're all awful to don. i don't actually know the official technical name of what my clinic calls a "parachute" but it's a bitch to use! have you ever tried to pull back with your arm whilst also pushing it forwards at the same time, and simultaneously lean in to and away from an external force pulling on you? that's how you get a myo socket on.

bare with me, i promise writing advice is coming, and i promise it's more than the tl;dr. but. remember when i said a half working hand is infuriating to deal with? any prosthesis, from fancy myo tech to pirate-era body powered, will only ever be half as good as a working hand, and being juuuust within capability to do something but not quite able to is maddening! but you know what works way better than a half working hand? no hand at all. using whatever residual/vestigial limb you have - whatever "stump" you have, i hate that word - is pretty much always better than trying to use a prosthesis. i can use the inside of my elbow to grip and carry things, i can use the nub of my arm to apply pressure to hold things, open doors, use a computer mouse, turn on taps and lights, if i put a glove over it i can use it to prep for cooking. i have full proprioception and pressure feedback with skin contact, i don't think i've ever dropped and broken anything from my elbow, unlike countless things slipped from my greifer - which, by the way, absolutely will start clenching as tight as it can if i get even slightly too sweaty around the electrodes, which has both broken things i'm holding and also injured me, because surprise surprise but servo operated robot claws have pinch points on them right near the "emergency disengage" lever for some reason!

but i am exponentially more capable without it on than with it. no, i'm not fully independent, i rely on housemates and loved ones to help me out with some tasks that simply just need two handed dexterity, but none of those tasks are things a prosthesis makes me able to do anyway. i used to imagine my prosthesis would be like a bra; a bit awkward and uncomfortable, but i'd wear it throughout the day because it's helpful and take it off in the evening to decompress. in reality it's actually exactly like a bra: an absolute bitch to put on one handed, unbearably uncomfortable because it never sits right, ugly af unless you're a millionaire, and absolutely useless except for the fact that i get gawked at and judged by strangers if i leave the house without it on.

and if you really want to discover how far "no hand is better than a half working hand" goes, brace yourself, and look up the patient's stories (not medical system stories) of people that have had hand transplants. the first man to receive one hated it, he was promised a return to normal function, and what he got was a nightmare worse than being one handed; he wanted it removed again but the doctors refused because it would undermine their grand achievement of the first hand transplant. the doctors and society wanted him to be fixed, they wanted him to be normal, they wanted him to be abled. they failed. they made him less able to do things, denied his autonomy, and left him with someone else's hand slowly rotting on him, prioritising the idea of "scientific progress" and "two hands good" over the physical health, mental health, and ability to function of this man.

he's not alone; every story from the patients' perspective about hand transplants that i've read goes this way, including a woman who was born quad limb different and was promised hands would improve her life, pressured into a double hand transplant, only to find herself after the surgery essentially experiencing disability for the first time ever, because she had lived her whole life getting by just fine with her 'underdeveloped' limbs, but half working hands are worse than useless. you can try to find these stories yourself, but i'm not going looking for sources on any of these cases, because if you look back through enough of my posts you'll get a glimpse of the horrors and abuses that i too was put through by doctors who prioritised trying to "fix" me at any cost, rather than providing me the best quality of life, and in turn traumatised me and left me more broken than any loss of limb on its own could. dear goddess, i promise the writing advice is coming.

so. why do upper limb prostheses exist at all? if they're so terrible and useless, what is their function? i want to borrow something someone else left in the tags of a previous rant here, from someone who i believe works in prosthetics and/or rehab, cleaned up and anonymised at their request:

"upper limb functions are wildly more complex than: 1) bear weight static, and 2) bear weight moving. but every single upper limb amputee i know has a fancy expensive prosthetic just gathering dust in the closet because there is literally nothing it can do like a few years of adjustment and if needed non-dominant hand retraining can't do. the existence of forquarter prosthetics to begin with is just kind of silly and useless and entirely to make OTHER people feel comfortable, especially considering they universally are UNcomfortable for the amputee. i hate the notion that as soon as you get the amputation the prosthetic is The Thing That Will Fix You And Make You Feel Normal again because it universally isn't! but every forequarter person i know had like this ideal of Being Fixed By Magic Prosthetic that they were then obviously wildly disappointed by and had to do yet another grieving process with, versus if the dominant narrative were just one of: yeah. it'll take time, there is no magic fix."

and i think that really nails down what the actual purpose of upper limb prostheses is: they're not for the user, they're for the sake of other people. and not just their comfort when looking at our bodies, although based on the pressure for both amputees and people born limb different to get functionless cosmetic plastic hands, there is a lot of that. but it's not just that.

i fully believe that the reason prosthetic hands exists is to comfort the fears of the two handed. "don't worry", they say, "we can fix you again. you don't have to fear becoming Disabled, you don't have to worry about adapting or your life changing. we can make you Normal™ again."

you would not believe the number of people that have approached me to shower me with pity, to tell me how horrific my life is, how they can't imagine it. people have told me, apropos of nothing, that they'd kill themselves if they lost a hand. indirectly, that my life isn't worth living. unless, of course, i happen to be wearing my cool as fuck looking robot prosthesis! then they tell me how wonderful it is, how lucky i am, how glad they are that we have the technology to fix me. that's what a prosthetic hand says, what all the happy fishing photos on limbs4life posters at the rehab clinic say: don't worry, we can fix you. that's what the bleeding edge DARPA flexi-whatever fully articulated neuro-feedback hands say: don't worry if you get IED'd while hunting civilians for us to drone bomb, if you get hurt, we will fix you, we will fix the fuck out of you, we will motherfucking adam jensen you into a cool as fuck cyborg that your son will idolise; come on boys, don't you wanna enlist just for the chance at being as cool as this? join the bomb squad for a ticket to the upgrade lottery.

and so we arrive at fiction. as much as his dialogue options protest, adam jensen loves his robot arms, they punch through walls, turn into fucking swords! they make him the most special man in the world. what would he do without them? learn to cope? grieve? practice acceptance? take up poetry? just, be disabled? there's no power fantasy for ableds in that.

in fact, can you think of a single fictional character that's an upper limb amputee that's, well, just an amputee? they all have robot arms. not realistic prostheses, not medical devices; robot arms. sleek or bulky, top of the line or broken down self built, steampunk or nanomachines or magitech automail; they're never without them. never just an amputee. never born limb different either! there's always that element of tragedy to overcome, always suffering and misery porn, always focus on the pain and the helplessness without the absolutely vital robot arm that makes them Normal and Whole. the closest amputee example i can think of is furiosa from mad max, who iirc fucking punches max in the face with her residual limb like a motherfucking badass! i can barely lean on mine wrong and she punches a guy! but she still apparently needs a dieselpunk robot hand to drive a truck, something you can do one handed so easily most drivers don't even notice they're doing it! please don't, by the way

and so many disabled fans love to point to robot armed characters as disability representation; the winter soldier, luke skywalker, edward elric, misty knight, that genderswapped furry girl from ratchet and clank, jet cowboybebop, finn the human, and yes, adam jensen…. these are all characters that someone disabled i know has told me they love because they "represent disabled bodies"…. and i know nobody wants to hear this, because i've been screamed at for saying it before, but… they do not. they are not disabled, functionally or within fiction. they are either perfectly able bodied Normal people with chrome paint on an arm, or tortured misery porn we are supposed to pity and feel lucky we're not them. sometimes both!

also you ever notice how it's basically always arms? lower limb amputations are orders of magnitude more common than upper, my prosthetist said i was probably only the 4th or 5th upper limb she'd worked with in her career, with literally hundreds of lower limb fits. but fiction doesn't seem to reflect that, huh? or any other part of the reality of disability. it's always cool as fuck robot arms, never cool as fuck wheelchairs or crutches or dialysis machines or colostomy bags. a fair few "i was blind but now i can see with Robot Eyes and also infrared and xray" around, which again, plays into that "we can fix you and make you cooler" propaganda.

by the way, up above when i was describing body powered arms, if you wondered to yourself why i went with a myoelectric one instead when i clearly believe body powered is better… yeah. i am not immune to propaganda! i too wanted to be cool as fuck. i spent years with deteriorating function in my hand for reasons that are still unknown, was misdiagnosed and medically neglected to the point that removing my hand seemed to be the only option left to offer some relief, and even that was a clusterfuck that left me worse than ever… of course i wanted to believe in the power and prestige of a cool robot arm that fiction promised me.

but fiction promises fantastical lies. and so.

we get to the writing advice portion of the novella that is this post. you asked for advice on how to write a disabled character with an upper limb prosthesis. you've read the tl;dr, you've read everything above i assume, you know i don't want you to do it. the obvious twist is that it's been writing advice all along, me trying to share my perspective on what it's like being an amp with a robot arm and how shitty it is, implying how almost any fully realised and realistic character that's missing an upper limb would give up on a prosthesis at all. you can already tell that every value judgement in me says "don't give her a prosthesis, no matter how functional or cool you make it. don't try to make the tech better to justify it, just let her be one armed, one handed. just let her be disabled, but not helpless. let her show off her elbow or underarm carry strength. let her love interest appreciate how soft and squishy her residual limb is in a moment of tenderness. let her natural disabled body be respected and valued."

but that's a personal value judgement from me, and you are the author of your own work. i know it's trite to say, but you are! even the act of deferring to someone with lived experience in the hope of doing a better job at representation is a value judgement, a good choice in my opinion, but one you needn't necessarily take. maybe you do want to write a character that has a cool as fuck unrealistic robot arm as a power fantasy, or a comfort blanket… i did.

i've been slowly writing my own probably terrible scifi epic for over a decade now, and when my arm was giving me hell back then, i'd take great comfort in this fantasy of my protagonist with her chunky robot arm, the terrible traumatic suffering of her loss, overcoming, the power and ability her advanced prosthesis gives her over others, that she alone has access to, because others are not willing to make the sacrifices required. inspiration porn. awful stuff to me now, but empowering to me then. as i grew and gained direct experience, i slowly reimagined her, rewrote her, ship of theseus'd her into an entirely new character; a reflection of me now, bitter at the whole thing, spiteful that her natural flesh arm evokes fear and distrust, but unwilling to suffer the pain and frustration of her unnatural prosthesis just to make others comfortable and respect her as "whole", however artificial that whole is. and as with the ship of theseus being two ships, once i realised the transformation, i re-added the old protagonist back in whole cloth as a separate character; proud of her robot arm and its power, but in new context, as a foil and antagonist, an in-universe military prosthesis propaganda figure to reflect how i now feel characters like her exist to us, the readers.

i'm not just sharing that as egotistical self promotion, but to highlight that, even if i sit here begging you all up and down not to write characters with robot arms for how bad and unrealistic they are; there's still something genuine and true that their inclusion can say. the great thing about the story that you're writing is that only you can write it, as they say. but i whole heartedly believe that to write to your best, you have to be aware of what you're writing and why. as tempting as it is to feel these characters form naturally in us and therefore we're averse to changing traits about them that feel organic and self evident; as authors we have omnipotent control over the text, every trait and detail is a reflection on us, so we'd sure as hell better understand why we're choosing to write a character with this trait. because anything you write without being aware of intent will take on its own meaning in the space between.

and on that note, if i don't say this, i'm leaving it to be inferred: i definitely don't want to appear to come down on the side of saying "you cannot write an amputee unless you are one", because we are rarer than single young bisexual unicorns! and it would be a tragedy if anyone read through all this and then turned away in fear, deciding to never write an amputee character (with or without robot arm) because they feel they can't do it justice… believe me, no matter what anyone says, some hack writer somewhere is going to keep writing adam jensens and winter soldiers. don't let them be the only voices in fiction! just try to do your best.

so my ultimate advice on the topic of writing a character with a prosthetic limb is to ask yourself one question in two different frameworks, and meditate on what you feel the answer is:

why does she have a prosthesis?

from a doylelist perspective as the kids say, as an author with omnipotent control, why are you choosing to write about this topic? why are you choosing to give this trait to this character? what does it say about how you view ability and disability, what makes a person normal, and what our society values? will you let her be in her natural body? or will you give her a prosthesis, force her to wear it by authorial fiat, or author her a meaningful reason to choose to? if yes, be sure you know; why did you give her a prosthesis?

and from a wastonian perspective, diegetically, inside the story, why does she choose to wear a prosthesis? what does it say about her inner character, and how she interacts with the world? how does she feel about doing it, is she prideful and loves the attention she gets, or does she resent whatever necessitates its use? how do people in this world view ability and disability, what does this society value? and above all, whatever the answer to these questions, whether or not she uses a prosthesis or is badass without one, how does she deal with the eternal freezing cold that every amputee ever feels constantly in their residual limb and why does nobody make a heat pack that fits over a nub without drafty gaps???

i can't outright tell you how to write a good upper limb amputee, but if you at least know why you're writing one and for what purpose, you're on track to write the best character that you can. that's the best advice i can give… other than, like, this whole rambly mess.

and, as a reward for reading this far, please have a very blurry cryptid photo of my cat doing his old man sit:

#prosthesis #prosthetic #disability #ableism

[bucknastysbabe]

No Conviction - Ser Criston Cole x Aegon II

For the mother of our brainchild, SMOOCHIELINI @aemondsbabe

Rating: Explicit

Tags: TW//Degradation, Criston is taking out his frustrations and prior guilt, fat shaming, dub-con, Criston is mean, unreliable narrator, manipulation. Angst, M/M, rare pair, Bondage (light), anal fingering, dildo use, there is prep!, bratting, feminization, Aegon’s a slut at the end of the day, Criss priss takes the idea of an order and skews it, chubby!Aegon, prostate orgasm, nipple play

A/N: THIS IS NASTY DIRTY we will be back to our usual content soon, I put the usual taglist but heed the pairing!

Taglist: @arcielee @fallingintoyourlilaceyes @valeskafics @lovelykhaleesiii @fairysluna @starogeorgina @targaryen-madness @sugarpoppss2 @aemonds-holy-milk @dr-aegon

Ao3: Updated later

Alicent’s big doe eyes were watery, her hair wild. She seemed to become increasingly fraught by the day— it pained Ser Criston to know why she was so wracked with nerves. They both were aware of the plans for the future. Very big plans as Viserys continued to decay. He noted the Queen’s nails were bleeding again.

Criston grabbed her shaking palms, soothing her with a murmur, “My Queen, breathe, what is the issue?”

The Knight was grateful he had gloves on or Alicent’s ripped nails might have drawn blood. The redhead took a deep inhale and exhaled. She begged him, a frantic edge to her tone, “Aegon. He’s uncontrollable. I don’t know what to do. He brought whores into the Keep Sept! Ser Darklyn caught..my son..defiling the place.”

She spat ‘my son’ as if it was bile in her mouth. Criston clenched his teeth, anger beginning to rise up from the pit of his stomach. He was utterly revolted. They were going to thrust this wanton, deviant, gluttonous Prince onto the throne.

They had no other choice.

The green queen’s tone grew hard as she ordered, “Pay him a visit. Make him understand the castle is not his playground. Use any means possible. Your queen demands it.”

Criston squeezed her palms and nodded. He rumbled, “Prince Aegon’s heresy will not go unpunished, you have my promise.” Alicent turned away with a thanks, nails back to her lips. The white knight had an order to execute, striding off to the Prince’s quarters.

He stopped to raise a brow at Ser Arryk standing guard. The twin grumbled, “Princeling’s sleeping off his revels, by all means, go ahead.” He gave a wry smile, Criston not returning the look. Criston dismissed Cargyll, “The Queen requires you to take my place at her side. I’ve been sent to deal with Aegon.”

The other Kingsguard nodded, rolling his eyes at Criston’s serious demeanor. Cole watched him descend down the hallway, turning a corner before opening Aegon’s door. The knight wrinkled his nose at the smell of wine and musk— Aegon sprawled out in his bed, naked.

A bottle of wine sat on the side table. Criston’s eyes jerked to the foot of the grand bed. His lips twisted downwards at the ropes, leather, the collection of ivory to ebony carved cocks. The marcher was stunned. The open display of debauchery. An outwardly sinful collection. He swallowed reflexively, deciding on what to do.

Dark eyes roved up to the Prince. He’d grown rather fleshy with drink and overindulgence at the table. For a young man of twenty, a dragon rider, Aegon had the soft curves of a plump maid. Criston could almost laugh— Aegon probably spent too much time on his back to get a sweat working even with all the fucking he did.

He stalked over toward the side of the bed, leering down at Aegon. Criston had an idea pop in his head— a nasty one. Beating Aegon served no gain. The princeling would just snivel and cry, delving deeper into his cups. The knight’s cock stirred at the image of wide eyes and tears falling down fat cheeks.

Aegon was pretty enough, soft enough, tits grown much bigger than Rhaenyra had at the time he coveted her, sullied his cloak for her. His white hair was rumpled, lips, and cheeks feminine and plump. Criston was well acquainted with wide violet eyes and long lashes. He reminded Cole too much of Ali with that look.

Criston barked, “Aegon!”

The prince stirred and whined, rolling onto his soft tummy, exposing more plush thigh and a round ass. Criston rolled his eyes, ignoring his stirring cock. Aegon’s pallid fleshy hips had jagged pink marks, a sign of the glutton gaining too much for his skin to keep up. The marcher couldn't understand how the buffoon had no shame in his naked body, especially in a state such as this.

Criston’s eyes jerked back to the foot of the bed. Aegon was ruled by his extreme hedonism. His nasty thought blossomed into a plan. The knight sighed in annoyance. He’d remain chaste, but Aegon would get some sense fucked into him.

Criston undid his gauntlets in quick snaps, eyes blown and focused on the prince. Next came his pauldrons, dropping to the floor in a loud clank. Aegon snuffled and stirred, groaning, “Fuck off Cargyll, m’alive.”

Finally, the heavy cuirass was off. The marcher remained in his white garb. He took off his boots before snatching the phials of oil and the biggest carved cock available. The cloak was neatly placed out of sight— Criston would deal with his guilt later. This was for the crown, for his queen, for the future of Westeros.

He placed the heavy cock down on the bedside table, placing a knee on the plush bed. Aegon finally jerked and squawked, reddened eyes wide. His puffy lips opened and closed like a fish. The prince questioned “Cole? What in the seven hells are you doing here? I’m trying to rest! Did you not hear me tell Cargyll to fuck off?”

Criston wanted to snarl and jerk the brat around. He remained quiet, face placid, staring Aegon down. After taking a breath, he spoke, “I came to check on you. I don’t appreciate the attitude, my prince. You’ve been more withdrawn than usual.”

Aegon’s face softened, eyes gleaming from the attention Criston was lathering upon his minuscule ego. He murmured, “This isn’t some scheme from Mother, is it? You merely care for Aemond.” The blonde’s mouth pouted, face eager for a smidgeon of praise.

“No. I care for all of you. What’s going on Aegon? You surround yourself in Flea Bottom, but you seem lonely around the Keep. I notice more than you think.” Criston was not lying when he said his piece. Aegon irked him but he held affection for all of Alicent’s children. He also knew Aegon sought touch and affirmation in the lowest of places.

Aegon’s face softened, his body still bared to Criston’s sight. He mumbled, cheeks flushing, “I am already an idiot fool, I can’t fight, nor will I be as smart as Aemond. What is the saying? The black sheep.”

Criston placed a knee on the plush bed, leaning to cup a full cheek. He replied, “The black sheep of the family, yes. Although I believe that title is for the bitch on Dragonstone. You don’t trust yourself enough, hm? You never gave yourself a chance.”

Aegon nuzzled into his palm, eyes growing teary and cheeks flushing. He inhaled a bit, body shifting. The prince complained, “Why are you here? To make me feel worse? It’s too late. This is what I am. I’d rather be drunk than try and be laughed at more.”

Criston put his other knee on the bed, climbing towards Aegon. He purred, “So you’d rather spread your legs like a two stag whore and guzzle wine, feast and fuck your life away?” Aegon whimpered softly as Criston jerked the prince underneath him, pulling him up by thick hips.

“Ah- what are you doing?”

“Maybe you’ll learn some worth if I fuck it into you, pretty princeling,” He quipped back, fingertips digging into pliant flesh. He felt good. Too good. Aegon squirmed but Criston had him pinned under his toned frame. The prince whined, “Why, don’t, this is...no!”

“Your wanton pussy says no to me then? How strange,” Criston hummed, “Aemond would never defile a sept like you have. Disgusting.” The pale body under him struggled, tears pouring from the blonde’s eyes. Criston reached around to grab at a rock-hard cock, laughing meanly as he gave tentative pumps.

“Truly are a deviant. You probably dreamed of this,” he groped Aegon’s fat belly, “A glutton too. You were so slim. What happened? Aemond had a pudgy face. You’ve got tits now.”

Aegon mewled pathetically, bucking back into Criston’s hips. He whined, “Stop it, stop it, s’not that bad!” Criston snorted, grabbing a handful of chubby tits, Aegon sobbing and shivering. The knight pinched at the stretched nipple and swore, “Plump little princess. Content to laze around and get her pussy fucked all day. You have no conviction. No ambition to rule your kingdom.”

Criston reached over to grab the oil, Aegon’s sniveling music to the marcher’s ears. The prince tried to sneer, “Y-you swore to be chaste, you already fucked that up! Picking another Valyrian again?”

“No, no, simpleton. As much as I disgustingly lusted for a Targaryen princess on my cock, I have doubled over my faith. This is merely a lesson for you. Smart girl, wish you used your bigger head more, it is a scheme from your mother,” his gloved hand cracked across Aegon’s peachy ass, “As I pondered, figured you’d be apt to listen with a cock up your cunt.”

Teary doll eyes and trembling lips stared over a pale shoulder. Aegon’s white hair hung limp in his face. He tried to squirm again, pissed off, by his swears and leg kicking out. Criston shoved the softling by his neck, Aegon crying out in frustration.

The knight reached back for that discarded rope, yanking Aegon’s skinny wrists up and trying them. Criston hissed, “Goddamn brat. That’s what you are. You’re going to listen and maybe I’ll make your needy pussy feel good.” He was disgusted with himself— Aegon’s strangled moans were delicious.

The headboard clattered as Criston tested the ties. He took a moment to murmur, “Too tight?” Aegon rasped, heaving a sob, “N-no! Fuck me already! Make your point!” Criston’s lips quirked up, sliding a calloused thumb over Aegon’s twitching entrance, drawing a pitiful whine.

He poured oil over the twitching pucker, slicking his gloved fingers up. Criston had no experience with this but he knew an ass had no lubrication. Therefore, it was his job to open Aegon up. The prince squirmed impatiently, blotchy red cheeks ripe with embarrassment.

Criston could be gentle. But the leather whip told him otherwise. He pressed two fingers against the tight ring, trying to work himself in with circular movements. Aegon mewled, chubby thighs trembling, arching his back into a thick crease. Dark eyes hungrily watched Aegon's softened body fold and shake, idly worried why he thought it to be so fetching to the gaze.

“You’ve let yourself go to seed. No better than some lord's fat spoilt daughter. You’ve seen Aemond,” his other hand pinched Aegon’s back roll meanly, grinning at the prince’s whimpery pleads, “He’s lean and talented, even with one eye. You could’ve built yourself up in the yard.”

Aegon cried out as Criston’s oily fingers dipped inside the ring of muscle, the knight roughtly shoving them in deep. Aegon thrashed at the burn, cock bobbing against his drooping gut. The elder continued, “You might’ve been decent with a sword. Maybe you could read up and try to be smart? Aemond studies for hours.”

Criston cruelly jabbed his fingers in short thrusts as Aegon whined and babbled, “I- I can speak Valyrian! Stop talking about him now!” Aemond made Aegon’s hackles raise easily— the dutiful brother, the better son, the beloved. Alicent had eyes for the special son and his monstrous dragon.

Criston’s fingers curled against a nub that make the softling jolt in his ropes, throwing his wild hair back. The knight raised a brow— he’d heard Aegon talking about a spot that made the male whores squeal once. This must be it.

“I’m merely giving you some advice, Aemond excels. I could get you into fighting shape, hm?” He drug padded tips against the little spot, Aegon breathily moaning, “Ser Criston, Ser, please! No more about him!”

“Should’ve been born with a cunt. Let him breed you up with pretty Valyrian babies. You’re close enough anyways, always crying and needing your achy cunt pleased. Tits and hips made for babes. Greedy, greedy, greedy,” he tutted. Criston eagerly thrust his fingers, a grin plastered on his handsome face, eyes feral. The squelching added to Aegon's embarrassment, desire, and needs.

Aegon made a desperate noise, shivering all over. Criston flipped Aegon onto his back, seeing the fuss. The prince whined as his wrists twisted, eyes turned away, pouty lips swollen from biting. Criston eyed the milky cum decorating Aegon’s striped lower belly.

“Whore. Is that what we have to do to keep you in line? Keep you fucked out, drunk, and fed?” He snarled, face dangerously close. Aegon spread his thick thighs, tears leaking down his fat cheeks. The prince moaned “Fuck meeee, fuck meee, please just fuck me! I’ll be good!”

Criston groped at a tender breast, demanding, “You’ll be a good what?”

Aegon sulked as he huffed, eyes finally on Criston’s dark gaze. The knight slapped his fatty thigh, the prince wailing, “Your good little princess! The princess! Yes! I’ll listen!”

The brunette cooed, “Good girl, you’ll get your pussy fucked again. Such a lustful sort. Gorgeous whore. Look’it you.” His soiled gloves took their time squeezing Aegon’s curves. He hooked his fingers into a deep belly button, and the blonde began to whine again. His once-softened cock was already straining against his stomach.

“What? Gods. Surely all this blubber doesn’t turn you on? You need a corset, my Princess,” he laughed again.

Aegon stammered, “N-no, all this touching. S'sensitive.”

“Mhm, sure Aegon, you think I don’t see you at supper? Never miss supper do you? Ruled by your own greed. How will you be king? We’ll be penniless! Easy for your uncle and sister to take over.”

"I'll listen, you can be my hand, keep me in line," Aegon wetly cried, "Please, please, Serrr, need it."

Criston hummed in contentment, stretching black gloves against ivory thighs, spreading Aegon wide open. He smirked at the way Aegon's belly bunched into two thick rolls, forcing his little tits up. The knight swallowed down drool, he mustn't lap or suckle. He had to break his prince down some more.

The dark haired knight reluctantly leg go of a thigh, eyes drifting from Aegon's used hole. He grabbed that carved cock from earlier, slathering the earlier discarded oil onto it, something floral scenting the pungent air. The prince mewled and spread his legs, puffy lips swollen and spit-slick. Criston muttered, "Where the fuck do you even get these things...this one is lumped.."

Aegon panted, "S'for that spot."

"The spot that makes the spoilt princess squeal?"

Violet eyes watered some more, Aegon swallowing down a whine, softly pleading Criston- promising his utmost attention, duty, and service. Only if the Kingsguard would just use the toy! Criston smiled darkly, shoving the bulbous tip of the ebony cock into Aegon's stretched hole. The younger cried out, back arching again, almost sobbing with pleasure.

The marcher focused on settling it deep inside, pleased with the knowledge it would rub Aegon's tiny sweet spot raw. His hands were still gloved, he might fuck around with Aegon's small pink cock. Criston began to pump it in and out, watching tied wrists struggle as Aegon whimpered and moaned.

He shifted further forward, white garments rubbing against sensitive skin. It was as if Criston was practically fucking Aegon now, hand holding the toy being pistoned by his hips. His other hand groped its way up Aegon's flushed body, thumbing and pulling at a puffy nipple. Criston shook his head, commenting, "Your tits are growing princess, look how eager you are, shoving them into my palm."

He pinched harder, Aegon crying out in pleasure-pain. Criston leaned forward to hiss "We need to do something about your teat before they're bigger than your wife's. I expect some riding and training, yes?" Aegon babbled and sniffled, nodding along, slurred promising. The elder smiled down, easing his grip, patting Aegon's cheek.

"S-Ser, harder, I beg of you, m'close, I'll be sosososo good!"

"If you continue to be good after this, then you'll be rewarded every time. I think that's a good plan," Cole remarked, hand drawing dangerously close to Aegon's flushed prick, "I always have to handle you brats anyways. You're just a brattier princess who needs special treatment. Like your fucking bitch sister."

Aegon's thighs and ass clenched down on the thick cock, hitching on a warbling sob. The Kingsguard licked his lips, suddenly aware he was biting at them. He leered as he gripped the handful of cock, thumbing at the leaking tip. Cole reminisced with a frown, "Rhaenyra was more pliant after I played with her clit too, I guess you two are more similar than I thought. Deceptively pretty."

The prince's breathing had grown so thin it was as if he was breathing through a straw, eyes wide and lolling around, mewling and carrying on. Criston kept ranting, raising himself into a tizzy, "Luckily your hungry cunt will be attended to. Only in the keep. Until you can prove yourself to be competent! Can you respond to that?"

Aegon babbled, squirming from the pressure on his oversensitive cockhead, the Kingsguard fucking the carved toy into his ass, dragging across that little gland. Criston hummed, "There we go, the princess can behave when her clit's being rubbed hm? S'too much? You're leaking all over me, messy girl." He was having absolute joy with this, Aegon wailing and painting his soft tummy repeatedly, pearly seed shining on his pallid skin.

He'd roughened his touches, drove that ebony cock harder, lost in Aegon's cries. The poor thing busted again, begging for mercy, red-faced and spent. Criston felt that was enough, easing the toy out. He scooped up the copious seed and fed it into Aegon's slobbery lips, the whore lapping it up dutifully, hazy eyes the picture of a sweet royal. A good, well-behaved Targaryen.

Criston patted his cheek again, humming, "Good. I expect to see you at dinner. Then we shall discuss further plans. Whore."

He crawled off the bed, taking off his messy gloves and tucking them away with a shiver. Disgust crawled up the knight's spine. He turned toward the window as he put his armor back on. Aegon whined, "W-where are you going? Can we not talk about the plans here?"

He glared at the sot, scoffing, "Not like that we will. Get yourself cleaned up, I'll be taking my leave. Listen to as I have told you, Aegon. Criston donned his cloak, inwardly counting how many flogs he would receive for his sin. For the wetness in his breeches. For his hardened cock and desire for Aegon's wanton nature.

Aegon arrived at dinner well-behaved, quiet, and sipping his wine. He cast uneasy looks between Ser Criston and Alicent. The queen smiled, "I know you would help, Ser Cole, he looks better already." Criston watched those pouty lips tremble. Perhaps it soothed the scarred tissue of his heart caused by another. His lips quirked up as he bowed his head, "No issue, my queen, Aegon needs a firmer hand."

#hotd fanfic #hotd smut #aegon ii x criston cole #criston cole x aegon ii targaryen #hotd rare pair

[eyesofshinigami]

Take A Leap (Someone Will Catch You)

Rating: T

CW: None

Tags: Pre-relationship, Wayne POV, fluff, mentions of Eddie's bad parents, mentions of Steve's bad parents, Supportive Wayne Munson

Prompt: From @unclewaynemunson "Love is being terrified but not letting that stop you from taking a leap"

WC: 1742 (this one got away from me a little!)

Written for @steddielovemonth Day 3

Wayne knows his boy is a runner. It may not always look like his feet hitting the pavement, but it’s running just the same. Eddie runs away from his problems with a smirk and a joint, just as much as the sound of his tires squealing against the road. Wayne figures it’s why Eddie doesn’t try in school even though the boy is smart as a whip. It’s probably why he spends so much time noodling around on his guitar, or building the fantasy world that him and those kids get lost in for hours on end.

He doesn’t hold it against him, not one bit. Al Munson was the same, so was Lilah. Al ran from his responsibilities and ended himself up in prison, and Lilah ran away from the trouble Al brought her by curling up in the bottom of a whiskey bottle. It’s all they knew, all they’d been taught. That’s why Wayne didn’t bat an eye when Eddie ran away not long after he showed up on Wayne’s doorstep, small and angry and so full of hurt that Wayne thought he looked too much like an animal backed into a corner.

Wayne just had to show Eddie he wasn’t going to run. Eddie was his boy, the kid he never thought he’d had but he sure was glad he does now.

--

Wayne nearly fell out of his boots when he heard the story of what happened to Eddie, about how his boy stood up between the devil and his friends and he didn’t run. Not because he thought Eddie wasn’t capable of something like that, god knows the kid has heart too big for his chest, but Wayne’s still trying to wrap his head around the fact that it’s the Harrington kid telling him this story. The boy’s looking at Wayne with stars and pain in his eyes in equal parts as he tells Wayne exactly why Eddie’s lying in a hospital bed, looking like he was chewed up one side and down the other.

“Eddie’s the bravest guy I know, Mr. Munson. He didn’t deserve what happened to him, but don’t worry. Hopper and Dr Owens are going to take care of it all. You don’t have to worry about any of it.”

Harrington doesn’t look much better, the angry scar around his neck and the bandages wrapped around his torso where his scrub top creeps up. It makes Wayne angry, because as much as he’s not fond of Harrington Senior, there’s no reason this kid should look like this. Not to mention, his parents are notably absent and Harrington is just… hanging around in Eddie’s room.

It would make him wary, except he doesn’t miss the look in Harrington’s eye ever time he glances over at Eddie in the bed. There’s something there, but he can’t put his finger on it. It’ll come to him, he’s sure.

--

Eddie wakes up two days later, with Steve holding one hand and Wayne holding the other, and he looks like he’s confused. “Where the fuck am I?” he whispers, voice harsh and gritty.

“The hospital. I dragged your sorry ass out of the Upside Down. I told you not to be a hero, Munson,” Steve complains, but there’s no heat behind it. His fingers are curled around Eddie’s and Wayne can see the way the boy is shaking.

Eddie scoffs, but tucks his face into his shoulder. “Just taking a page out of your book, big boy. What can I say, I was inspired.”

Oh. Oh. Wayne knows that look. He’s seen Eddie lovesick before, even if his boy buried it under half-baked lyrics and hid it in those stories he writes. He doesn’t miss the way his cheeks pink and he bites his lip.

He’d almost worry, but he hasn’t missed the way Steve has sat by Eddie’s bedside, how he’s taken the time to talk Wayne through the mess of Hawkins and how Eddie got caught up in it. He’s seen the soft look on Steve’s face, the way his thumb traced over the skin of Eddie’s fingers as he held his hand tight.

“You’re an idiot.” Steve sounds so fond, it makes Wayne smile. He sees the moment their eyes meet, can practically see the hearts twirling around their heads like some kind of Looney Tunes cartoon.

But, he knows his boy. It’s why he’s not surprised when Eddie pulls back, starts to tuck into himself like a pill bug. He knows this look too, the one right before Eddie’s sprinting in the other direction. Steve must know it too, judging by the way his face falls and he starts to frown as he gets to his feet.

“I’m glad you’re awake, Eddie. I’m going to go check on Max, give you two some time to catch up.”  And with that, Steve’s out the door and Wayne sees the way Eddie’s face twists into something like a frown, like he’s in pain.

Wayne gives him all of one minute before he says, “Boy, I thought you were smarter than that.”

Eddie jolts. “What?”

Wayne lets out a sigh. “You heard me, boy. You’re gonna tell me that you stood between the devil and your friends and now you’re gonna lose that spine?” It’s none of his business, he’s sure, but Wayne sees it. He’s talked with Steve enough to know that some kind of seed between them has been planted, and he’s not going to let Eddie yank it up by the roots because of whatever idea he’s got in his head. It’s some kind of Munson curse, thinking that they don’t deserve the things they have so they find a way to run away from it. Eddie’s better than most, but Wayne’s not having it.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Eddie grumps, but the red in his cheeks gives him away. They stare at each other for a long moment until Eddie deflates. “It’s not like that, Wayne. He’s… not like that.” Not like me. “It could be something good, what we have. I don’t want to fuck it up by making it into something it’s not.”

Maybe, maybe not, but Wayne’s no fool. He’s seen the way Steve looks at Eddie, the tender way he touched him while he slept. The way that Steve slept hunched over Eddie’s bedside like some kind of sentinel, only leaving when Wayne told him to take a breather. Wayne’s never been a gambling man, but he’d put good money down on the fact that it appears mighty close to being like that.

“Boy, let me tell you something. Love is scary. Love is being so goddamn terrified but not letting that stop you from loving someone enough to take a leap. You love that racket you listen to even though no one else does. You love that game and those kids you play with even when you know it can make the roof crash down on your head. And it did.” Wayne pauses to give him a look. He wouldn’t push if he thought he was wrong. But he’s loved this kid since he showed on his doorstep, full of piss and vinegar, and he was terrified that he was going to fuck him up more than his daddy did because Wayne didn’t know anything about raising a kid. “And I’m telling you, I’d bet my last dollar bill that Harrington feels the same way you do right now, scared he was going to lose you and scared you don’t feel the way he does.” Steve had said as much, in not so many words, when he thought Wayne was sleeping one night. “You didn’t run from hell, kid. Don’t run from this either.”

He watches Eddie stare at him in shock. He almost feels like he needs to make sure he was speaking English, or whatever happened to Eddie hadn’t affected his brain at all. “He said that?” is what Eddie manages to say.

Wayne rolls his eyes. “He’s been here since before I got here. He hasn’t left your side but maybe a couple of times to go check on that Max girl from next door. If it ain’t love, kid, I don’t know what it is.”

Eddie looks like he wants to argue, but he chews on his lip instead. Good. Give the kid something to think about. “And if you’re worried about what I’m gonna think because you’re both boys, you can stop right here. Doesn’t matter to me what pieces and parts you have, as long as you’re good to each other.”

Eddie’s eyes fill with tears and he reaches up to pull his hair over his face, the way he’s done since he was eleven years old and overwhelmed with what Wayne tried to offer him. “Thanks, Wayne. I’ll… I’ll think about it.”

“See that you do. Now, tell me all about this guitar solo of yours. Steve couldn’t shut up about it.”

--

Wayne had stepped out for a smoke, taking a moment outside to breathe so he stopped feeling so trapped by the white walls of his boy’s hospital room. It’s a nice evening, the moon shining full. Steve had stopped by with some sort of casserole, courtesy of Dustin’s mama, and Eddie had squawked in pleasure and made grabby hands at the dish. Wayne took that as his cue to step out.

He crushes the butt beneath his boot and tucks it back into his pack of cigarettes. He lets out a sigh and starts heading back up the stairs towards Eddie’s room.

It’s quiet when he opens the door, starting when he realizes what he’s seeing. Both boys are fast asleep, curled around each other as much as they can with Eddie’s wires and cords still attached to his hand. Eddie’s tucked into Steve’s chest and Steve’s hair is wrapped tight into Eddie’s curls, still tucked between Eddie and the door like he’s a barrier so the world can’t get him. Their lips are both a bit pink and swollen, and Wayne would be a right fool if he couldn’t put two and two together. It makes him smile, knowing he was right. All they needed to do was take that leap.

He closes the door with a quiet click. He can come back in the morning. Steve’s got Eddie, and Eddie’s got Steve. And he hopes it’s for a long, long time.

#les writes things #steddielovemonth #steddie #wayne pov #fluff #rating: t

[pictureinme]

kinktober day vii. OVERSTIMULATION – jonathan crane

word count: ~800 tags: bondage, sex toys, s/m masterlist | ao3

“Come on, you can’t be tired already, (Y/N),” Jonathan’s words were distant as he held a small, barely buzzing vibrator against your clit, “You’ve only orgasmed 3 times if you’ve counted truthfully.”

You know he didn’t really expect you to respond in your condition, but you still tried with a broken whine.

For the past hour, Dr. Jonathan Crane has been teasing and playing with you, all while you’re strapped to your shared bed by the arms and legs. He loved seeing you like this, pliant and supine, as he always told you. A toy, a plaything he would experiment with various items and techniques on. You loved every second of it, even if it ended up in your being sore for a week straight.

He always took great care in helping you heal though, using the best methods available to heal your bruises or cuts. Jonathan wasn’t a cruel man, at least not to you. Hopelessly sadistic, yes; evil, no.

You clench weakly around the plug in your hole while he moves the overused toy away from your clit. Jonathan returns with a much longer vibrator, one that reaches the most delicious part inside of you. You bite your lip weakly as he prods it against your entrance– he hadn’t entered you once the entire evening, so this was a very welcome sensation. Your eyes, lidded, gaze at him as he analyzes each and every reaction you so lovingly gave him.

Jonathan’s expression was unreadable as he turned the toy to its lowest setting, even as your back arched instantaneously. The feeling of relief you felt as he entered you with the rather long vibrator was indescribable– it just felt right. The tremors it was creating within you, even at its lowest, were delicious and you couldn’t help but beg for more.

“Jonny, please…” 

Even those two words were barely understood by him, but he got the message loud and clear, “There’s my good girl.”

He turns it up, per your vague request, and your eyes shut tightly at the sensations it was creating. You mewl at the pleasure as he thrusts it shallowly within you, not yet reaching the area it was built to.

“You look perfect like this, (Y/N),” Jonathan hums, cocking his head as the toy hits a particularly pleasurable spot inside of you. “All fucked out of your mind.”

Nodding mindlessly, you try your best to angle your hips so it can that familiar spot again and again, and he allows you to do so. His movements were calculated, compiled from months of studying your body and its various reactions to his touch– he knew how to make you fall apart and was, thus, addicted to it.

The toy rubs against that part inside of you, and Jonathan moves it to practically bruise your soft walls. You thrash against the restraints, something you’ve done enough in the past hour to redden your ankles and wrists– you were close again.

“Jon– fuck– ‘m close, please, God!”

He laughs at your high-pitched plea and it only makes you whine further into the pleasure, “I haven’t even changed the setting, dear. Are you really that sensitive now?”

As if on command, he ups the vibrations by one, and you feel your mind go white as your entire body spasms– as much as it can, with the restraints. The orgasm overtook you like no other, it was beyond painful but you couldn’t help but moan the loudest you had that night.

Your eyes were shut the whole time, but you knew Jonathan’s eyes were nowhere else but on you. As you ride out the final sparks of your release, he slowly moves the vibrator out of you, and onto your clit. You choke on a gasp at the stimulation– it was searing hot, on the cusp of being too much. The noises you made were unintelligible, even you didn’t know what you were saying, but it was mostly a flurry of curses.

Jonathan cooed at you as he lowered the setting back down to a base level, “Come on, you can do it for me again, can’t you? Don’t you want to be a good girl?”

There was really no choice in the matter, you were already orgasming again by the end of his sentence. Your release was the biggest yet– it wettened not only the bedspread beneath your thighs but the front of Jonathan’s shirt. You were beyond inebriated from the pleasure, only sobering when he removed both the vibrator and the plug in your ass– slowly, so as to not cause any more harm, but you still whined beyond belief.

Your eyes squint open, gazing upon the heavily breathing man before you. His eyes glinted with something you hadn’t seen outside of his place of work: a very specific kind of sadistic pleasure, only dampened by some sense of satisfaction.

“My perfect little one,” Jonathan moves to crawl on top of you, unzipping his pants quickly, “You’re gonna be good for me, right?”

#jonathan crane x reader #jonathan crane smut #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy x reader #kinktober 2023

[bidisasterevankinard]

Fuck it friday

tagged by @tizniz @jesuisici33 @daffi-990 @diazsdimples @wikiangela thank you<333 I missed my crossover fic so I wrote a little today. he is Jake and Buck's dynamic I can't wait to explore more cause I already love it way to much

“Jake, I don’t know about it,” but before Buck can continue to think of the reason why he can’t come to San-Diego, Jake already speaks.

“Listen here, Buckley. We have tried to get together for the last four years after I was in LA for three days to congratulate you on ending your probation year. I literally now live in the city in 3 hours drive from LA. And you died six months ago before it happened,” Jake is silent for a second, but Buck hears how he takes deep breath to take himself back together. Hearing how his death affected even his friends out of LA make him bite his lip so as not to cry. Painful reminder he should keep trying harder on therapy, should try to get better to help his family heal too. “So I’m not asking. You are bringing your pretty ass to San-Diego. I might even help to heal your heart after the recent break up with what is her name?” 

“Natalia. And there’s nothing to heal,” Buck for a second considers if he should tell Jake the whole truth about the break up or not, but really he needs a friend and there is no one better to talk about Eddie because Jake is Buck’s only friend. Not Eddie’s found family too. “I broke up with her because I understood I’m in love with…” Buck takes a deep breath getting ready to say it for the first time to someone who is not Dr. Copeland, but Jake does it first.

“Eddie.” 

The way the name of his best friend so easily slips from Jake’s mouth leaves Buck speechless with just one question which he almost scream.

“H-HOW?!”

“You talk about the guy all the time. You raise his, no, not his, his and yours  son together. You talk about him like he put the sun, moon and stars in the sky. It was so easy,”Buck hears how Jake rolls his beautiful green eyes and he hopes the man feels how he shows him finger. “Do not show me finger, sweetheart. You know I’m right. I’m more shocked no one called you on this definitely not little crush on your hot bestie before me. And they see you two together.” 

“Like no one calls you on your homoerotic comments about Rooster? Or how now do you want dick measure with the man not in figurative but real meaning?” Buck smirks when he hears how Jake tries to say something to deny it, but fails.

“How?”

Grinning, Buck takes a deep breath and perfectly repeating Jack's intonation begins to quote.

“Oh, Buck, Rooster is so cocky I hate his guts. Oh, Buck, this man irritates me so much I want to send him on fire. Buck, I saved this asshole today and we shook hands and I think we are going to be friends soon. Sweetheart, you will not believe who asked me about beer in Hard Deck without the team. Fuck, Buck Rooster abs somehow better than mine and it’s… irritates me so much,” Buck laughs remembering how the last part was said more like I-want-to-fuck-him and not this-guy-is-hotter-than-me-and-I'm-jealous. Buck knows the difference too well. He was friends with it for a moment. “I always feel like you would jump his bones the next time you see the man.”

“Said you”

“Touche.”

tagging @wildlife4life @watchyourbuck @exhuastedpigeon @eddiescowboy @elvensorceress @eddiebabygirldiaz @evanbegins @rainbow-nerdss @rogerzsteven @the-likesofus @thewolvesof1998 @theotherbuckley @transboybuckley @underwater-ninja-13 @puppyboybuckley @paranoidbean @anakinfallen @spaceprincessem @spotsandsocks @spagheddiediaz @devirnis @fortheloveofbuddie @gaydiaz @giddyupbuck @heartshapedvows @hoodie-buck @jeeyuns @loserdiaz @ladydorian05 @caroandcats @cowboybuckleys @bigfootsmom @bekkachaos @buddierights @mandzuking17 @monsterrae1 @malewifediaz @steadfastsaturnsrings @hippolotamus and anyone who wants

#I was so sad and lazy all day but finally made myself write #I hope it's good #hangster and buddie crossover wip #my wips #buddie #evan buckley #eddie diaz #evan buck buckley #911 #911 abc

[angelsanarchy]

Glass Houses: Jack Thurlow x Y/N Series CH 12 -> CH 13

"I'm kind of terrified of her getting to know the real me." "Hey, the real you might be a pretentious dick but you're not a bad person."

Tagging: @roryculkinluvr @thatsthewrongwallcraig @icarus-star @cc-luvr @madamemaximoff06 @shady-the-simp @quicksilversg1rl @s-0lar @kristennero-wallacewellsver @ophelialaufey @mayathepsychic1999

Jack kept busy moving his laptop and writing journals into his dad's old art studio. He's decided that he needs a separation of where he works and where he sleeps, a recommendation made by Dr. Carty.

He was actually surprised how much more he got written now that he was in a different space of the house. He felt almost like he was channeling some of his father's creativity as he wrote. He had the curtains pulled open and the window crack slightly allowing the breeze into the room. It gave him a since of freedom he hadn't truly felt since being back in the house.

"Bitchface!? Are you up there?" Jack startled hearing Shanda's voice coming up the steps.

"In here ya stupid slut." Jack called out to her, making sure to save and shut his laptop. She came up the stairs an spotted him immediately as he threw his arms open.

"What do you think? Not too bad right?" Jack looked around the room and Shanda nodded.

"It looks great. You look like shit but the house is really coming along." Shanda hugged Jack and could feel how much thinner he was since they last saw one another.

"What are you living on? Slim jims and coffee?" Shanda ran her fingertips under the dark circles of his eyes.

"I'm working on it. I have an appointment with my doc coming up to talk about a medication change. Too many side effects are making it a pain in the ass just getting up in the morning." Jack explained.

"Can you even do that? I mean will that set you back?" Shanda asked curiously.

"Yeah Y/n explained that sometimes you need to find the right cocktail of medication so you don't live a miserable life with a bunch of fucked up side effects." Jack explained

"Well did you want me to stay and keep an eye out while you go through the change?" Shanda asked making Jack laugh.

"I'm mentally ill Shan, not a werewolf. I'll be fine. Y/n checks in almost daily so if I have any issues, she's right down the street." Shanda's eyebrow went up.

"You made a friend?" Shanda smirked.

"Yes I made a friend. Technically she's a neighbor and owns the dog that looks like Rusty but yes we're pretty friendly." Jack couldn't hide his smile and Shanda laughed out loud.

"You're friendly. Friendly like you have a book club or friendly like you 69 in the kitchen?" Shanda was happy to see Jack making progress but she will always worry about him.

"Jesus Christ. Is that the friendship spectrum with lesbians?" Jack teased.

"Hey I just want to make sure I don't eat off the counter where your ass has been." She held her hands up in defense.

"No we aren't fucking. We just...hang out. She mostly brings me food and let's the dog stay when I'm having a bad night. It's been nice.." Jack trailed off and Shanda could tell something was up.

"But?"

"I'm kind of terrified of her getting to know the real me." Jack tucked his hair behind his ears and Shanda shook her head.

"Hey, the real you might be a pretentious dick but you're not a bad person." Shanda defended.

"Jack be serious. Do you really think you're supposed to be stuck in this house all by yourself, writing some manifesto forever alone?" Shanda asked.

"I'm not writing a manifesto." Jack laughed.

"Jack." Shanda's tone was serious.

"I don't know Shan! I just don't want to hurt anyone like I did Cleo. I mean I was going through something but even you've admitted that it was a bastard move. Y/n has a lot going on in her life and I don't want to make it worse." Jack had to admit that the more time he spent talking with Y/n, the more he wondered what she was doing during the day. They texted often and he enjoyed her insight and sense of humor. There was a piece of him that felt like he didn't deserve this feeling. He didn't deserve a second chance to find someone to spend his days with that he truly cared about.

"You did everything you could to try and apologize to Cleo. She may not have reached out or accepted it but she's moved on with her life, Jack. She moved out of your old place, she's got a new boyfriend..." Jack's eyes lit up.

"Really?" Shanda wonders if she said too much.

"Yes and she's happy. You can't keep punishing yourself for what happened in the past. Things could have been so much worse. Your relationship was collateral damage but you shouldn't live the rest of your life miserably because of it. You deserve happiness just like she does." Shanda threw her arm around Jack's neck and he nodded.

"I love you you fluffy haired bitch. Love yourself a little...and let your neighbor suck your dick for a bit." Shanda teased.

"And they say I'm the fucked up one." Jack put his arm around Shanda and she laughed.

"Hey we're all fucked up. I just know how to have fun." Shanda pulled Jack with her out of the room.

"I'm happy you're here. Thanks for always showing up for me." Jack knew this visit was going to be interesting now that she knew he had an infatuation with the neighbor. All he could hope was that it didn't end in disaster.

#Jack Thurlow #Jack Goes Home #One Shot Series #Jack x Y/n #Glass Houses Series #Glass Houses #Rory Culkin #Culkin Cult #12/38

[mxanigel]

15 lines of dialogue

Rules: Share 15 or fewer lines of dialogue from an OC, ideally lines that capture the character/personality/vibe of the OC. Bonus points for just using the dialogue without other details about the scene, but you're free to include those as well!

Thank you for the tag, @arendaes! It was difficult to stop at 15 lines, haha.

1) “Hurry up with the details before Hange attempts something we’ll all regret.” 2) “I don’t understand grief. Why it lingers. Why it rears its ugly head whenever it pleases. Rena died five years ago. Why does… why can I still ache this much?” 3) “Don’t sell yourself short. A terrible person wouldn’t offer to carry me through this forest.” 4) “Don’t you dare pull a Levi on me.” 5) “I’m still alive. I feel like I shouldn’t be. But as long as I am alive, I don’t want every moment to be dark. And if I can provide some light, some joy, even if it’s just a smile, I feel like my time with Rena mattered.” 6) “My home is with the two of you, after all.” 7) “She just likes to remind me what a fuck-up I am at every opportunity.” 8) “Pull me back up. I’m giving this another try.” 9) “Saving you is still a work in progress.” 10) “I need you to take the lead here. I trust you.” 11) “I-I’ll try to commit it to memory so I can draw you a picture.” 12) “I don’t want to take a life. When I do, I’ll live with that weight until I join them. But I’ll do everything in my power to help find a better path forward for what remains of humanity. And I’ve accepted that path sometimes requires fighting to the death.” 13) “I don’t hate you. I’m trying not to hate anyone. Including myself. Hate just makes everything worse. But hatred is hard, so hard to avoid.” 14) “I don’t envy the choice you had to make. Right or wrong, you’re the one who must now live with it. Like I do with the choice I made just now.” 15) “Th-There’s that too, but love isn’t about fucking. At least, it isn’t for me. That part’s… like a perk? When you’re in love. I, ah, like being close to the person I love. Physically. But that closeness can be the touch of a hand. Or it can be more. But it doesn’t always have to be. For me, anyway.”

No-pressure tagging @ruthvelyan @poetikat @captastra @saraptor @druckkugelschreiber

@marythegizka @spindleweedss @korblez @nightingalesighs

@dr-paine @milesmentis @gardensystemtv and anyone else who'd like to play!

#tag games #OC: Shion Miller #fic: cut to the feeling #aot fanfic #I'm just a puddle of feels going through this fic again <3 thank you for the excuse to do so~ #oi tumblr what's up with your tags not sticking (I apologize if you get multiple notifications...)

[try-set-me-on-fire]

Tagged by @devirnis for WIP Wednesday! Here’s a whole scene from proposal fic because why not… (vomit content warning)

Bobby shows up on the doorstep before Buck's first PT appointment after being discharged and Buck is hit by sudden intense gratitude for the stupidest possible reason. Ah, he thinks, thank god Eddie isn't going to see what I'm like during one of these. And then What the fuck, Buckley? Eddie did see him after that first session, and it's not like his patheticisms start and end within a 45 minute time frame and the clean walls and persistent disinfectant smell of Dr. Shelley's office. He's spent the last two days in a shivering little lump on the man's bed, sleeping 16 hours out of 24. He's not really sparing him anything he hasn't already seen. What, then? Spread the different facets of exactly how fucked up he is around? Like if no one has to deal with too much they won't get tired of it? Here, Eddie, you can have helping me go to the bathroom because I can't stand up on my own. Maddie, you get me crying whenever I see you or even hear you on the phone because you're my big sister so I get to dump all my feelings on you, that's fair right? Bobby, you can hear me screaming in pain, is that ok with you? You were there last time, I'm sure you'll do fine. It's too much for any of them. It's too much for Buck.

"You ready, kid?" Bobby says, with the softest little smile. God. Buck is going to fall apart into tiny, gross little pieces. Eddie can mop the floor and be done with him.

“Ready,” is what he says, knowing it sounds like a lie.

They have him walking between the parallel bars today. He remembers them, from his leg. They don’t start there, most of the hour is more stretching (ow) and fine motor skills practice (frustrating). But they told him at the beginning they want to get him walking again as soon as they can to avoid any further muscle loss or atrophy, and they want to work with him to see if they can figure out how much of his dizziness is from brain injury and how much is from vestibular damage.

Well, he’s up on the bars now and he couldn’t fucking tell you. The whole world is just spinning around him at a sickening speed as the physical therapist and Bobby both mutter encouragement, tell him to keep taking one more step, he can do it. Buck tries, he really tries, he wants to take these five steps on his own and for the doctor to tell him he’s progressing fantastically and to be tired but happy on the drive home with Bobby, both of them smiling and cracking jokes. Instead he collapses three steps in and vomits on the soft plastic-y blue floor covering. His ear is ringing and he only has a split second to feel humiliated before there are arms around him.

“Sweetheart,” Bobby is saying over the background hum, “Sweetheart, I’ve got you.” There are hands in Buck’s hair and he chokes out a sob. He doesn’t really stop crying until they’re almost back at the Diaz house, how he got from the office to the car a mysterious blur. Bobby is holding his hand on the center console. When Buck squeezes a little tighter he hears him sigh in relief and it almost starts the tears up again. Bobby is out of the car as soon as he's parked, hurrying around to the passenger side to help Buck to the house. He’d protested, days ago, about the need to rent a wheelchair until he could carry a little more of his own weight, but now he guesses getting rolled to the door is more dignified than Bobby having to put him in a fireman's carry.

He’d do it. Buck knows he would, Bobby would pick him up and hold him in his arms and carry him as far as he needed to go. Bobby settles him on the couch, handling him as gently as he would a child at a disaster site, running to bring him mouthwash to get rid of the bitter taste of stomach acid, finding saltines in the kitchen, pouring ginger ale on ice and procuring as if by magic a bendy straw in old fashioned, environmentally unfriendly, single use plastic. He sits on the coffee table in front of him, at attention, ready to appease any want.

"Thanks, dad. Bobby! Thanks- thanks, Cap," Buck slams his eyes shut and drops his head onto the couch behind him. The indignities never fucking end, apparently. He's stopped from withering away entirely by the warm weight of a hand over his own where it lays on the armrest. Buck opens his eyes. Bobby is staring down at their hands, jaw working, breathing through his nose.

"It wasn't even-" Bobby frowns as his voice fails, and clears his throat to try again. "I kept wishing I could be mad at you. Being reckless again, running into danger, getting yourself hurt." He exhales heavily, breath stuttering into a sad little laugh. "But I watched you climb that ladder. I kept playing it over and over in my head. You had three points of contact the whole time. Could have filmed it for a goddamn safety manual. It could have been-" his voice catches again, and Buck turns his hand to grab onto Bobby's. "It could have been any of us. It could have been any of us up there. All the stupid stunts you pull that you walk away from, and it's-" Bobby's free hand waves wildly into the room. "It's a random fucking act of god that nearly-"

"Bobby-"

"That nearly takes you from me," he finishes, squeezing Buck's hand. He's crying, and Buck thinks he might be again, too.

"I'm so sorry-"

"Oh, kid," Bobby says, leaning forward, gathering Buck up in his arms. “Nothing to apologize for. You’re right here. You’re still breathing. That’s all I need.”

Buck weeps again, into Bobby’s shoulder, his captain or father or good friend’s hand rubbing up and down his spine. He is still breathing. He’s still breathing. Bobby’s soft flannel shirt smells like grill smoke and Eddie’s couch is familiar beneath him, and Buck hurts and feels sick and dizzy, and he exists. “Bobby-“

“It’s alright. It’s alright.”

Bobby’s face is wet when Buck pulls away after however long it takes for each breath to stop aching so bad as it rattles in and out of him. Buck wants to say all sorts of things, most of which amount to I love you, but what comes out is a nod towards the TV and “You wanna stay for the game?”

Buck doesn’t even know what sports, if any, are on today, but Bobby seems to hear some of the other words he meant to say because he smiles so kindly at him and says “Yeah, Buck. Anything.”

Tagging @iinryer @bigfootsmom @shortsighted-owl if you’ve got anything to share!

#wip #wip wednesday #proposal fic #thats his dad boogie woogie woogie #was listening to the interstellar soundtrack while finishing this scene up #i remember fuck all about that movie but the soundtrack hits #listen to Stay and cry about how that song feels like a building plea and a desperate desire to answer that plea #stay!! stay with me!! #arms wide open for you

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"Angels Are Avian-Adjacent"

Rated: Teen

Pairing: Steve x Bucky

Tags: wing fic, avian creatures, angel Steve, veterinarian Bucky, supernatural meet-cute, fantasy au, injury and medical treatment

Summary: Unlike Bucky's regular patients, Steve was going to need a bit more reassurance than a simple belly rub or placating scritch behind the ear.

(A last minute fill to grab a B-I-N-G-O on Stucky'Verse Bingo!)

A fill for @stuckyversebingo

card: sarah-writes-stucky / sarahyellow

Square D1: "Creature: Avian"

“I … I don’t think I can do this,” Bucky stuttered, hands fluttering about nervously, hovering over one of the massive wings and then pulling away again, too freaked out to touch him. “You’re hurt. Y-you need a doctor.”

“You’re a doctor.”

“I’m a veterinarian!” 

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” Steve said, voice coming out strained due to the pain he was in, “but don’t you still receive a fair degree of medical training for that?”

“For animals!” Bucky blustered. “N-not, not humans! And certainly not for … whatever the heck you are!”

Steve huffed in frustration. “I told you, I’m an—”

“An angel. Yeah, you said that.” Bucky still didn’t want to believe it, even though the proof was in the pudding, and the pudding was currently lying face down on his clinic’s exam table—all two hundred pound, six foot tall, approximately twelve foot wingspan of it. Bucky laughed slightly hysterically. “This is insane!”

“Be that as it may, this actually hurts like a motherfucker, so if you don’t mind, isn’t there something you could give me?” Steve grit out. Bucky hesitated, until the creature turned to face him, a wince taking over his—sweaty and visibly pained, but also admittedly angelic—features. “Please?” he breathed, fear and pleading in his eyes. “I can’t go to a regular hospital. Please. You understand, don’t you?”

Bucky nodded after a beat. “Yeah,” he whispered, though he really didn’t understand a fucking thing at all. “O-okay.” He swallowed nervously and looked around, trying to gather his wits. “Um, do - do you know how meds affect you?”

Steve shook his head and tried to shrug, but when his shoulders moved his wings did too, and he gasped sharply, his pearly white teeth bared in a pained snarl—though far prettier than any made by Bucky’s usual patients. “I don’t know,” he said tightly, voice clipped from the pain of trying to hold himself still. “I’ve never needed medicine. I don’t usually get sick. or hurt.”

Bucky made a dubious face. “O-kaay … well ... how much do you weigh?” 

Steve gave him his best guess, and Bucky decided that he probably wouldn’t kill a roughly two hundred-twenty pound, avian-adjacent humanoid creature with a conservative amount of ketamine. Despite the wings he had sprouting out of his back, Steve did still appear to be mammalian in nature. The guy had nipples, leastways.

 “Okay,” Bucky said, sighing as he pulled out his phone. “Hang on for a sec.”

“What are you doing?”

His lips twisted as he started typing. “You’re just a tad heavier than my usual patients, bud. I’m consulting Dr. Google for your dosage conversion.”

After navigating past a slew of search results promoting crisis hotlines and addiction recovery centers, he was able to find the information he needed to calculate how much of the drug to give Steve. “Okay,” he breathed, still wildly nervous and freaked out over what was going on. He went and prepared an injection of the medication and came back to prep the angel’s arm with a tourniquet and alcohol swab. Steve didn’t make a peep when the needle went in, and a minute later, his body was visibly relaxing from the sudden relief of pain. 

“Oh,” he breathed, blond eyelashes fluttering against his pretty cheeks. “Oh, thank you. That’s … that’s much better.”

Not knowing where to touch him, Bucky tentatively patted the angel’s hair. “You’re welcome,” he said, eyes sliding down to the injured wing. There was a shard of metal wedged up between the secondary convert and marginal convert feathers, the blood that stained their white color indicating that whatever the object was, it’d likely pierced Steve in the humeral portion of his … his wing. 

Bucky licked his lips and moved his hands down Steve’s back, hovering, afraid to touch something so foreign. “Um, okay,” he hedged. “There’s some sort of shrapnel. I can see where it is, but I need to get a better look at the point of entry. Can you …” (Jesus, what the everloving fuck was he even doing?) “Um, can you move your wing at all?” He gingerly touched the coracoscapular joint, watching as Steve worked up the nerve to give a tentative movement. He hissed at the motion, but was able to slowly unfold his left wing out from his back. “Good,” Bucky praised, gloved hands gently guiding him. “Okay, easy. Good, right there. That’s good enough.”

Steve stopped moving, panting from the exertion, a slight sheen of sweat on his brow when he turned his head further to look at Bucky out of the corner of his eye. “How bad is it?”

“It’s not gonna be life threatening,” Bucky said after a moment of carefully moving the feathers out of the way to examine the site of penetration. “Unless you’ve got a major blood vessel in a place where birds don’t.” He inspected the injury, mentally cataloguing the supplies he was going to need to perform the extraction. “Okay,” he muttered under his breath, talking more to himself than he was to Steve. “Okay, yeah. I think this is gonna be okay. I think we can do this.”

“You can?”

Bucky’s attention shot back to Steve, who sounded very anxious. Bucky was abruptly reminded that unlike his regular patients, Steve was going to need a bit more reassurance than a simple belly rub or placating scritch behind the ear. “Yeah,” he promised, firming up his voice into something more confident and professional. “Yeah. Your anatomy is basically human, with avian anatomy in the places where I need to work."

“You operate on angels often?” Steve joked nervously.

“Nope. But I know birds, and it’s more a matter of basic principles than anything else,” Bucky reassured. “Don’t worry. I know what to do.” 

Steve exhaled in relief, and Bucky didn’t feel too guilty for making a promise he wasn’t a hundred percent confident on. “Kay,” he said, turning around to go gather what he’d need for the procedure. “We’re gonna do this under a local anesthetic, so you’ll be awake. Just give me a few minutes while I get ready.”

Masterlist

If you liked what you read and feel so inclined, please consider dropping a tip in the Kofi🍵 cup!

#stucky #fanfiction #fanfic #wingfic #wing fic #angel #angel fic #supernatural au #fantasy au #avian character #bucky barnes #steve rogers #steve rogers x bucky barnes #meet ugly #meet cute #veterinary medicine #buckyismybae

[moved-to-piersgender]

(DISCLAIMER: I'm not excusing Mettaton for this. Don't start that shit with me. In this house we love complicated and flawed characters)

I've been feeling quite shitty which has got me thinking about the infamous Burgerpants.

Sooo essentially I think he's rejecting his past self again but being something of a dick about it. When we meet Mettaton in Deltarune he's a depressed wretch, an utter wet towel of a man at the bottom of a deep mental hole, someone that's still present in the world but given up on living. Our little greasy sadboy cat is ALSO a depressed wretch at the bottom of a deep mental hole, convinced that it's only down from here despite only being 19 and smoking to deal with his problems.

Mettaton, when we first meet him in the game, in his quest to escape his past has thoroughly alienated his loved ones. He's bought into the lie that he's a self made man, when the truth is that he was extremely fortunate to have made a friend that was a skilled engineer and that him escaping that emotional void was something he could never have done without support.

So when he gathers staff for his poorly thought out pastiche of human fanciness, and gets to know them for a while. Most he gets on well with, people who have taken some joy in their strange new roles, but there's this guy. This guy who does nothing but complain about his life, about how he was expecting instant success, this absolute wet blanket of a young man who's in a deep emotional hole that is, from Mettaton's perspective, of his own making. And he remembers what being that fucking miserable is like. We all know that Mettaton hates his past self and would rather forget it entirely. And here comes Burgerpants, reminding him of it. See, he MADE something of himself! He wanted to die for most of his existence, but here he is, atop an empire! So perhaps this wretch needs some motivation to improve. Some harsh, unkind, NOT AT ALL PUNISHING HIMSELF FOR PERCIEVED INTERNAL WEAKNESS BY PROXY motivation.

So while there's some sympathy he doesn't acknowledge deep in there which is why he doesn't just cut the guy loose if he's really such a pain, I think he's kind of waiting for Burgerpants to call him on his bullshit. To show SOME indication of an internal fire, and he's just…not. He straight up saddled the man with an insulting nickname and the dude calls HIMSELF that now. Who the fuck does that? So instead BP continues to make his misery a vital part of his identity and blame all his problems on the feeemalessss.

By the time that Mettaton meets Frisk and got some ego knocked out of that extremely attractive head of his, he's reevaluating his relationship with others and is gonna be a bit less hard on the guy. But he's a guy that'd honestly rather die than admit he fucked up or that he feels unsexy emotions, so while he does let BP tag along to the surface with him he's not gonna be TOO nice to the dude quite yet. He's still gonna have to earn it… obviously…

TL;DR: Burgerpants reminds him too much of his ghost self. He hates his ghost self, and he's decided in a rather twisted way that he's gonna "motivate" Burgerpants to improve too.

(Mettaton haters interacting with this post will be blocked on sight, I'm not here for a debate)

#I didn't edit or proofread this post at all #Mettaton #Burgerpants #Undertale #UTDR #MTT

[shadowsndaisies]

robin catching feelings

so someone sent me an ask but tumblr glitched and I can't find it but here's a little headcannon/my thought process on it:

ok so when does our birdboy realize??

already set that birdy had a small crush in ep 1 so what if robin did too? 

but what if he’s not fully aware until later, developing his feelings throughout all the things that are happening

but like more to come on the kernel of his crush from when they first met...

HERE'S WHY

chapter 6 (infiltrated)

Robin had some interesting feelings about wally and birdy’s kiss

Maybe he's not exactly sure why— just that it bothered him, and he kind of leaves the emoting alone for a bit. bc he does like her but mb he doesnt realize how much he likes her…. yet.

wally on the other hand notices the slightest hints of jealousy and will be supporting the information away for later

chapters 9 (bereft) and 11 (terrors)

so, in episode 9, they had the brain blast amnesia, and Kaldur got super sick. 

Robin was all jealous. Which is something he had to come to terms with it, especially because ain't no way Wally would let him go. 

So maybe wally presses on it a little bit and Robin gets defensive, so he decides to let it go… for now…

But after 11, when Robin and Birdy had their little moment on the sofa, he brings it up again because now he knows some things. 

That was when birdy did her reveal to him, so maybe he's like maybe… I…. am… into…. her...

also he called her beautiful… sooooo

so at this point homeboy knows he has a crush, but he's not exactly down bad

chapters 14 (revelations) & 15 (humanity)

so based off what was said just before, this is why 14 and 15 have such a big role. 14 gives us birdy’s big chance with Dr. fate. 

I mean the boys almost lost her, and that drives home for him because holy shit I could've lost her. 

so now he’s thinking about it…

he does not like the feeling he gets because he's lost plenty of people in his life already. 

And then in 15, right? Enter Z? It's common knowledge that zatanna’s pretty and she seems to have a little minor crush on him too 

because she's flirting with him, but maybe this is the distraction he needs because he doesn't want to fall for birdy. i mean look at B right? he doesn't have attachments bc they only end up in pain, and with all rob’s already lost he's not trying to make new ones.

which is why he's so dumb and flirts w zatanna— to keep his mind of birdy

which puts us at chapter 16 (failsafe) - when birdy reveals how she feels, outright and clearly

and his distraction tactic goes out the window bc fuck birdy is pretty and smart and tough and oh fuck. oh shit. this is more than just a crush

chapter 17 (disordered) 

his admission of being into her following therapy w dinah and his realization of not wanting to be batman. 

of wanting to be in her life, wanting to be a part of her life, actively.

of being there for her, there to catch her, whatever she needs

not wanting to be bruce- especially the isolation of it all

aka when we see birdboy is, in fact, down bad

from that point on we see his feelings grow

18 (secrets)

homeboy's got heart eyes watching ng stand up to the bat

19 (misplaced)

HUGE for their development bc birdy meets dick grayson for the first time

and he's out here showing the most secretive part of himself to her

21 (agendas)

our love birds go on a date (kinda) and they get to be yn and dick, and see how they do with each other over ng and robin, and it just reaffirms the feelings for both of them

everything tags: 

@butterfly-skinnylegend​​ 

dc taglist: 

@grey-water-colors​ @batarella​ @loninctzencarat​ ​​@escapenightmare

cnng taglist: 

@babymango-writes​​​​​​ @smile-more19​​​​​​ @bruiscdlikeviolets​​​​​ @truly-dionysus​​​​​​ @farfromjustordinary​​​​​ @sometimeseverythingsucks​​​​​ @dweeb-central​​​ @lucy-roo​​​​​ @casedoina​​​​​ @cipheress-to-k-pop​​​​​ @anonomano​​​​​ @seninjakitey​​​​​ @explodingwaffle789​​​​​ @whelmedparker @bigtimesexhaving​​​​​ @officiallydarkgeek​​​​​ @midnxghtblue​​​​​ @unini​​​​ ​ @blackwhiteandshadesofgradient​​​​​ @dontmesswithbeebo​​​​​ @raggedyoldwitch​​​​​ ​​​​​ @amans-te-amo @tinybeantm​​​​​​​​​​ @unicorn-mya​​​​​ @bouqet-of-gay​​​​​ @duckmylife18 @kendallambrosio​​​​​ @hanbetired​​​​ @torchbearerkyle​ @cynthiarose07​​ @lolsnacks​​​​ ​ @mono--moonchild @emo-space-tea​ @notsostraightweeb​ @cryingnotcrying​  @sassyspanishartist​ @ahyeonah​ @acceber1313​ @abuliawrites @onepieceformeplease @whatislifeandhowdoidoit @luvelyxp​ @lovelyartemisa @evermoore580 @mischiefmanaged71

#ask and answered #cnng #dick grayson #codename: nightingale #cnng asks #anon #our songbirds #cnng hcs #cnng hc #cnng blurb

[gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot]

Paulatim sed Firmiter (Slowly but surely) - Wednesday night / Thursday early morning

Warning: None. If I check and re-check this one I'm going to combust

Tag (because they asked): @glitterypirateduck

I'm thankful for @nrdmssgs and @glitterypirateduck 's amazing patience with me

Previous / Masterlist / Next

Mood:

Wednesday night/Thursday early morning

Somewhere

‘‘… and you should’ave seen their faces, Lt, it was hilarious’’ Soap’s smug grin filled the screen while he walked down a hallway, keeping his phone up to his face, laughing. ‘‘Gaz and I were blowing kisses and squealing each time they grabbed us and they just looked horrified while we beat them up’’

Ghost was lying on the floor, his shoulders and head propped up against his backpack, with his rifle between his legs and his phone in his hand, listening to Johnny rambling about their day. It was a habit that Soap had started after Las Almas, when they had resumed ‘normal life’ and sometimes deployed to separate places. Due of that, MacTavish had started recording videos of the 141’s day whenever one of them wasn’t there to experience it.

It was strange to be so far and so alone, and feel so comforted by a stupid video that he shouldn’t even be watching. He never brought his mobile phone on solo missions. But this time he did. And there he was, with only one earphone on just in case.

‘‘Ack, I hope you get back soon, it’d have been funnier with you along…’’ In the video, Soap arrived at the common room and stepped inside, still holding his phone up. ‘‘Gaz and Riot are making dinner, this week’s canteen has been shite’’

The view of the camera focused on the small kitchenette Price had ordered to be installed in the private common room, where Gaz and Christine were talking while cutting something on a board.

‘‘In all honesty, it was so damn funny, but we’re going to get in so much trouble once Price knows’’

‘‘We’ll cross that bridge when… ’’ Gaz gasped when he suddenly found a phone in front of his face, and his own face looking back at him. ‘‘Shit, Soap, just warn me next time’’

‘‘What are you doing?’’ Christine turned her head to look at Johnny, who was peering over her head to see what they were preparing: a lot of potatoes, onion, and a couple of garlic cloves.

‘‘Recording a video for Ghost. God knows where he’s at today’’ Soap tried to grab a slice of the raw onion and she swatted his hand away. ‘‘Ow… what are we eating?’’

‘‘Tortilla de patata, I’m so fucking sick of British food’’ She grumbled, and then yelped when Johnny hugged her from behind and started swaying with her. ‘‘I’m going to cut myself and it’ll be your fault! Go bother someone else!’’

‘‘Aww…’’ Soap raised the phone screen to his face again, pouting. ‘‘Lt, nobody loves me’’

‘‘Don’t fucking say that!’’ She threw a piece of raw potato at Johnny, hitting him right on his ear as Gaz laughed.

Ghost chuckled quietly, pausing the video to take a swig of his water bottle. He was supposed to be there, sitting in the common room with them instead of lying on the dust in an abandoned warehouse in the middle of nowhere. It almost surprised him how much he really wanted to be there.

He was used to being alone. To working alone. He preferred it that way. The void in his chest and the darkness in his mind were too much to impose on other people, as much as Dr. Heather tried to convince him that was not the case. Too much baggage. Too much pain. Too much blood.

Too many ghosts.

And still, he struggled to ignore the little videos and texts that Johnny sent when he was away. He watched them alone in his room at base to try and make himself feel human again, a part of something. He found himself starting to want again. To feel greedy about things he wanted to have, experience, and keep.

Even Gaz texted him from time to time, sometimes even sending a short funny video or a link to some song on Youtube or Spotify. Price texted him sometimes too, brief things like ‘Be safe’ or ‘Drinks on me’

Ghost unpaused the video, watching as Soap and Riot bickered and laughed, still cooking. It was so… stupidly domestic that it felt strange to be so jealous of not being there. Then Gaz grabbed the phone to start telling him about some problem with a supply company that Price and him were dealing with. Garrick excelled at handling that sort of thing, and would be an awesome high ranking officer in the future. But he was more interested in what was happening in the background.

‘‘What can I do?’’ Soap kept trying to steal raw onion, and Riot thrusted a bowl into his hands.

‘‘Whisk eight eggs’’  She grumbled, frying the potatoes in batches with the onion and the garlic until they were soft and crumbling. ‘‘And stop trying my patience’’

‘‘But I’m hungry… Gaz, aren’t you hungry?’’

‘‘I know better than to bother the cook’’ Gaz laughed, with the phone in hand and showing what they were doing. ‘‘You have to write down the recipe for me’’

‘‘Sure thing, I’ll text you later with it’’ She hummed approvingly when Soap showed her the bowl. ‘‘Put that aside, I’m still frying this’’

There was a sound of the door opening in the video and Gaz turned around. Price had come in, looking quite pissed. In that moment, his comm made a static noise and Ghost paused the video again, waiting.

‘‘Watcher-1 to Bravo 0-7, position?’’

‘‘Fifteen klicks from exfil’’

‘‘Objective?’’

‘‘Terminated’’

‘‘Are you safe for the night?’’

‘‘Affirmative’’

As if someone was safe, anywhere.

‘‘I’ll have a bird waiting at dawn. Watcher-1 out’’

‘‘Copy. Out’’

Ghost sighed, rubbing his eyes. After being on his feet for close to thirty-six hours, he really should try and get some sleep if he had to hike fifteen kilometres to the exfil point before dawn. But he unpaused the video again.

‘‘May I ask why the fuck do I have a formal complaint on my desk about three of my staff, for humiliating three Army Air Corps Sergeants in public?’’ Price obviously wasn’t happy, and the three culprits looked at each other.

‘‘A formal complaint? That’s preposterous’’ Gaz shook his head, pretending to be offended. ‘‘It was a friendly demonstration’’

‘‘A friendly…’’ Price almost sputtered, grabbing mechanically the bottle of beer that the ‘apple of his eyes’ was offering him with an appeasing smile. ‘‘I expected that shit from MacTavish, but certainly not from you’’

‘‘Gaz here is the devious one, not me!’’ Johnny defended himself, while Riot was trying to go unnoticed with her back to them and busy in the kitchenette.

‘‘Do you muppets even realize all the…’’ The Captain stopped talking and walked over to Riot, who was very intently ignoring his presence. ‘‘What are you cooking?’’

‘‘Tortilla de patata’’ She smiled innocently, earning a glare from him. ‘‘There’s enough if you’d like to stay’’

‘‘… Heather is having dinner with some colleagues’’ Price grumbled, with the beer still in his hand. Gaz gave the phone back to Johnny and then clasped a hand on the Captain’s shoulder, guiding him to the dinner table.

‘‘Cap, there’s something going on with one of the supply companies that I wanted to talk to you about…’’

‘‘Phew’’ Johnny laughed, placing the phone on the counter and against the wall so it would keep recording him and Riot while she cooked and he bothered her. ‘‘Gaz will keep him busy while you finish’’

‘‘Good, that way we’ll have our last dinner before he kills us’’ Christine sighed, mixing the fried potatoes, onion and garlic with the whisked eggs and then pouring the mixture into a burning hot oiled pan.

‘‘Nah, he’ll have our backs once he knows what’s going on…’’ He grabbed her phone from her pocket, ignoring her silent glare, and unlocked it before starting to browse her music. He chose one song, smiling. ‘‘Which one is it?’’

‘‘Aren’t we a bit old to keep playing that?... Mony, Mony, Billy Idol’’

‘‘It seems we aren’t. What about this one?’’ Johnny chose another, and she hesitated a couple of seconds before answering.

‘‘Nothing Else Matters, Metallica’’

‘‘Ok, next one…’’

‘‘Are you going to let me listen to them?’’ She hummed along with the next one before answering. ‘‘Think, by Kaleida… here, hold this’’

She handed him a big plate and then turned her attention back to her task, molding the mixture in the pan to prevent it from sticking or pouring out while she kept humming. The humming was followed by soft, hushed singing, until Johnny nudged her and her voice got a bit louder, the recording completely forgotten.

They worked for a bit, Johnny silent for once or humming along and Riot singing softly, completely focused on what she was doing. After a while she grabbed the plate that Johnny was holding to cover the pan, and then turned it around to slowly and carefully let the content slid back in.

By then Johnny was belting out I want to break free by Queen, dodging the pens that Gaz was throwing at him, laughing his ass off. Price was sitting back on his chair, finishing his second beer after having decided that whatever his kids had done could wait until the following day.

Alone in the run down warehouse in the middle of bumfucknowhere, Ghost felt jealousy and his heart ached a bit at the memory he had missed being a part from. He resented Laswell and the mission that had forced him to get out of the little bubble that the 141 had built. Three days tops. He missed her eyes.

The video jumped forward to where Price, Gaz and Riot were sitting at the table, and Johnny was rambling about whatever while they were serving the food.

‘‘So, yea, I guess I’ll leave you to… whatever it is you’re doing, Lt’’ The phone was aimed at Gaz then. ‘‘Gaz, say bye bye’’

‘‘Take care, Ghost’’ Gaz smiled and raised two fingers to his temple in a salute, and then the phone was on Price’s face, who grumbled.

‘‘Come back in one piece, will you? I have my hands full with these idiots’’

‘‘Don’t lie, Cap, you love us’’ Johnny laughed behind the camera, and then, the screen was on Riot, who sighed patiently, chewing part of her food. ‘‘Say something to the Lt!’’

She waited until she swallowed, her eyes a bit distant, maybe thinking what to say. Then, she smiled, that lovely, sweet smile that almost made him swerve the jeep into a tree back in Belarus.

‘‘Come back and I’ll tell you’’

Ghost chuckled quietly, listening to Johnny trying to coax her into saying more, but she just shook her head and kept eating. The camera turned around and was then on the Scot’s face, the screen full of his cheerful grin.

‘‘Sorry, Simon, I can’t get more… Be back soon and take care, we miss ye’’ He waved before stopping the video, and Ghost stared at the screen a bit longer, lost in his thoughts.

He still had fifteen kilometres left to hike before the exfil point. He really should rest. But his finger tapped on the screen and rewinded the video, until he found the point where Johnny and Christine were cooking. Where she was singing, with that low, almost shy voice before Soap had nudged her to sing louder. ‘Come back and I’ll tell you’.

Her voice in his earphone, filling his head with all kind of thoughts. Good thoughts.

Think of me, i’ll never break your heart. Think of me, you're always in the dark I am your light, your light, your light Think of me, you're never in the dark

‘Come back and I’ll tell you’.

He would.

#cod oc #cod original character #cod mw2 #call of duty original character #call of duty #cod fanfic #call of duty fanfic #call of duty modern warfare #cod ghost #simon riley x oc #ghost x oc #ghost x original character #ghost x female oc #call of duty modern warfare 2 #call of duty fanfiction #call of duty mw2 #ghost call of duty #soap mw2 #john soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish #soap call of duty #soap cod #soap mctavish #cod #cod price #john price #captain john price #captain price #price mw2 #kyle gaz garrick

[emma-frxst]

The Implicit Demand For Proof (Chapter 12)

Pairing: Detective David Loki x reader

Summary: you, a forensic psychologist, get called in on a high priority child abduction case in Conyers, PA. What happens when you catch feelings for the mysterious detective Loki?

Warnings: spoilers for the movie, movie level violence, slight change of events, language. talk of death and su*cide, angry Loki, angry reader.

A/N- reblogs and comments help me the most! Let me know your thoughts, even if it’s only a keysmash. Let me know if you wan on or off the tag list. Thanks for reading!!

-

David unlocked his front door with a heavy sigh. He shed his thick jacket and heavy boots and set his empty travel cup by the sink. He really needed to do the dishes, they were piling up. He opened the fridge, not because he was hungry, no, he had lost his appetite hours beforehand- Bob Taylor’s incident replaying over and over in his mind. He opened it but more out of pure habit, there was nothing there really. He been putting off grocery shopping, but to be fair, the food he bought usually went bad because he was rarely home to eat it.

David made his way to the shower, hoping the water would wash away more than just dirt and sweat.

Didn’t work so well for washing away guilty feelings.

He got out, dried himself then wrapped the towel around his waist.

He stood in front of the foggy mirror, water from his hair dripping onto the floor. He wiped a section away, only big enough so see his face.

He started intently at the man in the mirror, his expression turning sour.

“Stupid.” He muttered.

After putting on his pjs he slid under the covers, his body rejoicing at the prospect of slumber.

About a hour or two into his much needed sleep, Loki’s dreams were interrupted by his phone buzzing loudly against the oak nightstand.

Fuck

He should’ve just turned the damn thing off.

He looked at the caller ID

Dr. (F/n) (l/n)

He would’ve hit ignore if it was anyone but her

“Hello?” He murmured, barely awake.

“Loki I’ve got it- I don’t think Bob did it, the profile doesn’t match and-“

“Whoa, (y/n) slow down, please.” He said, his voice coarse. “I just woke up, I was actually sleeping for once.”

He sat up and rubbed his eyes.

“Oh sorry. I just assumed you’d be awake. “

“How long have you been up?” He asked.

“Um I haven’t slept. But that’s not important. What I’m trying to say is that I think the girls are still out there!”

Loki sighed, sitting up, the chilly night air invading his previously blanket- clad body. “okay..let’s hear it.”

“He said he killed them, but he’s not organized enough to pull something like this off.”

You could feel Loki’s confusion through the phone.

“The type of person that took these kids has done this before, they’re organized. And they have a mission; one that they would do anything to see it through to the end. They want to know the pain they’ve caused the families, to know they did that. Bob Taylor is not that. Bob Taylor is too hesitant and disorganized. You saw the shit drawn on his walls Loki, think about his behavior. Think about it.” You urged him.

Loki thought a moment, realizing what you were saying makes sense. But he was a man of facts..evidence.

“Or he did what he did so he wouldn’t sit in prison, (y/n). Plus, wheres the proof?! We need evidence.”

Loki’s heart rate began to rise and he grew a tinge angry at her. But for Loki, a tinge was just enough for all those big emotions to come flooding back.

“A profile isn’t proof. We can’t give these families false hope on a hunch! The families each identified clothing, (y/n). The girls clothes. And right now the evidence is pointing to Bob Taylor. Who’s dead now because of me!”

She was silent. He shouldn’t have yelled.

“(Y/N), listen-“

“No Loki you listen- I’m telling you something is off here. So you gotta cut that shit out and get back to looking for the girls.”

He sighed.

“Loki, did you pull the trigger on that gun?”

“What?” He questioned.

“Did you pull the trigger? Or did Bob?”

“Bob did, but-“

“Then it’s not your fault. Bob is the one who made that decision. Not you.“

Loki opened his mouth to speak but the words couldn’t make it out.

“Well get a fresh start in the morning. I’ll let you get back to sleep.”

“Yeah…You too.” He said with a gentle tone, hoping that it would convey to (y/n) that I’m not mad at you I’m mad at myself and this whole situation. I think you’re very smart and pretty and there’s something about you that makes me feel all fuzzy inside and I don’t know what to do about it.

But she hung up the phone with a quiet “bye, Loki.”

.

The next morning

You arrived at the station before Loki which was a surprise, he had been at his desk already working by the time you entered the door almost every day.

O’Malley had asked you into his office, presumably to talk more about last night.

“We’re going to deploy cadaver dogs when forensics is finished with the house. So when the case is officially closed, we can cut you loose, Dr. (L/n). Thank you again for coming. Sorry it didn’t have a happy ending.”

“Yeah, me too.” You replied.

“I’m, uh..sorry about detective Loki.” He sighed. “He can be-“ he paused. “Personally invested. He’s a good kid though.”

You nodded and excused yourself back to your desk.

You decided to keep your theory from the captain, at least until you could find some semblance of hard evidence to support your claim.

.

David sat in the captains office, expecting to get a good talking-to.

“Atleast I don’t have to worry about losing you to PSP.”

He refused the scotch the captain offered him.

“When forensics is finished with the guys place we’re gonna deploy the cadaver dogs.”

Loki didn’t say anything, as he was pre-occupied by Bob Taylor’s “map” he drew.

“Look kid we can’t always save the day, alright? We’re just cops. Janitors.”

Loki only started at the paper on the ground, half listening to his superior’s words.

“So you lost this one all right? Look, you want fulfillment? You need to find a girl, you know? Start a family, have some kids.” The captain hesitated before his next words.

“(L/n) seems nice, smart too.”

Loki glared up at him.

O’Malley gave him a knowing look.

“You need to let it go, Loki.”

“We done?” Loki’s question coming out as more of a statement.

.

As Loki came out of the captains office, you noticed his fists clenched and shoulders stiff.

Right before your eyes, in a fit of rage, Loki shoved everything off his desk. Sending it all clattering to the floor. He took the keyboard and smashed it against the hard surface of the desk, keys flying in all directions.

You understood now, what the guy from the search team said about Loki’s good mood. Because what you just witnessed was Loki’s bad mood.

You got up and went to the break room to give Loki some space, as much as you wondered what happened to him for him to get that angry and to express it in such a way- you were not about to be in the middle of it all.

In the break room, you found yourself amongst three other detectives making their first cup of coffee for the day.

It made you a bit anxious as you hadn’t really talked with anyone but Loki. Your nerves eased when they offered you a cup, saying anyone who worked that closely with David Loki would need it.

Before you could get another word in, Loki barged in. He had a real knack for showing up right when people were talking about him.

“(L/N), Forensics found something we need to see.”

-

loki only tags: @spideyrights @sataninsatin @go-commander-kim @severuined @romancries @eclecticfashionbookszipper @fagen @sizzlingcloudmentality @kissyabish

#david loki fanfiction #detective loki x reader series #detective loki reader insert #david loki x reader #detective David loki x reader #detective loki x reader #David loki x you #mine #kacceywrites

[thestayathomedragon]

This thing is so much more massive then I ever thought it would become. You'll have to forgive any mistakes in English and Spanish you may find. As well as any risks I've taken that at the time I thought were worth taking. I don't know when I'll be able to stomach reading this again after fighting with it for weeks now in order to fix anything I missed so I'm sorry in advance.

There are probably some tags that also need to be updated but I'm tired and I just want this posted and done. I'll get to those sooner than later I hope.

Anyway if you're still willing to read this monster of a chapter (11,000+ words) and open to yet another AU I appreciate it. :3

I want to scream "I love you" from the top of my lungs (but I’m afraid that someone else will hear me)

Time is luck and I wish ours overlapped more or for longer…

The first time he laid eyes on Luis again after all these long years, Leon realized just how much he had forgotten about the other man.

He had forgotten what color Luis’s eyes were, smoke gray, and how big and expressive they were. He had forgotten the curve of the man’s jaw and the way the dark curls of his hair fell around his face. The bend of his lips when he smiled. He had even forgotten the sound of his voice, deep and lilting, with just a little hint of a rasp. Probably from those damned cigarettes he had always been so fond of.

It had been a long time. Ten years? But really, who was counting?

Leon also realized pretty quickly that the only thing he truly remembered about Dr. Luis Serra Navarro was how being with him made him feel.

“Hey.” He said softly in greeting and he couldn’t help but cringe internally because he knows these were not his first words to the man.

“Hey…” Pale eyes blinked a few times trying to adjust to the light shining directly into his face. Then Luis smirked and said, “Got a smoke?”

Leon couldn’t help the stupid grin that spread across his face at that. “No… but maybe we can find you one?”

He was already working on cutting Luis loose and as soon as the man was free Leon held his finger up to his mouth and showed him the flash bang tucked in his coat.

Luis looked confused but then his eyes widened in response to something… or someone behind Leon. “Close your eyes.”

The first meeting with Mendez went quite differently this time because Leon was expecting him.

A flash bang in such an enclosed space wasn’t a great plan, but it was the best Leon was able to come up with on the fly. It was, however, enough to incapacitate the big bastard long enough for them to get past him.

Leon rushed Luis up the ladder first and to his surprise the other man stuck around to help him up in kind. They took off together with Mendez not far behind them. Then Leon suddenly remembered the trip wire he disarmed on the way inside and used it to blow their stalker to hell.

“Merida!” Luis wheezed, trying his best to keep up with Leon. Leon made sure to check on him often but then, “Hey, wait!” He heard Luis’s yell but it was too late.

Pain exploded in Leon’s leg, it was nearly enough for him to pass out on the spot. “Fuck!” In his hast and attempt to make sure Luis kept up, he had completely missed that bear trap.

Luis could have kept going, he looked like he was considering it, but instead he cursed under his breath and doubled back for Leon. “You better be worth it, yanqui!” He hissed.

Leon was in too much pain for a quip and Luis was too distracted by his fight to get the bear trap open… Which meant neither of them saw the axe wielding villager until it was too late.

“Luis!”

Leon didn’t feel a thing when Mendez finally caught up to him.

[You Are Dead. Reload Save? Quit?]

“You alright?”

He still expected Luis to try and run at the first opportunity, but the man surprised him by sticking around again this time. Leon thought that maybe since Leon hadn’t gotten his ass handed to him in front of the guy by Mendez this time that maybe he trusted him enough to watch his back. They were currently taking shelter in a rundown shack that was more of a storage shed than somewhere someone would actually live.

“Si? You?” Luis’s voice was back to normal. His breathing had evened out.

“Yeah. I’m good. No sweat.”

“So… got a name, Yanqui?”

Leon smirked, “Yeah. Leon Kennedy. You?”

“I’m Luis Serra. Seems you… me… picked the wrong spot to vacation, eh?”

“You could definitely say that.” Leon huffed, chuckling.

It had been ten years since Leon had traversed the village of Valdelobos and that had not been with Luis at his side. The man knew his way around much better than any map Hunnigan could have provided him. The extra fire power had made it much easier to make it through the valley full of “Ganados” as Luis had taken to calling them.  

“I heard chatter about your missing senorita…” Luis whispered after they had successfully ducked and slinked passed some patrolling Ganados “Then later… I saw some of them dragging someone into the old church. It isn’t too far now. That way. But first… we’re gonna need to make a pit stop.”

“We need a key, right?”

Luis looked at him with a raised brow. “Si.” He said slowly. “It should be in the Big Cheese’s house.”

“Big cheese?”

“Si. Very Big Cheese.”

“Oh.” Leon grimaced. Now he remembered.

“That beauty there is our ticket in.” Luis said gesturing to the Eagle Emblem Leon had tucked in his coat. They had been able to snag it on their way through the valley.

They would have to be quick about it.

They were in fact not quick enough about it.

It went almost the way he remembered, only this time the injection Leon had been able to avoid in the old cellar of the Navarro house was revisited upon him in the Mendez home.

“Fuck.” Leon hissed, hand to his neck. “Fuck!”

“Shit! Shit!” Luis panicked, going pale as a sheet as he paced the room. Apparently, after injecting Leon, their hulking assailant no longer saw a point in sticking around.

“Hey, hey! Calm down.”

“No. No, you don’t understand.” Luis hissed and snatched his arm away from him.

“So, take a minute, calm down and explain it to me.”

And so, Luis did.

On the way to the lake, Leon couldn’t help but notice the looks the other man was giving him.  

“Why didn’t you ask me how I knew about the plaga?”

“Huh?”

Luis narrowed his eyes at him.

“Uh, you’re from here, aren’t you?” Leon had been trying not to be too obvious about exactly how much he knew but he was becoming impatient. In his hurry to get through the same nightmares he had already experienced there was no doubt that he had let a few things slip.

Luckily, Luis didn’t press the matter. It wasn’t like they had a lot of time for chitchat while they tried not to be beheaded by a bunch of plaga infested villagers after all.

When they finally made it to the boat and onto the lake, the fight with the giant fish monster or salamander monster, according to Luis, went about as well as it always did.

They made it to the church battered and bruised but with key in hand. And when Leon tried to yell for Ashley, Luis was quick enough to stop him.

“What are you doing?!” He hissed. “You want to tell everyone we’re here or something?”

Leon rolled his eyes. He already knew there wasn’t anyone else here at the moment but kept quiet instead and conceded that the Spaniard may have had a point.

For some reason with Luis there, his first introduction to Ashley Graham went a lot smoother than he remembered.

This time he had to catch Ashley and Luis when they jumped out of the window. He not only learned what Luis’s giggle sounded like right next to his ear, but he and his back also learned that Luis is a lot heavier than he looks.

Having Luis for back up as they fight their way out of the church should have been a boon to their side and it had been up until Ashley slipped on the rain softened ground and the other man went to help her.

Leon turned just in time to see the Molotov burst against Luis’s back.

“Oh shit.” He gasped and it was pure reflex that put that bullet through the head of the bastard that threw it.

But it was no use.

Ashley’s shriek of Luis’s name was the last thing Leon heard.

[You Are Dead. Reload Save? Quit?]

This time they weren’t able to avoid ending up in the cabin after they save Ashley from the church.

Although Leon did remember this time that there was a way from Ashley’s hiding place that would allow her to get upstairs to the door outside and unlock it. Which meant that the fight didn’t last nearly as long. Which meant that they got out before the Bull-head guy showed up.

This turned out to be unfortunate for multiple reasons but mostly because during their run from the cabin they crossed paths with the bull-headed bastard on the way to the wooden portcullis-like gate with Ashley having led the way. They are all startled by the appearance of the hulking Ganado, but Luis was fast enough to push Ashley out of the way. However, he was not fast enough to get himself out of the way in time to avoid taking a blow from the bastard’s oversized sledgehammer.

“Oh god! Luis!”

Ashley was still sprawled on the ground where she landed. Leon hesitated for a split second before he returned his attention back to the hammer wielding son of a bitch but it was just enough time for him to be grabbed from behind by a group of Ganados from the cabin.

“Leon!”

He swore he heard the Bull bastard laugh as he swung again.

[You Are Dead. Reload Save? Quit?]

“I’m fine. I’m fine!” Luis hissed, pushing Leon away from him. “Tenemos que darnos prisa! Tienen a la princesa!”

Leon could admit that maybe this time he may have been a bit more overprotective of Luis than he should have been. He was so worried about Luis that Ashley had been easily snatched right from under their noses.

“What the hell is wrong with you, yanqui? Don’t you have a job to do?” The other man said before he took off in the direction they had seen Ashley being carried by the village chief Mendez.

Luis was rightfully furious. He had also been risking his life to protect Ashley too after all.

Leon knew that Luis was right. That he had to get his head back into the game before someone took it off. And Leon had every intention of doing so up until there was a flaming barrel of fuel was thrown Luis’s way and he had only a split second to decide what to do.

The choice was a lot easier than it should have been.

[You Are Dead. Reload Save? Quit?]

Leon spent days with Luis and it was just as he had always quietly suspected all these years. Luis was the one that had slipped right through his fingers. The one that got away.

Leon tried not to dwell on it every time. He did have a job to do. Ashley was the priority. And he didn’t have to do much to convince himself of that. Of the three of them Ashley was the one that least deserved what was happening to her. And surely, she needed him more than Luis ever had but it didn’t make his failures any easier to stomach. Every time he watched Luis die another part of him went with the other man.

He didn’t even want to consider what happened to Ashley every time he failed her.

So, Leon took these chances and instead of losing his patience with the other man this time he actually listened when Luis talked.  

Leon wanted to know more about Luis, and he knew he had to earn the man’s trust in order for him to do so. Leon learned just how similar they were. Apparently, Luis had lost his family at a young age as well and had also used that as fuel to work his way through school and to the top of his class. And though Leon had never gone to college he had done the same when he joined the police academy.

Apparently, neither of them felt comfortable enough to bring up their history with Umbrella but he could tell that Luis was suspicious of just how much Leon knew about his past.

And where the Leon of the past had been irritable and stand-offish, the Leon of now wasn’t nearly as uptight as he had been during their first meeting. And because of this, this Leon found that he and Luis actually had a similar since of humor. One that apparently consisted solely of dumb puns and corny one liners.

It also did not help that it turned out that they both seemed to have a competitive streak. It had quickly become a competition of sorts to make each other laugh. Ashley didn’t seem to find their brand of humor quite as funny as they did. She called their particular brand of humor ‘dad jokes’ or something like that to which both he and Luis took offense.

Was she calling them old or something?

“I gotta say, you aren’t what I expected when you told me my dad sent you,” Ashley had told him once, giving him a small smile.

“Well, I guess I’ve just been through enough stuff like this to still have a sense of humor about it now.” Leon had shrugged and then ruffled her hair as he walked back to reclaim the lead in their little trio.

“Hey!” Ashley had squawked in outrage and tried to swat his hands away. Leon snickered as he went on his way.

He had started to notice that he and Ashley’s relationship had developed a lot easier this time around and was grateful for it. It made it a lot easier to keep track of her and her confidence seemed to grow a lot quicker than it had before.

“Oye, Sancho! That’s no way to treat a princess!”

Leon nearly tripped over himself the first time Luis called him “Sancho”, his heart squeezing a bit in his chest. When Leon snarked back and called him Don Quixote the other man immediately laughed at him and corrected his pronunciation. Though the smile on Luis’s face had been worth the embarrassment.  

From then on Leon did his best to keep the three of them together as long as he could.

---------

The first time he and Luis kissed was right after the minecart. Leon, high off the adrenaline making him jittery and reckless, just decided to hell with it and went for it. He just grabbed Luis and kissed him.

And to his relief the kiss was enthusiastically returned.

Honestly, it wasn’t actually much of a gamble at this point because if there was one thing Leon had noticed during his extended interactions with Luis was that the man was a terrible flirt. And apparently, had been the entire time, every time. How Leon hadn’t noticed when they first met, he had no idea.

Perhaps it was because he was a lot more attuned to the Spaniard this time. Now it seemed like Leon noticed everything Luis said or did and now it was just so obvious in retrospect.

It was actually kind of funny how oblivious 2004 Leon Kennedy had been versus 2014 Leon.

When they finally broke apart for air they just stood there for a bit, both of them grinning like fools. They stared into each other’s eyes like a pair of love-struck teenagers, their heads pressed together, noses almost touching. It was the happiest Leon had felt in so long that he could almost forget they were still in the depths of an ancient insect mine in the middle of nowhere Spain with Luis Serra of all people.

His therapist would have loved this.

He could hear her now. Something, something, trauma bonding… something, something.

“Mierda, Sancho. If I had known you were like this, I would have tried something hours ago.”

Leon couldn’t help but laugh like an idiot because Luis was pretty fucking cute when he blushed. “Well, now you know, cowboy.”

Leon also learned that while Luis Serra could dish it, he most certainly had a bit of difficulty taking it.

“Don’t go all shy on me now, Quixote.”

And if only Leon had a way to physically capture the way the other man’s eyes lit up in delight at the use of that nickname so he could revisit it over and over again.

Instead, Leon had to make do with a desperate attempt to capture the image into his memory.  

“I have to say… I didn’t expect you to be so receptive to my advances, yanqui.”

Luis was probably right to have been surprised by Leon’s reaction to his advances he supposed. The Leon of 2004 had been a young man forced into a military that had enacted a policy that was unfriendly at best and downright hostile at worse for someone like him. So needless to say, he hadn’t exactly felt encouraged to explore his possible bisexuality back then.

That Leon, forced onto a leash that had been at its tightest at this point in time, would have been very surprised to find out how his older counterpart turned out.

It took a hell of a lot of willpower, but he was finally able to pull himself away from Luis now that he finally had him. But they did still have to make it out of these mines. And Leon still had to make sure that Krauser didn’t get the drop on them and that the man didn’t get a chance to get to Luis.

Not to mention the fact that they still had to find Ashley before it was too late.

Ashley was still the priority. She had to be.

But that didn’t mean there wasn’t something else he could do to ensure Luis made it out of here alive as well. So, before they moved on, Leon was able to convince Luis to take off his jacket and trade it for Leon’s body armor.

Leon argued that if Saddler had sent someone after them this would be the perfect time for them to get the drop on them and he wanted to make sure that Luis was safe.

Luis objected at first of course. Leon was the one that the president sent to save his daughter and he couldn’t do that if he got himself killed because he tried to protect Luis. Leon assured him that he hadn’t gotten this far just because of a vest.

Luis acquiesced but not until he got Leon to agree to wear his jacket.

The fight with Krauser goes a lot differently this time around.

Leon remembered that the son of a bitch was a lot cockier the first time they did this. However, this time the major hadn’t gotten the chance to literally stab Luis in the back first. Now he had to deal with both of them at once. And the Leon he was up against now wasn’t the 27-year-old former rookie the major was accustomed to.

This Leon was a battle-hardened veteran with an additional ten years of experience under his belt.

Leon had insisted that Luis hang back and cover him with his pistol and the Spaniard was just as good of a shot when it really counted as Leon remembered.

He could tell when Krauser realized he wasn’t going to win this fight. When he realized that he couldn’t get in Leon’s head the way he had planned.

“He was after the amber.” Leon had said once Krauser had retreated.

The look on Luis’s face was one of shock and then resignation.

Sometimes, Luis told Leon about his deal with Ada. Sometimes, it never came up. Sometimes Leon ran into Ada. Sometimes he didn’t.

“Don’t ask me how I know.” Leon sighed, this time it never came up. “Just… keep it safe,” turning to the other man and giving him a meaningful look. “Alright?” He knew that Krauser wasn’t the only one who was trying to get their hands on it. And he wanted to make sure that Luis knew it, only breaking eye contact once Luis nodded in agreement.

It was a rare occasion that Luis was speechless, and Leon couldn’t be more grateful that the other man had chosen now to clam up and listen instead.  

“C’mon. Hard mode is just beginning.”

---------

The first time Leon actually looked at himself in a mirror he was surprised by his reflection. He had almost forgotten what he looked like back then and was fascinated by his baby face. A grinning Luis came to stand next to him and he couldn’t help but wonder what Luis would look like in ten years.

Leon gave him a soft look.

“What is it?” Luis asked although the only answer he got from Leon was another quick kiss.

“Nothing.” Leon shrugged.  

They fought Salazar together because Luis wouldn’t let Leon leave him behind, and surprisingly it went a lot smoother than Leon remembered it.

Not only did he give Leon the same taunts as before, but Salazar also now has some for the “traitor” Dr. Serra as well.

Leon found that he was unreasonably curious to hear what the little shit had to say about Luis. Mostly he found that Salazar was obsessed with Saddler, which he was already quite aware of. And that he had taken it upon himself to be upset on Saddler’s behalf that Luis had the nerve to not only reject the plaga but to remove it. Or as Salazar called it, “clawed it out like some rabid animal”.

But what had actually given Leon pause was that Salazar seemed to be particularly outraged that his Lord Saddler had chosen Luis over all his other and decidedly more loyal subjects stand beside him.

And that… was unexpected.

Leon had seen the way Luis’s face as fallen when the mold son of a bitch spit out that particularly jab.

After the fight with Salazar was finally over, Luis looked pale and stricken. And before Leon could ask him…

“It’s nothing. And I don’t want to talk about it.” Luis said. He wouldn’t even look at him. Instead focused on checking his pistol and making sure it was reloaded. With Leon’s vest on he almost looked the part. Almost.

“Uh… okay.” And Leon had to remind himself that there was still so much he never got a chance to learn about Dr. Luis Serra Navarro.

The scar he’d seen on the other man’s chest had taken on a whole new meaning.

Luis had to have been desperate to get that plaga out. Willing to go through unspeakable pain to do so. Not that Leon wouldn’t have also done the very same in a second. But Luis was a scientist, a researcher, not a battle-hardened soldier. For him to choose to put himself through something like that…

Leon felt ill.

---------

Running into Saddler again was an experience. For once this time Luis was with them and it pretty clear that the man was petrified at just the sight of the decrepit bastard.

Which was rather unfortunate since Luis was the only one of them not currently infected with las plagas. Which also meant that he was the only one of them currently not under Saddler control.

“D-don’t. Don’t t-… Luis.” Leon grit his teeth as he tried to fight just to get the words out. That was different. He remembered that he hadn’t been able to speak at all before. Even if it was strained. He still couldn’t move an inch, however.

And poor Ashley was once again standing in front of him… them fighting for her life. And that son of a bitch had his eyes on Luis the whole time. Not even bothering to give he and Ashley his full attention as he put them through hell.

Ashley and Luis.

He had failed them both. Again.

“L-lord Saddler…” Luis had finally found his voice and it sounded just as terrified as the man looked. “Please…” But before he could get a word in…

Leon flinched when the first shot went off. The sound of the disciple standing to the left of him falling was louder somehow. But then things played out a bit differently then Leon remembered because for once… Luis was with them.

“N-no.” Leon hissed.

“Please. S-stop.”

Saddler’s smile was chilling.

“Do you think I don’t know what you’ve done, dear boy?” His eyes were still on Luis. “I can sense it in their blood. You’ve tried to poison them against me. What lies have you told them? What heresy have you spread, ungrateful child?

“I had such great hopes for you, my little lamb. But there are only so many times I can turn the other cheek. You’ve been given chance after chance to learn the error or your ways and still… you persist.”

“Lu-Luis… You n-need to…”

Saddler didn’t even bother to look at Leon as he willed his hold on him even tighter.

“Lord Saddler please… I never meant to…”

The withered old bastard raised a hand and this time both he and Ashley screamed out in pain. Luis fell silent immediately.

“I offered you a most coveted seat by my side and this is what I receive from you in return for my generosity? You… Dr. Serra aiding in the massacre of your own brothers and sisters at the side of these American heretics?”

“I’m not sure,” Luis’s voice was so small. “What you want from me? I’ve already done what you asked.”

“That is true. You have… in part,” Saddler said as he paced around Ashley standing beside her and suddenly the gun in Ashley’s hand moved to point at Luis instead. “But you forget what I desired most of all…”

“N-no… I don’t…”

“Your fealty, Dr. Serra! I require your complete and utter devotion, my child… To our lord of course.”

Shit. No. “Y-yeah… r-right.” Leon wheezed as once again the invisible hold on his chest squeezed tighter. It was clear what Saddler was really after and it was even more stomach churning than Leon could have imagined.

“But that, my dear boy, is something I now see you aren’t capable of. What a pity and such a waste!” Saddled rested a hand upon Ashley’s shoulder. “What is it they say, my child?” The sickly son of a bitch actually chuckled as Ashley’s panicked cries increased, “An eye for an eye?”

“No! Wait!”

The next shot went off and then there was the familiar sound of a fallen body and Leon was helpless to do anything to stop it.

Ashley’s mournful sobs filled the room as all that Leon could do was continue to tremble with rage as all he was able to manage were a few tears of his own.

Leon knew that had Luis had the chance he would have moved to block the next shot. He also knew that even at this range the body armor would have protected them both, no problem.

But Luis did not get that chance. And this time Ashley did not miss.

[You Are Dead. Reload Save? Quit?]

They didn’t even make it past the giants this time.

All of Leon’s previous failures had begun to weigh on him. He was tired and desperately trying to ignore the feeling of defeat that loomed on the horizon. He had just gotten the hatch open underneath the first Gigante after he had made sure that Luis was out of the way. But it seemed that they both had miscalculated just how much of a reach one of those bastard’s had even while sinking into a pool of molten ore.

Leon could do nothing at that moment but stare in disbelief as the hatch closed. “O-oh g-god.” He gasped and fell to his knees. “Fuck.”

Unlike Leon, the armored of the two giants didn’t waste any time mourning the death of its partner.

[You Are Dead. Reload Save? Quit?]

The mine cart was getting old. Leon knew he was being unreasonably cranky but if Luis had to ride that thing as many times as Leon already had he would understand where Leon was coming from.

But Luis didn’t know what it was like to ride the minecart so many times, because Luis never remembered.

Thank god.

Luis got to live his life over and over again. Completely oblivious of the horrible way he had just died the time before.

Leon, of course, wasn’t so lucky.

Leon also hadn’t been lucky enough to dodge the novistodor that had been hiding to the left of him.

“A little help here!” He hissed as he wrestled with the chittering son of a bitch.

“Now, Sancho what would you do without me, eh?”

The thought alone turned out to be plenty to throw a PTSD ridden Leon off balance enough that he didn’t even see the novistodor intent on taking advantage of Luis’s vulnerable back until it was too late.

“Luis! On your six!”

“Eh?” Luis yelped as he was practically tackled by the giant insect.  

Leon’s struggle increased in his panic to get to the other man in time. Finally, he was able to dispatch it with a blade through its eye just in time to hear Luis’s panicked screams reach a fever pitch.

Leon turned over just in time to watch as not one but two of the monstrous bugs tore into Luis, tearing him apart right before his eyes.

The other man’s screams stopped abruptly, leaving only the sound of the insects as they fed and the sound of Leon’s harsh breathing echoing throughout the cavern.

Leon wasn’t sure what killed him this time, but he had a good idea.

[You Are Dead. Reload Save? Quit?]

Leon knew he had been acting strangely this run.

He knew that he had been a lot more paranoid and overbearing than usual. Protective of Luis in ways he had never been in the past. And somehow Luis seemed to know he was not quite himself.

Luis, unable to see that Leon was only trying to look out for him, grumbled more than once that what Leon had actually been doing was treating him like a child instead of trusting him as his partner in this.

Luis argued that he was just as serious about helping Ashley as Leon was and Leon would see that if he, “Saca la cabeza del culo para que puedas oírme.”

Leon didn’t know what that meant, his Spanish was regrettably not as good as it used to be due to disuse, but by the context of their argument and the look on Luis’s face it couldn’t have been complimentary.

“Watch your mouth, amigo.” Leon hissed.

“You’re kidding.” Luis snorted in response and shook his head. “Lo que sea, amigo.”

Their ongoing argument eventually came to a head when they lost Ashley to one of Salazar’s bug bastard bodyguards. Each of them then turned their frustrations with each other onto the hapless cultists that dared stand in their way.

Leon had been able to avoid getting infected this time, so the plan was to grab the stashed vails of suppressant and the amber sample, then get Ashley and head straight to Luis’s lab.

Hours later, covered in sweat and other such bodily fluids, the two of them clumsily stumbled into some long forgotten sitting room, the furniture covered in a thick layer of dust. They were all over each other, practically attached at the lips like two dimwitted and horny teenagers.

Adrenaline pumped through their veins and made them dizzy and dumb with lust.

“This the sort of shit you’re into eh, yanqui?” Luis sneered at him. “Your government training screw up your wiring or something? Es cierto?”  

Leon answered by shoving the Spaniard down onto an ancient-looking sofa. A plume of dust erupting into the air.

“C’mon then, querido. You can tell me. I don’t judge.” Luis’s snickered and only served to grate on Leon’s nerves even more. He’d forgotten how irritating this asshole could be in his obsession with saving his life.

“Do you ever shut up?” Leon growled before shoving at Luis’s shoulders and following him down, clambering onto him to straddle his narrow hips.

“Why don’t you give me a reason to, yanqui?”

Insufferable. But Leon was grateful for the distraction. Having Luis in his arms again like this after so many failed runs had made Leon feel things. Things he didn’t think Luis was ready for. As far as Luis was concerned, the two of them had only known each other for less than a day, so he knew that there was no way that Luis felt the same. And Leon could accept that. The other man just wanted to have a good time.  

But even still, Luis’s stupid little giggle had cracked Leon’s heart wide open and he was helpless against the flood of emotions that brought.

“H-hey… Gimme some space, eh Sancho?” Luis’s chuckled, his face flushed adorably. If Leon didn’t know any better, he might have thought the other man looked nervous. Luis grumbled at him as he wiggled out of his jacket.

His white dress shirt had already come loose out of his jeans and had ridden up to expose a wide strip of the tanned skin and the thick dark hair spread over his belly.

He looked up at Leon from beneath unfairly long eyelashes and bit down on his swollen bottom lip. “You just gonna stare,” his voice was low and smokey, “Or are you gonna help me out here?”

Luis arched his hips up enough to dislodge Leon from his waist pushing the other man back enough to reach his own belt and unbutton his jeans.

“Whatever,” Leon snorted gracelessly before grabbing a hand full of the other man’s jeans. He tugged them off with enough force to nearly pull Luis off the sofa with them, leaving Luis in just his wrinkled, filthy dress shirt and boxer briefs.

Luis cackled and flailed around for anything to hold on to. “A little rough don’t you think?”

“Oh, you don’t like it rough?” Leon asked, eyes roaming over all the newly uncovered skin now on display. And he might have been a little impatient. It had been a while even by his standards and even then, none of them even came close to Luis Serra Navarro.

“Could have fooled me. Fuck… You’re gorgeous.” Leon said out loud before he could stop himself and Luis just could not resist preening for him.

It was more than obvious that Luis knew just how attractive he was. He had never been particularly shy about it. And at that moment, he just laid there, sprawled underneath Leon. Watching him with dark eyes as Leon fumbled with belts and clasps, pouches, and holsters like a loser, all while he leisurely stroked himself off. Snickering at Leon, who might have been a little distracted and a little frustrated with one particular strap that had decided to be difficult.

Leon rolled his eyes and tugged hard enough to hear a ripping sound. He sighed. To be fair when this version of Leon Kennedy had gotten dressed this morning it had been for a mission and not for… well… this.

“You okay there, cowboy? Need some help?” Luis seemed sincere enough, even if there was laughter in his voice.

“Nah, I got it. You just keeping laying there and looking pretty.”

“Oh, that I can definitely do.”

Leon had the feeling that Luis would have given him a mock salute if his hands weren’t already preoccupied.

Finally, he got the damn thing loose and tossed it. “Some help you’d’ve been anyway.”

“Hmm… I do have another one ya know.” He said raising the hand he’d had resting behind his head for show.

“Yeah, well…” Leon’s voice was muffled by the end of one of his fingerless gloves that he was currently using his mouth to pull off.

“C’mon, Sancho!” Luis growled in a way that could almost pass for a whine. The Spaniard apparently had grown impatient with Leon’s quiet contemplation of his hip bones. “Are you trying to torture me? We don’t have all night.”

Leon looked down at him, really looked at him, taking him all in.  

It felt silly to even think it but, Luis truly was a dream come true.

One that he was willing to fight tooth and nail for, no matter how many times it took.

“Por el amor de Dios, Sancho…” Luis, ever impatient, wrapped one of his long legs around Leon’s waist. He used his foot at the small of Leon’s back to pull him forward so he could grab a handful of blond hair and tug him down for a kiss.

And then he gracelessly shoved his other hand down the front of Leon’s now open pants, into his underwear and wrapped those long fingers around him. Leon groaned loudly into the other man’s mouth, his hips twitching forward on reflex.

Leon struggled to push his own pants down his thighs before he wrapped both of his arms around Luis and pulled him impossibly closer trying to press every inch of their skin that he could together. They both moaned in unison. Luis adding something in Spanish that Leon’s muddled brain couldn’t be trusted to translate so another groan was all he could muster in return.

Luis, just as loud and expressive as he was with anything else, answered back with another groan of his own.

Leon knew the Leon of 2004 wouldn’t have had a clue what to do with the beautiful and very willing man underneath him. Leon was not proud of the man he’d been back then. He knows that Luis had been right to be wary of flirting with him.

It had taken years to untangle that particular fucked up mess of anxiety and self-loathing the military had left him in.

The Leon S. Kennedy of 2004 would have been too freaked out by the fact that there was another dick so close to his own to do anything worthwhile about it. But luckily for both of them, the Leon of 2014 was now fucked up in a new and more interesting ways and now had no time to entertain such bullshit. Which meant that now he had more than enough experience in that department. He was well over his bi-panic phase and was seated quite comfortably into his bi-disaster phase.

And now that he had another chance and an even younger body to use to his advantage and he was not going to waste it.

Unfortunately, there wasn’t nearly enough time to do all the things to Luis that he had been dreaming of. And this certainly was not his ideal venue for such a thing anyhow. There was also no time for any meaningful preparation. They would have their first time together but for now they would have to make do with the borrowed time and space they had.

“Oh f-fuck, Luis!” Leon groaned into the crook of Luis’s throat, shuddering at the spark of pleasure that shot up his spine when Luis rolled his hips up against his just so.

If he were honest, there wasn’t enough time for any of this. But after everything he had gone through, everything he had seen Luis go through, he wasn’t about to pass up this opportunity. If Luis was willing to risk it then so was he.

Luis babbled something low in Spanish that Leon was still in no mental state to translate, whimpered right next to his ear and it was like the sound vibrated down Leon’s spine and right to his dick. He was already leaking a crazy between them and this only made even wetter. It was more of a blessing than a curse however, seeing as they probably weren’t within a hundred miles of any proper lubricant.

Every slip and slide of their skin was electric and addicting. Every increasingly desperate sound he was able to pull out of Luis only made him want more.

“Joder. Por favor... eres tan buena. Estoy tan cerca, cariño.” Ended with a whine that Luis would probably never admit to Leon would be playing on repeat in his mind for years to come.

“God, you’re so fucking hot.” Leon slurs the words, rocking his hips back into Luis’s in time, their cocks slipping against each other perfectly. He had to admit that the Spanish, the accent was really doing it for him. He was practically drooling against the side of Luis’s neck before latching on to spot right underneath his chin dragging his teeth a bit before sinking in.

The other man giggled in response to the praise and it was simultaneously the most ridiculous and most endearing thing Leon had ever heard.

And well, that was Luis Serra Navarro in a nutshell, wasn’t it?

That thought only made Leon hold on to him even tighter.

When Luis came it was with the softest, most fragile sound Leon had ever heard.

And Leon was an absolute mess for this man, twitching and cursing through his own orgasm not a but a few moments later.

As they laid practically on top of each other on a sofa that definitely was not big enough for two grown men of their stature and panted against each other’s sweat damp skin, Leon couldn’t help but try and catalogue every moment of what they had just done together.

Okay, maybe he was more than a little obsessed.

Curled into Luis’s side, Leon watched as the bastard smoked leisurely. His thick, dark hair was wild, a few sweat soaked strands framed his handsome face, eyes closed and long, lashes fluttered against high cheek bones. The Spaniard looked the epitome of vice and debauchery and Leon adored him for it.

He knew in that moment that he had done the right thing coming back here again… and again… and again. Damn the risks. Leon would burn the whole world to the ground if it meant he got to keep this beautiful man. If he got to have him for the rest of his life, he would do anything.

And wasn’t that a dangerous revelation.

Just how far was he willing to go?

They could just leave now. They could find a boat. Leave this place together. No Ada. No… Ashley.

No Ashley.

Leon couldn’t lie and say he hadn’t ever considered it.

What if that was the solution? What if that was the only way to make this work?

He wasn’t infected. Luis wasn’t infected. They were free. They could just go.

They didn’t even have to go back to the States. They could go anywhere. Change their names. Start over.

Leon had made plenty of unsavory connections in his time as a lapdog for the government. It wouldn’t be difficult.

“Leave the girl. She’s lost no matter what.”

Luis even told him about the amber this time. Maybe they could even get Ada to help. It wasn’t like Leon didn’t know how all of this was going to play out anyway. He had lived it many times already. One way or another Ada would get the amber, maybe at least this time Leon could get something out of it.

Before all of this, he had missed Luis sure, but he had barely known the other man. The despair of never having gotten the chance had been enough for him to risk his life over and over again just to try and save him. But now that he did know Luis, Leon could not fathom what lengths he wasn’t willing to go to get what he wanted.

He had lived years past this point in his life already. He knew that there wasn’t anything to look forward to if he continued down the same path.

Leon cuddled even closer to the warm body lying next to him and buried his nose into the other man’s hair. Underneath the smell of sweat and smoke he could smell a lingering hint of the other man’s cologne and it calmed his hectic thoughts.

Even if Leon could somehow stomach the idea of leaving Ashley here on her own to fend for herself until they realized that Leon was gone and sent someone else to try and save her, there was the matter of convincing Luis to go along with it. And wasn’t saving Ashley the reason Luis was even here with him right now? Luis could have left them both high and dry hours ago. Found Ada and left with her with neither of them none the wiser.

But he had stayed. Because it was the right thing to do. Or… as Leon had heard him say many, many times by now…

“I just want to feel good about myself. Make amends. Something like that.”

“En qué estás pensando, mi vida?” Luis didn’t even bother to open his eyes when he offered Leon a pull from his half-spent cigarette. To which Leon answered with a curious quirk of his eyebrow before he took the man up on his offer. “Puedo sentirte pensando desde aquí.”“Qué crees que estoy pensando?” Leon asked bravely after he exhaled curls of smoke into the air above them, laughter in his voice. Luis always teased him mercilessly about his accent. Although lately he’d had nothing but time to practice. Luis naturally became his unwitting teacher whenever he was tired, or upset, or excited.  

“Creo que estás pensando en mí, por supuesto.”

Leon just hummed as he traced gentle patterns into the soft dark hair on Luis’s stomach. The other man shuttered delicately against him, and Leon couldn’t remember ever having felt so content in this life. It was pretty ironic considering where they were.

Luis squirmed again. Ticklish then. Leon filed this information away for another time. But at that moment, he couldn’t help but notice how beautiful Luis was. It was like years had melted off of him. Leaving behind a man that Leon had only gotten small glimpses of before from behind tired eyes and feigned bravado.

This was the Luis that the man hadn’t gotten the chance to be. Here was a man still obvious of all the ways Leon had failed him and probably would fail him again until he finally got it right.

Would Luis forgive him if he knew what he was considering?

They had spent so much time together now that Leon already knew the answer.

Nonetheless, this was the first time they had gotten this far. Leon couldn’t help but feel hopeful that his time might work out. That he would finally figure it out. A way to save both Ashely and Luis.

“You think I’m gonna give up that easy?”

“I’m going to get you out of here, Luis.” And Leon was proud of the way his voice had not cracked there. “You and Ashley.”

Mist gray eyes blinked open, a contented smile on the handsome face. “Damn.”

Leon’s face fell and confusion took over. “What is it?”

“It’s… it’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.” Luis said all of sudden he looked bashful.

“Nothing, huh? I just made a bold declaration. A grand gesture.” Okay, maybe it was more of a grand promise of a grand gesture. “Don’t get all shy on me now, Don Quixote.”

Luis’s eyes lit up like the moon on a clear night. “Don… Oh, my sweet Sancho. Now I know for sure that I want to keep you.”

Leon chuckled, realizing that though this was not the first time either of them had used such pet names for each other, neither of them had ever said them like this.

“How could you know so well the key to my heart, querido?” Luis’s hand on the back of Leon’s neck pulled him in so he could kissed him deeply. “You’ve done it now.” Luis kissed him again. “Now you’ll never be rid of me.”

Leon smiled into yet another kiss, “Promises. Promises.”  

“Hey, does this make me like one of your Bond girls?”

Leon choked on his laughter, “What?”

God, Leon hoped he was right.

---------

Krauser’s knife had cut through Luis’s belly like butter. And the sound that came out of Leon’s mouth was one that isn’t even recognizable to him as being human.

The bitterness of his failure and despair consumed him as he watched Luis stumble in a daze as he tried and failed to hold onto his own innards. Krauser, more considerate than Leon ever remembered him being, was kind enough to let Leon watch as his partner fell to his knees and coughed up a mouthful of blood so dark it almost looked black in the low light of the cavern.

“Sloppy!” The major growled and Leon was still so stunned and horrified by the sight in front of him that he didn’t even notice when his own throat was slit.

Krauser tutted before he sauntered away with his prize. “What a disappointment.”

[You Are Dead. Reload Save? Quit?]

When Leon finally does kill Krauser, Luis held him as he cried.

The victory and sorrow was short lived, however. Because less than an hour later Leon found himself on his back as he slowly bled out into the dirt, his fingers going numb as they stubbornly held on to Luis’s limp hand. A plan for what he would do differently next time was already taking shape in his fading mind.

[You Are Dead. Reload Save? Quit?]

“Hey, hey! Luis! Talk to me! What are we looking at?”

“I… uh…

“Hey, look at me. I’m right here. You’re not alone, alright. Not anymore. We’re partners, yeah?”

“Partners?” Luis looked surprised, confused. Shit. Luis was bleeding from his hairline from a wound on his head. Leon couldn’t even remember if they had even talked about being partners this run. Did they even go to the cabin this time?

“Yeah. And I need my partner right now. Run me the plan again. From the top.”

And he did. He even only slurred his words a little. Only slipped between English and Spanish a couple of times but Leon had gotten it for the most part.

Now, Leon lay there on the ground, his laughter near hysterical. He was bleeding from a wound that would eventually kill him. Fuck it all. Luis’s plan had actually worked. Or it would have worked if Leon hadn’t fucked it up.

“Sh-shit.” He wheezed. “Luis? Fuck. Luis!”

“Fuck. I’m sorry. I’m s-sorry.”

[You Are Dead. Reload Save? Quit?]

One minute he was ushering Ashley through yet another wooden door, the next he was being flung through the air. The only other sign he got that something had gone oh so wrong was the sound of Luis’s choked off yelp of surprise and Ashley’s scream.

“Oh…shit! Luis?” Leon crawled to the edge of the cliff. “You gotta be kidding.” Voice cracking in a mixture of exhaustion and defeat. He wasn’t even able to see down far enough to find him.

“Leon!”

[You Are Dead. Reload Save? Quit?]

They were on their way to the chief’s house when they realized that they weren’t going to be able to outrun the bastard with the chainsaw. But Luis was the one who got clipped by him this time. All because Leon was too slow to reload his shotgun.

In a frustrated rage, Leon unloaded every round he had into the bastard’s face though in end it did nothing to bring his partner back. Instead, all it did was leave him completely out of ammo by the time group of Ganados out for his blood caught up to him.

[You Are Dead. Reload Save? Quit?]

This time they were separated by the explosion in the town square and for some reason the bell tower fell in between them.

And that just didn’t make sense.

This had never happened before, and Leon just couldn’t understand how it could have happened.

They had done this dance so many times now that they were almost in sync. What had they done differently this time? What had he said to make Luis think it was a good idea to walk just that few feet to the right without him?

He could rack his brain all he wanted but in the end all he could do was listen as the pack of infested wolves finally caught up to Luis on the other side.

Digging his hands into his dust covered hair, Leon sobbed out in defeat. Then he took a calming breath and then another before he found a spot on the ground to sit and calmly wait for his turn.

[You Are Dead. Reload Save? Quit?]

"Ay, Dios… Ay, Dios… Mierda! Lo siento, lo siento mucho, mi amor."

“It’s o-okay. H-hey it’s okay, Luis. I’ll… I’m gonna c-come back for you, okay. I’ll… I’ll come back.”

“Leon?”

“J-just wait for me… please…” “Ay, Dios! No, no... Por favor, no. Q-que voy a h-hacer...”

[You Are Dead. Reload Save? Quit?]

Luis shouldn’t have even been down here. The Verdugo was supposed to have been his fight.

[You Are Dead. Reload Save? Quit?]

Leon had lost count of how many times he had done this by now. How many times he had found himself stood in this very room. Usually, he was with Luis, but they had been separated by bad luck. Salazar had Ashley. Leon was just so frustrated that he knew he had become extra snappy.

He had done this dance with Ada before. It was one of his clearest memories of Spain. Seeing the woman again after six years of nightmares and regrets. Leon really hated how attached he could get to people who never gave a shit about him in the first place.

He could only hope that Luis would turn out to be different.

But right now, he was tired and because of that he had been sloppy.

Ada hissed when his knife sliced into her arm. And Leon is shocked by the sight of her blood on his blade. It’s not the first time he’s seen her bleed, but it is the first time he was the one responsible for it.

“Fuck.” He sheathed his combat knife and is already moving toward her to help before he can think that his help may not be wanted at all.

But Ada made that clear with the gun pointed at his chest and the look of surprise she made a poor attempt at hiding with a scowl.

“Not a bad move. Real smooth.” She still had her gun trained on him though, her eyes hard. He can see that her arm is still slowly bleeding. At least the cut wasn’t deep enough for serious damage then. He wasn’t going for the kill after all, but he had never meant to hurt her either.

“Let me…”

“I’m fine.” She looked embarrassed if he were being honest.

He had been very much in his own head since he lost Ashley and lost track of Luis. Fighting on auto pilot. It was dangerous and stupid he knew it but he was so thoroughly compromised and Ada seemed to just know that something was up with him.

Her script was the same, however. She tells him to leave Ashley. But what he wasn’t expecting was when she told him that she knew about him and Luis.

Leon was too shocked to convincingly deny it and she just looked at him with something like pity in her eyes. She tried to convince him that Luis was trouble and that he couldn’t be trusted. That Leon should get away from him while he still could.

Which was rich coming from her.

“You’re kidding, right? You’re telling me not to trust someone?”

“I would know, wouldn’t I?” She said, grunting when he wiped away the blood to reveal the cut underneath. She had finally given in and let him try and patch her up. His way of apologizing and her way of getting close enough to him to speak right into his ear her poison against whatever spell she believed Luis had put him under.

“I know about him working for Umbrella… Just like you did.”

She doesn’t look surprised at that. It was old news after all.  

Leon scoffs. “I’m well beyond that.”

Ada sniffed and sized him up. “I suppose you are.” She gave him a look and now he knew for sure that she knew. “That’s a shame. Still the same Leon S. Kennedy I know and…”

They both still when they hear footsteps on the other side of the door. Leon would know them anywhere and Ada didn’t seem concerned once she took note of Leon’s reaction.

“Sancho? You in here?”

Ada give him her usual mysterious and cryptic non-goodbye just in time for Luis to find Leon alone.

“Hey, c’mon I know where they took our princess.”

They made it all the way to Saddler only this time Luis died in the sanctuary mere feet from his laboratory.

Ada made her appearance too late to stop it from happening and Leon couldn’t help but wonder if that had been a case of unfortunate timing or a part of her plan all along. Not that it really mattered anymore now.

This time when she yelled for him to move, he didn’t. She would just have to watch this time as Saddler ends him too.  

[You Are Dead. Reload Save? Quit?]

[Quit]

“What?”

“What the fuck…”

He stumbles out of the machine. Catching himself on the slick stainless steel. He stands there for a moment, staring at his hands. His vision is blurring, there are tears in his eyes.

“Leon?”

It was Salazar this time. Luis had pushed him, but he hadn’t been fast enough to get himself out of the way in time. The moldy son of a bitch just wouldn’t give Leon the chance to get near enough to Luis to try and stop the bleeding.

“I need to go back,” he says quietly. “Send me back.”

“Wait. No. I’m not just going to keep…”

“Send me back!”

The doctor gives him a stern look. “I said. No.”

“Every time! Every fucking time!” Leon stops and takes a breath, then another and runs his hands through his already messy hair. “Every time he dies it’s because of me.”

The face of the woman standing in front of him is unreadable. She is quiet for a moment before finally speaking again.

“If that’s true, what do you plan to do to change that, huh?”

Leon looks back at her like she had just said something vulgar.

“If he’s just going to keep…”

“I have to go back.” Leon pleads. “Dr. Dawson, listen if I just…”

“Leon… I can’t just keep sending you back. I told you… this technology isn’t exactly well tested. You shouldn’t even be here. I shouldn’t even be here!”

“Well, think of this as your tests. I’ll keep being your guinea pig… or lab rat or what the fuck ever. You got a waiver for me to sign or something?”

“What am I supposed to tell the DSO when this goes wrong? Huh? Because it’s going to go wrong, Leon. I mean look at you. You’re barely keeping it together as is!”

“Please. I’m this close to figuring it out. I know it.”

“What if there is no figuring it out. What if… what if he’s supposed to die?”

Leon’s eyes were bloodshot, red rimmed and sunken into dark circles. He looked haggard and completely hollowed out. Like he was already a bottle in and half way though another. He was so tired he was even slurring his words.

The two of them had been at this for quite some time. And there was no telling how long he had been spending back there every time before he came back.

“No. No he’s not.” He is not proud of the way his voice cracks then but he’s too desperate for pride now. “The only reason he…” He licks pointlessly at dry, cracked lips. “The only reason he didn’t make it was because he was trying to help me.”

“And that’s supposed to change somehow?”

“I won’t let him this time.”

“You said it yourself! You already tried that! And every time he…”

“It’ll work this time!” Leon yells. “It has to.”

“What about you?”

“I don’t care about me!” Leon said.

“What about Ashley?”

He pauses at that, blues eyes widen like he had been slapped.

“I… I can’t do this.” He hisses from between grit teeth. “I can’t keep doing this. Living like this.” Leon slumps down into a chair nearby, his head in his hands. “It’s… it’s not fair.” His shoulders are shaking, he’s trying not to be obvious about it but it’s clear he’s crying. “You don’t understand… h-how fucking miserable this is.” He growled the words, spitting venom, his hand clenched in front of him. “To have to keep feeling like… this! To be this close…”

She sighs and takes a seat in front of him.

“So… you’re just going to trade Ashley for him?” She asks, already knowing the answer. “Because you told me that Doctor Serra was the only reason you and Ashley Graham made it out of Spain in the first place. If he doesn’t help, then… Then what?”

“I… I know what to do now. I can just…”

“Okay.” She said leaning back in her chair, spreading her hands as if to say ‘go on’. “What’s the plan, Agent Kennedy?”

The silence that spread between them tells her all she needs to know.

“Leon…”  

“What do you want me to say? What do I need to do to convince you, huh? I’ll do it.”

“Well, you could actually listen to me for starters.”

The look on his face isn’t enough to deter her.

“I never told you why I started all this in the first place, did I?” She says, purposely not looking right at him. “You’re not the only one who’s lost people, y’know.”

Leon looks up at her, sniffling.

“I tried too. And tried. And tried. And tried.”

Another tear escapes those big, sad blue eyes and rolls down into the stubble on his chin. It truly does hurt her to have to do this. She had hoped that maybe he could have succeeded where she had not. But now she see how much more damage she’s done, and she wishes she could take it all back. She’s let this go on much too long. She feels sick with what she’s done. Dangled hope in front of a desperate man, only to snatch it away again.

Still, maybe she could at least do this much.

“It was no use. There was always something I didn’t see until it was too late.” She shrugged. “It was like… no matter what I did, it was always going to happen. The only thing I did was watch her die over and over again in new and more fucked up ways. I just made it worse every time.”

“No.” Leon shook his head. “NO. Just because you couldn’t do it doesn’t mean…”

“I’m not going to keep doing this to you, Leon. I’m not sending you back again!”

Leon pushes up from his chair so fast she doesn’t even have time to register that his hands are now balled up in the lapels of her lab coat, her feet dangling inches off the ground.

“Sh-shit! Leon!” She has somehow let herself forget just how tall and intimidating the government special agent was.

“I’m not asking.” He growls, spittle spraying her face. “I’m a fucking… government s-sanctioned k-killing machine. What is the point of all of that shit… they put me through if I can’t even save one person that’s important to me for once?”

“Leon…” She says slowly reaching up to grip one of his wrists. “I know… I know it hurts. So much sometimes that you can’t breathe, right? But…”

“He’s saved my life over and over again and I can’t even save him once?” His grip on her falters, her feet once again on the ground. “He’s just a fucking scientist. I’m the soldier. What’s the point then, huh?” He gestures to the machine. “What’s even the point of this if you can’t use it to change anything?”

“Maybe… that is the point… that there isn’t a point. Or a reason. It just is.” She shrugs. Or as much as she can in his grip. “I couldn’t watch her die again. And… I don’t think you can do it again either.”

They’re in a standoff. Neither one of them is willing to back down.

“He wouldn’t want you to do this.” She says finally.

“How do you know what the hell he’d want?” He said finally releasing her with undo force, she stumbles back only a step. A frown on her face. She’d been reckless. She had read his profile. But she hadn’t been allowed access to his psyche evals. She understood why but still she shouldn’t have gone through with this.

“Because if he’s done half the things you said he has, then I know enough.”

She watches something change behind his eyes then. And suddenly, without saying another word, he leaves.

“Leon! I’m sorry!” The knot in her stomach gets heavier.

That wasn’t the look of a man that was willing to let go of anything.

---------

It was either the neighborhood bar or home and since Leon wasn’t exactly in the mood to be seen by anyone right now, home it was.

It’s just after midnight when he stumbles into his apartment and goes to the bathroom to wash his face. He feels like shit and looks like shit according to his fingerprint smudged, toothpaste splattered bathroom mirror.

“Just another day in the exciting life of special agent Leon S. Kennedy.” He snorts and goes to take off his fingerless gloves and stops cold. He looks at his hand in shock.

There is a silver ring resting on his ring finger.

He blinks at it dumbly.

---------

“Nervous habit?” He nodded toward Luis’s hands, where the other man was absently twisting one of the rings on his finger.

Luis’s laugh was nervous one. He had been caught. “You noticed, eh?”

Leon chuckled softly. “Only a bit.”

“It helps.”

“Oh?”

“You should give it a try.” Luis smiled at him, and something grew warm low in his belly at the sight. He really shouldn’t have been entertaining this, but he was a weak man.

“Here.” Luis said and reached for his hand. Leon allowed it and watched as Luis slipped one of his rings onto his finger. “There. Now we both have one.” He could tell that Luis was trying to appear suave and nonchalant but the blush that was dark enough to be seen on his deep tanned skin was more than a bit telling.

Leon remembered thinking, “This guy can’t be serious.”

---------

Back in Leon’s cramped bathroom in front of his dirty mirror, he is trembling with emotion. He twists the ring gently on his finger and stares at it with blurring eyes. The first sob of many breaks through pushes through.

How is this possible?

“What’s the point if nothing ever changes?”

What is there between us, if not a little annihilation?

#my fan fic #fic: .scar.crossed.lovers. #au: roll the lowlights verse #ch: i want to scream i love you from the top of my lungs (but i'm afraid that someone else will hear me) #luis serra #luis serra navarro #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #resident evil 4 remake #resident evil 4 #re4 remake #re4r #serennedy #serennedy time loop au