vmprgrl-2005

[vmprgrl-2005]

unfixable-genshin impact-capitano x reader

"you're subtly crumbling"

word count-1.6k

warnings/tags-some angst, hurt/comfort, implied fem reader, established relationship

Sleeping in the Tsaritsa’s palace in the middle of the freezing Snezhnayan winter is a challenge for you. The nearly constant snowfall and freezing temperatures confine you to your room most days, leaving you restless as you watch the harbingers travel and work. Luckily, you have a vacant castle to wander every night in order to tire yourself out. 

You stroll down one of the many dim hallways, trying to ease yourself to sleep. The marble floor is cold against your bare feet and you shiver slightly, your thin nightgown not doing much to keep you warm. The wing where the harbingers sleep is desolate at this hour, most of them in bed or away for work. You stop in your tracks when you notice the door to Capitano’s room hanging open. You peek inside from the doorway, hoping to see him. 

The walls are barely illuminated by the pale crescent moon that hangs in the freezing night sky. A moment passes before your eyes can make out his massive silhouette across the room. The large palladian window on the far wall is open, the wintry breeze flowing inside blows through his silky black hair. He turns his head, sighing visibly as a cloud of his warm breath crawls out into the light. He then shrugs his cumbersome cape off of his shoulders, gently tossing it on the chair beside him. You continue to gaze at him wordlessly, admiring the way the moonlight shines down onto him. You’re so hypnotized by his ethereal presence that it takes you a while to notice that the clunky metal helmet that usually rests on his head is missing. Neither of you have ever mentioned the fact that he keeps his face covered, you assumed it to be part of being a harbinger. Now that you’ve been together for a few months, you figure that knowing his identity won't be a problem, and you proceed into the room to join him. 

“Thrain?” You call out quietly, not wanting to startle him. 

Out of habit, he turns around to greet you. He immediately realizes the mistake he’s made, your eyes widen the moment you see his face. 

A significant portion of the flesh on his face is a sickly blue-black color, crawling up his neck to his forehead in a vein-like pattern. Various scars decorate the surface of his skin, lifelong marks of the battles he's endured. One of his eyes is a bright icy blue color, his gaze is piercing even in the dead of night. The marred appearance of his face surprises you, but it doesn’t frighten you. 

You stumble over your words briefly, unsure of how to assure him that you’re not afraid and that you didn’t mean to invade his privacy. 

“Go.” He demands, his voice barely above a whisper. He turns away in order to hide his face from you. 

You take a few steps closer, trying to show him that you’re not scared.

“You must leave, you cannot see me like this.” He insists, his voice becoming louder.

You’re close enough to touch him now. In an attempt to show him how you feel, you reach out and place your hand on his forearm, trying to comfort him. In an instant, his reflexes kick in and his large hand grips your wrist, hard. You yelp, tears filling your eyes from the pain of his iron grasp. He flinches and lets go the moment he realizes he hurt you. The fear in your eyes as you look up at him sends chills through his body. 

Scurrying out of his room, you cradle your wrist in your hand, hoping to ease the pain. No matter how hard you try, you can’t blink away your tears. You’re terrified that you’ve angered him, something that you’ve never done before. Your rapid footsteps cease once you make it to the room you’ve been staying in.

Throwing yourself on your bed, your tears begin to fall faster. You can’t help but feel hopeless, a pit in your stomach forming at the gut-wrenching thought that you’ve ruined your relationship with Capitano forever. Your eyes drift over to a picture sitting on the dresser across the room. A photo of you and Capitano rests inside an intricate silver frame, the only picture of you two you have. He’s gazing down at you, smiling underneath his helmet as his armored hand rests on your shoulder. You turn away, the sight of better times sends a pang of regret through your heart. 

After wallowing in your sadness for a bit, you exit your room, still unable to sleep. You tiptoe down the hallway, attempting to make your way to the small sitting area near your room that you frequent. Rounding the corner outside your door, you notice a shadow a few steps away. It’s Capitano, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, his helmet resting on his head once again. He perks up when he realizes you’ve noticed him.

“My love…please” he mutters.

You stare at him in silence, hesitant to get close to him again. He reaches out towards you, an invitation you can’t reject. You place your hand in his, walking alongside him as he guides you to his room. 

Stiffly, you sit in one of the two chairs nestled in the corner of his room. His body language as he sits across from you makes it obvious that he’s worried. 

“I’m sorry…I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he admits quietly.

“I wasn’t exactly scared, I just didn’t expect you to react like that,” you respond, gazing down at your lap as you fidget with your hands nervously. 

“I was not prepared for you to see the real me. But, now you have.” There’s a hint of regret in his tone, you can tell he wishes you had found out about this differently. 

“This doesn’t change how I feel about you. I love you, no matter what.”

“So my curse does not compel you to leave?” 

“No, of course not,” you answer. The thought of being apart from him is unfathomable for you, especially after having to wait so long to express your feelings for him.  

“You really are the sweetest thing in this world, my angel.” He says, motioning for you to come close. 

You fall into his embrace, your heart fluttering at the feeling of being in his arms once again. His hands seem to fit against you perfectly. Something about the way he holds you tells you that he'll do anything to protect you, that you two are fated to be together, it's a feeling you can’t fathom losing. 

You pull away, still resting your hands on his arms.

“Thrain, take off your helmet, show me the real you,” you say lovingly. 

With hesitant hands, he reaches for his helmet, lifting it off of his head and tucking it under his arm. You look at him warmly, finally being able to look into your lover’s eyes fills you with indescribable happiness. He then rolls up his sleeves, showing you that his curse isn’t confined to just his face. You take his massive hand in yours, softly tracing the decay that vines up his arm with your fingers. He watches you silently, baffled that you can be enthralled by something that he finds so horrible. You bring your hand to his face, finally able to admire him properly after so long. 

“Let me see your arm,” he says, a concerned look adorning his face as he recalls that he hurt you earlier.

Shakily, you roll up your sleeve and hold your hand out in front of him. His fingers quiver as he carefully cradles your forearm in his hands, appalled by the large bruise his grip left on you. 

“Forgive me,” he mutters, gazing up at you.  

“I know you didn’t mean to do it, strength such as yours is hard to control.” Your voice is soft as you try to comfort him.

“I swear to you that I will use my strength to protect you until the end of our days,” he professes, kissing the back of your hand. 

He turns to look out the window, realizing that the sun will begin to rise soon and you haven’t slept the whole night. 

“You should get some rest, my love,” he says. 

As you walk towards the door to return to your room, you feel Capitano’s hand meet your shoulder. You turn to face him, finally able to look into his hypnotic eyes as he speaks to you. 

“Please stay,” he mutters, obviously a bit shy. “Now that you’ve seen the real me, allow me to hold and protect you while you sleep by my side.” 

Without hesitation, you oblige, and you turn around to make your way to his bed. However, before you can begin walking, he effortlessly lifts you up, cradling you in his arms as he carries you across the room. Gently, he lays you down, pulling the soft blankets over you. He lays next to you, taking your hand and intertwining his fingers with yours slowly as if he’s fascinated by your presence in his bed. He recoils when he notices your skin is as cold as ice. 

“Archons, you’re freezing,” he says, pulling you close. 

He wraps his strong arms around you, the warmth of his protective embrace is what you imagine heaven feels like. You finally begin to relax, eyes fluttering shut as you slowly fall asleep in his arms. 

Just before you drift off, you can hear Capitano humming softly as his large hand lays across your lower back, the rumbly vibration of his voice through his chest lulling you into a deep sleep.

[vmprgrl-2005]

kill kill-hotline miami-biker x reader x jacket-part two

“it’s not love but i still want you”

part one wattpad link

word count-1.8k

warnings-strong language, blood/violence/death, drinking/smoking

an-sorry for the wait, it will happen again...hope you love it! :)

After falling asleep again, you wake up disoriented and shivering. Getting out of bed feels nearly impossible, last night’s alcohol is finally starting to kick your ass. You trudge across the room and grab a sweatshirt that's laying on the dresser, replacing the uncomfortable sensation of your current outfit with the soft, oversized garment. Walking out of his bedroom, you realize that you’re still alone.

His apartment is entirely different from what you’re used to. Sleek pink and black furniture adorns the living room and a large desk with a computer stands in the corner, a stark contrast from Jacket’s sparsely decorated room. Your dizziness starts to get the best of you, and you plop down on the black leather couch to avoid falling over. All you want is the comfort of another person, a feeling you’ve been trying to deny. 

A few tears cascade down your cheeks as you sink into the creaky leather cushions, pulling your knees to your chest. This has happened a few times before, the painful feeling of missing your lover only comes over you periodically, whenever you don’t have a way to numb your aching heart. The sound of the door makes you perk up, memories of waiting on the couch for your boyfriend to come home flood your mind. There's no use trying to pull yourself together, the redness in your eyes is painfully obvious. You watch as he stands in the doorway for a moment, removing his helmet and running his hand through his fluffy hair. Eventually, his eyes meet yours. When he notices you’ve been crying, he rushes over to sit down beside you. 

“What’s wrong?” He asks softly, placing his warm hand on your back.

You shake your head, tears falling faster than before.

“Is it him?” He asks, quieter. 

Shakily, you nod. He takes you in his arms, running his fingers over your hair. 

“Why do I miss him? He left me without saying anything.” You mutter, feeling ashamed to admit how you feel. 

A sigh leaves him as if he’s just as upset as you are. “It's understandable, you two were together for a while.”

Crying over the man who abandoned you feels ridiculous, your hands wipe the tears away as soon as they fall. A feeling of panic boils up inside of you as memories of your boyfriend coming home in the middle of the night covered in blood and shaking flash through your mind. 

“But what if he's not safe? I should call him just to see.” You breathe, forcing yourself up and off of the couch. 

Heavy hands find their way to your shoulders, ushering you to sit back down. “No, you’re not gonna call him,” he says, staring into your eyes. “You’re not going to go crawling back to him. You don’t deserve to be treated like that.” 

Your eyes meet his, you can tell from the way he looks at you that he cares about you, you’re not another one of his one-night-stands that he dumps without thinking twice. 

“Alright, fine,” you agree, somewhat hesitantly. 

He grins at you, pulling you close. “No more crying, ok doll? You’re mine now,” he says close to your ear, his flirtatious tone from the night before returning.  

–

The ropes are almost loose enough for him to entirely slip his hands out of the restraints. It had been nearly impossible with how weak he is, but the blood coating his wrists helped. The rapid pounding of his heart rings in his ears. He can’t determine whether it's from nerves or blood loss, not that he cares. This was his one chance to escape and he knew he couldn’t fuck it up, he had to get out and make it back to you. He’s willing to risk his life if it means getting to see you again. That is, if you even wanted to see him after all of this, the memory of the photos of you and your “friend” reminds him that you’ve probably already moved on. 

A sickeningly loud popping sound comes from his wrist as a result of his struggle with the thick ropes restraining him. He’s able to pull his now limp hand out, the other one swiftly following. Whatever he's done to his wrist has severely limited his movement, another hurdle in his plan to escape. He takes a shivery breath, knowing that he only has one shot to do this. Quietly, he dashes across the room, his back to the wall right next to the door with the chair he was tied to in his hands. His fist bangs against the door, shaking it in its frame. Footsteps immediately begin rushing towards the room. Hearing the men on the other side of the door makes his vision blur, everything seems to move in slow motion as his adrenaline kicks in. With a deep breath, he slams the chair over the head of the first man through the door, knocking him on the ground. A jagged broken leg from the chair left in his hand meets the stomach of the next man in line. Warm blood gushes over his half-limp hand. Just as he expected, a handgun clatters to the ground as the man’s body does. Efficient and brutally graceful, he's as cold as the metal of the gun that now rests in his hand. 

Two shots fly through the next group of men as he finally exits the room he's been locked in. He presses forward, knees weak underneath him. The gun is only enough to clean up a few of the last men. Making do, the man who was unfortunate enough to bring a switchblade gets knocked sideways, receiving a skull-shaking uppercut underneath his chin. Using what he has, he takes the gun and slams it against the man’s head repeatedly with a passion that's almost inhuman. Blood and various other chunks of bodily matter now cover his jeans, making them more red than blue. After ruthlessly ending the life of the last man, the whole building goes silent. For the first time in a while he sees clearly, and he knows he needs to get out. Leaving the carnage behind, he stumbles out the door. 

The alleyway he finds himself in is dark, despite the orange-yellow light that still fills the sky. He staggers towards the sidewalk, searching for any sign of where he is. The VHS rental store he frequents is just down the road, something that helps him get his bearings in reality. Panic fills him as he realizes how far he is from your apartment. He’ll never make it there on foot, he's already barely alive. Running his hand over the interior of his jacket, he feels the bulge of his keys in his pocket. Knowing that he actually has a chance of making it home to you motivates him even more. He begins walking towards the last place he remembers being, his vision wavering with each step. 

– 

You’re on the back of his bike once again, flying down the highway to get to your apartment. The orange sun peeks out from between tall buildings, shining its light on you momentarily. A cool breeze blows through your hair wildly. You bury your face into the side of his neck, keeping your face out of the unseasonably chilly evening air. The sensation of his warmth against you feels so right that for a fleeting moment you forget who your heart supposedly still belongs to. 

He parks outside of your apartment building, holding onto your waist as you hop off of the bike. Taking him by the hand, you ask him to stay with you for a while, promising him that you can go out again and you’ll buy the drinks. The look in your eyes alone is enough to convince him, and he follows you up to your room with no hesitation. 

Once you make it back to your bedroom, you change out of his clothes and splash cool water on your face, hoping to banish the last bit of your hangover. Exiting your bedroom, you find him standing on your balcony smoking. You join him, of course, admiring how the golden light of the sunset shines down on him as his hair flows in the wind, like something out of a movie. You can tell that he’s gazing in your direction, but you’re too busy looking at the horizon to say anything. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he says earnestly. 

You stumble over your words for a moment before staring at him in shock, your entire face turning bright red.

“I mean it,” he continues. “I don’t know how you ended up with the asshole you did.”

He puts his cigarette back in his mouth nonchalantly as if he hadn’t said anything. 

Just before you can respond, it begins to rain.

“Well, shit, so much for romance,” he mutters before leading you back inside. 

–

He's only a block away from his car when the rain starts to pour. The blood drenching him runs down his body even faster now, leaving light pink stains all over his clothes. Most of his walk is spent weaving through alleyways to avoid unwanted attention, especially from the law. 

He can see his car in the distance, still parked outside of the vacant building where he left it. The pace of his steps picks up significantly, he knows he's close to finally being free. Looking over his shoulder a final time to make sure no one has followed him, he unlocks his car and gets in. 

A heavy sigh racks through his body as soon as he sits in the driver’s seat. He stares down at his blood caked shoes, muttering curses under his breath when he notices they’re staining the floor. Slowly reaching into the cupholder, he pulls out his cigarettes and lights one, filling his weak lungs with grey smoke. The nicotine withdrawal he had been through was nothing compared to the withdrawal from you, spending weeks without your presence nearly killed him. The bright flashes of lightning that crawl across the clouds pull him out of his daze. The wind picks up, blowing rain forcefully against the windshield. He doesn’t have time to wait out the storm, so he puts his car in gear, cigarette still in hand. The route to your apartment is ingrained in his mind and he makes it there seamlessly, even without being able to see through the rain. 

His mind goes blank until he finds himself standing outside your door. For a moment he stands still, staring forward, hesitant to subject himself to being face to face with you again. Part of him wants to walk away, to let you be happier without him. Deciding that getting to see you again is worth the strife of realizing you’re with someone else, he knocks as best as he can, hoping it's loud enough for you to hear. 

[vmprgrl-2005]

kill kill-hotline miami-biker x reader x jacket-part one

“i’m in love with a dying man”

part two wattpad link

word count-2.2k

warnings-strong language, blood, drinking, kidnapping

an-more hotline miami slop! this is all my brain can ever produce, hope you like it anyways:)

The sounds of your footsteps echo loudly through the vacant hallway, making your anger obvious. Your urgent pace comes to a halt outside of your (soon to be ex) boyfriend’s apartment. This was becoming a routine, you storming up to his room and banging on his door, hurling insults at the man who may or may not be on the other side. 

It’s been a couple of weeks since you’ve last seen him. The thought of that fuels your anger-sadness as the splintered wood fights back against your knuckles. When you feel your hand get sore from your insistent knocking and your throat goes dry from shouting his name, you begin digging through your bag for the key to his apartment, only to remember you lost it a few weeks ago. You begin stomping away, making sure to shout one last insult before making it too far down the dingy hallway. Descending the stairs to the first floor, you notice a man mopping and staring in your direction. From across the room, you attempt to get his attention, keeping your distance from his condescending gaze. 

“Hey,” you start, “have you seen a tall blond dude wearing a letterman jacket around here recently?” You’re pretty sure this attempt at finding your absent lover is futile, but what do you have to lose? 

“Yeah,” the man replies, peering at you from under the bill of his hat, “I saw him walking around with some chick the other week.” He immediately goes back to his work, returning his dead eyes to the suds covering the vinyl floor. 

Even more resentment and jealousy fills the pit in your stomach, and you huff a quick “thanks” in response. You don’t even care to ask for details before trudging out of the building and to your car. 

The drive back to your apartment is hellish. However, it gives you just enough time to plot your revenge. You pick up your phone as soon as you get to your room, falling onto your bed and kicking your legs in the air. Without hesitation, you dial an old friend’s number, unsure if it's still in service or not. You're relieved when you hear a familiar voice on the other end. 

When you greet him, he replies with “Hey, baby.” He's always been terribly flirtatious, exactly what you need. 

“Are you doing anything tonight?” You waste no time making your intentions clear in a sugary sweet tone. 

“I was gonna head out for a bit,” he replies, the smile on his lips audible. “Why, you wanna come?” He pries teasingly. 

You let him in on your situation and how heartbroken you feel, being sure to keep up your dramatic tone, as if he needed any convincing to take you out. 

Without hesitation he says “I’ll pick you up at eight, wear something I’ll like.” It's as if you can hear him winking at you through the phone. 

“See you then” you giggle before hanging up the phone.

You spend an hour in your closet finding an outfit that looks exceptionally flattering on you, something that you knew would make your “boyfriend” place a protective arm around your waist if he caught anyone else looking at you in it. 

By the time you make it to the lobby of your apartment building your date is already outside. He's standing next to his motorcycle in all of the glory that you remember. Muscular arms unhidden in a sleeveless neon pink vest, shaggy teal dyed hair, dreamy eyes, and an overly flirtatious, ridiculously handsy attitude. 

“Looking like that I wanna keep you all to myself” he purrs as you walk towards him. 

“Save it” you reply as you bat at his arm playfully, a blush overwhelming your face. He laughs cooly, climbing onto his bike. You slide on behind him, nervous to get too close. 

His hands brush the sides of your thighs as he grabs your hips and pulls you closer to him, smirking at you. “Come on, you’re gonna fall off,” he says, pulling you even closer by taking your hands and looping your arms around his waist. 

With that, he revs the bike’s engine loudly and pulls onto the street. As he drives, you notice that he's not wearing his usual teal helmet, and a bit of smudgy black makeup adorns his eyes. You weren’t exactly expecting him to try and impress you. Every time he stops at a red light, he turns to look at you, eyes glistening in the light of the sunset. One of his hands meets your waist, the leather of his fingerless glove is warm against your exposed skin. He winks at you before speeding off again, accelerating even faster than he did at the last stoplight. Butterflies fill your stomach at the sound of the engine and the sight of palm trees rapidly passing your vision. You were used to Jacket driving recklessly, but there was something new about this, something more exciting. He parks outside of a neon-lit building in a spot at the very front, it's obvious that he's a regular here. Dismounting the bike, your knees wobble, dizzy from how fast you were travelling. Luckily, his arm snakes around your waist, hand resting on your hip to keep you steady. 

“Let them stare,” he mutters close to your ear. At first you’re confused, until you turn towards the line into the club. Out of every few people, someone is looking at you, either staring in curiosity or glaring maliciously. 

Panicking, you turn to him, mouthing “What the fuck?” 

“I always come here alone. This is gonna make headlines, baby” he smiles as he immediately goes to the front of the line, walking inside nonchalantly. 

Despite the hand clamped around your waist, the bouncer still stops you, gripping your shoulder tightly. 

“Woah, c’mon, she’s with me” your date exclaims, yanking you out of the bouncer’s hold. Not waiting for permission, he continues pulling you inside. 

The ruthless stares don’t subside as you enter the club. Part of you begins to regret doing this and your mind wanders as you walk through the flashing lights. 

“Here sugar, I got you a drink.” His words bring you back to reality as you take the glass from his hand. It’s your favorite, somehow he remembered. Chemically top-shelf liquor burns the back of your throat as you down a large sip.  

“You really are heartbroken, aren’t you?” He coos, “Did pretty little blondie just up and leave?” 

You nod before elaborating, “Apparently with some other girl, too.” 

He scoffs loudly in response. “Fuck him, don’t even think about him tonight. You're way too pretty for him anyway.” He says, looking you up and down with a suggestive glint in his eyes. 

Secretly you hope that he’s nearby, seeing you with a different guy’s hands on your body, getting more and more jealous by the second knowing that you’re not his anymore. You look around, curious to see if you can spot him in the crowd, but all you notice is a pair of men at a table in the corner staring at you. They look back and forth between you and each other. One of them pulls out his wallet, shows something to the other man, and then pulls out a phone. This concerns you slightly but isn’t surprising, not after the looks you’ve been getting since you walked in. 

Trying to brush it off, you turn the other way. “We should go dance” you exclaim, practically dragging him off of the bar stool. 

“Whatever you want baby,” he replies, catching up with your rushed pace. Other men stare at you but don’t dare to approach you, not when they notice the muscular arms that stay wrapped around you as you dance. His hands never leave you, constantly resting on your shoulders, hips, wrapped around your waist, or attached to your hands. After a while, you end up on a couch somewhere on the much calmer second floor. You’re trashed, just barely able to see straight. 

A familiar presence leans in close and mutters in your ear, sending shivers up your spine. “I’m going to go get you some water for you, stay here ok?” You nod and he kisses your cheek before walking away. 

Even though you’re out of it, you can still recognize the two men from earlier walking past you again. You stare back, sending them an equally dirty look, furrowing your brows in an attempt to deter them. When your date comes back, you tell him about the creepy dudes between sips of water. 

“They’re just jealous that I have the prettiest girl here” he says while putting an arm around you, still as flirtatious as ever. The walk outside is a blur. All you remember is his hands holding your face as you sat on his bike and him carrying your shoes as you walked to an elevator. 

As you slip in and out of reality, your head spins, a mess of neon colors and tender touches race around you and you can’t help but be reminded of who you’ve been looking for this whole time. 

The next time you’re fully conscious you’re in a bed filled with an unfamiliar masculine scent. You can hear someone moving from across the room, and you open your eyes to see your one-night flirt styling his hair in a cracked mirror on his dresser. 

“Hey lightweight” he whispers, “sorry for waking you up.”

You sit up, rubbing your eyes and sleepily replying “It's alright.” 

Once you’re fully awake, you notice he’s not wearing a shirt, to which your eyes widen. He must notice this as he hurries to say “Nothing happened between us last night, I slept on the couch.”

Instead of responding, you hide your now bright red cheeks behind your hands, to which you can hear him giggle. You continue to admire him as he throws a shirt over his head before walking over to where you’re laying. 

“I need to head out, I’ll take you back to your place later. You should get some rest” he mutters as he pets your hair tenderly. 

“Alright, be safe” you reply quietly while staring up at him, doe eyed. 

“Don’t worry doll, I’ll come back to you in one piece” he says, winking in your direction before leaving the room. 

When you hear him leave, you collapse onto the soft pillows behind you, falling into a dreamy haze of memories of your love affair once again. 

—

The endless days and even longer nights were starting to blur together. The blood that's seeping out of his abdomen slowly drying is the only way he’s able to tell time. He misses you, he hasn’t stopped thinking about you. He’s spent hours praying to everything he doesn’t believe in that you’re safe. You’re the only reason he's been able to keep himself alive through the haze of death that's been lingering around his blood soaked body for days now. Clicking echoes off of the walls as the many locks on the door to the room he's in are undone.  Two men saunter in, single file, both grinning maliciously. 

“Look at this.” One of them says bluntly through a thick Russian accent. 

A slightly crumpled picture rests in the man’s hand. It takes a moment before his exhausted, bloodshot eyes can focus, but he eventually gathers that it's a picture of you, alive and unharmed. It takes another moment for him to realize that you’re in someone else's arms. It's nearly impossible for him not to react, but he manages to keep up a stoic appearance in order to avoid even more torture. 

“He’s another one of 50 blessings’s stupid little puppets, and now he’s got his hands on your precious angel,” the man continues. Every word out of his mouth stings worse than the last. 

“They were at a club together all night, he’s awfully handsy.” The second man chimes in, holding up another picture of you with your “friend’s” hands creeping down your waist. 

It seems as though his lack of reaction bores them, and they throw the pictures on the ground in front of him before exiting the room. Moments after the door slams shut, tears begin to fall down his bruised face. He grits his teeth and exhales sharply. He didn’t want to cry, he didn't want to let himself feel the pain of losing you, especially when you didn’t seem to be bothered by his absence. It wasn’t surprising that you were with someone else, he did disappear with no explanation, but he didn’t want to believe that you’d move on from him so quickly. The tears falling onto his clothes mix with the still fresh blood on his face and leave behind diluted red stains on his once white shirt. 

Even though his wrists are rubbed raw, he still tries to pull his hands apart and rip the rope restraining him, even if it's just a small amount. 

He continues holding onto hope that he can get out, it's the only thing that keeps him sane through the blinding anguish he’s been subjected to. There’s still a need deep inside of him to see you again, even if it means putting his life in even more danger to do so.

[vmprgrl-2005]

arms of mine-genshin impact-neuvillette x reader

“but what hurts most of all is that we’ll never see the sun”

word count-762

warnings-slight angst but a happy ending:)

summary-the struggle of having to keep your relationship with the Iudex a secret

Neuvillette, chief Iudex of Fontaine, an extremely powerful and well-respected man. That was how the world saw him. You, however, saw a much different side of him than everyone else did. Neuvillette was much softer around you. His professional demeanor slipped away, his voice softening and his body language becoming less tense. Seemingly everything he did was out of love for you. 

Relationships aren't without their ups and downs, and your relationship with Neuvillette was no exception. Something that continuously upset you was the fact that your love for each other was strictly private. You knew that it was for the sake of your safety and his reputation, but that didn't make it hurt any less. You couldn’t be seen in public with him, which meant dates were few and far between. Whenever you went out together it had to be at night, and any time you visited his office it had to be painfully brief so as to not raise any suspicion. This had gone on for months, you having to love him from the shadows was taking a major toll on your relationship. 

One day you decided you had finally had enough. It was rather late at night, you had just completed an awful shift at work and wanted nothing more than to be in Neuvillette’s comforting presence. You swiftly walked to the court of Fontaine, knowing that he would still be neck deep in paperwork. After looking around to make sure nobody saw you, you entered his office, softly closing the door behind you. 

“Hello, darling” Neuvillette greeted you without looking up from his work. 

“Hi” you grumbeled in response, plopping down on a couch near his desk. 

“Did anyone see you come in?” He questioned, peering up at you over his glasses.

You huffed, frustrated that the secrecy of your relationship was his priority at that moment. 

“Yes, Neuvillette, after months of us being kept a secret I made sure that nobody could see me.” 

He put his pen down, surprised by your hostile tone. 

“Beloved,” he stared into your eyes, his gaze overwhelmed with love for you, “you know that I do it to protect you. Each day I have trouble refraining from talking about how much I care for you.” 

You hated arguing with Neuvillette. No matter how angry you got, he remained as calm and stoic as always, no amount of aggression could shake him. 

You sighed deeply, knowing that everything he did was to keep you safe. 

“Yes, I know. It's just hard to go so long without seeing you each day.” You replied dejectedly, sinking deep into the plush cushion of the couch. 

Standing up from his desk, Neuvillette strode over to you, cupping your cheek in his gloved hand. 

“I promise I’ll make it up to you someday” he said softly. 

After accepting his promise, you walked back to your shared home, exhausted after the day you had.

–

“Dearest, wake up.” You hear Neuvillette call quietly. 

You crack your eyes open, unsure as to why he’s waking you up so early. 

“Don’t you have the day off today?” You groan, turning away from him in bed.

“I do, but I left something important in my office, and I’d like you to come get it with me” he says, 

You hoist yourself out of bed, too tired to fully grasp what he had said. After sluggishly getting dressed, you make your way to the bathroom. You style your hair carefully, Neuvillette watching lovingly from the doorframe. 

When you’re ready to leave, you’re surprised to see Neuvillette still waiting for you, a stark difference from your usual routine of one of you leaving the house five minutes after the other. 

“Are you ready to leave?” You ask him, confusion evident in your tone. 

“Yes, darling” he replies, holding his hand out for you to take. 

“But, what about…” you begin hesitantly. 

“Hush. It was upsetting you, so I’m taking it upon myself to fix it” Neuvillette says, enclosing your hand in his.  “Now, come with me” he whispers tenderly, his tide-colored eyes fixed on yours. 

With that, you left, your arm linked with Neuvilette’s. He paraded you around the city as if you were the most precious thing in the world, being sure to stop and talk to anyone he could while making it as obvious as possible that he was in love with you. In a matter of days, the Steambird was abuzz with stories about Fontaine’s newest power couple, and Neuvillette’s desk was covered in flower crowns for you from the Melusines.

[vmprgrl-2005]

you can’t win them all-attack on titan-erwin smith x reader

"who will take the fall? who of us is stronger? you’ll just want it more, if you could you’d have fought it, but you know you’re not, from the start they knew you were wrong"

word count-2.8k

warnings-blood, death, violence, angst/no comfort, some strong language, titans (yuck)

This was a risky plan. He knew it, all of the other scouts knew it, but it had to be done, and he was going to make sure it was done correctly. Going beyond the walls seemed to be more dangerous than ever, even with a titan on their side. 

The entire time Erwin was planning orders to give to the scouts, one thing persisted in the back of his mind; you. He was confident in your abilities to protect yourself and others, but this mission was dangerous, terribly so. Traveling a long distance beyond the walls with numerous new recruits was entirely unpredictable and he needed to be prepared for anything. 

While nearing the end of his strategizing, his mind began to wander, the product of countless hours spent staring at his desk through the night. Where would you be safest? Close to him? In the center, surrounded by the highest ranking scouts? For what felt like the first time in his life, he was clueless, unsure of what decision would be best for you. Part of him wanted to have you sit this mission out, to make up some reason as to why he believed you shouldn’t leave the walls. He did have a reason, of course, but he tried not to let his feelings for you take control of his decisions. 

After spending all night awake by candlelight, he was finally sure of his plan. One of his worries, though, was your reaction to your placement. Standing from his desk for the first time in hours, he left his office. As he exited the room, he approached one of the newly recruited scouts and handed them a folder. 

“Take this to captain Levi, it contains information about tomorrow’s mission.” Erwin’s voice was heavy with fatigue. In an instant the scout murmured “Yes sir” and hurried away. 

---

You were in one of the common rooms at the scout’s headquarters, attempting to rest before tomorrow’s departure. Although you weren’t a part of the Levi squad, you tended to hang around with them because they worked closely with Erwin. You sat across from Levi, sharing a pot of tea and discussing your concerns regarding the next day’s departure. 

Interrupting the conversation, a young scout burst through the door, making his way over to where Levi sat. “Information directly from commander Erwin, sir” the scout says in the most stern voice he can muster. 

“Thanks,” Levi replies nonchalantly, briefly sitting down his tea cup. 

Levi immediately opened the folder, reading through the papers inside while taking a sip of tea before looking up at you. 

“Erwin wants you to ride in the back tomorrow.” 

“What?” You exclaim, confused by the change from your usual placement. 

“Let me see that” you say, sliding the folder to the middle of the table. 

Sure enough, it contained a map similar to what Erwin made for every expedition beyond the walls, a circle drawn around the squad you’d travel with, one close to the back of the formation. 

After staring at the page in disbelief for a moment, you stand from your chair, quickly making your way to the door. 

“You’re going to go complain to him?” Levi asks. 

“Of course I am, he has no reason to be doing this.” you seethe. 

“Good luck” you hear Levi say as you close the door. 

The walk to Erwin’s room is a short one, likely due to the rushed pace of your steps. Your knuckles harshly meet the wooden door once but before you can knock again Erwin opens the door. You step back, surprised by his sudden appearance. 

“I had a feeling you’d come here” Erwin says, looking down at you. 

He steps back, opening the door fully and allowing you inside. You make your way into the room, brushing past him and watching as he makes his way to his desk. Differing from your usual behavior, you choose to stand a short distance away from him instead of plopping down on his bed. 

“I’m assuming this is about your placement for tomorrow?” he asks, turning towards you in his chair to give you his full attention. 

“Yes, I…” You start, looking into his light blue eyes. You can’t help but feel distracted by the way he looks at you, like you’re the most precious thing in the world, the only thing that could ever matter to him. 

“Why did you change my placement? Do you think I’m not able to protect myself? I’ve spent all of this time trying to prove myself, am I not strong enough?” You continue while looking down at the floor, choking back tears as you attempt to confront him. All of your anger seemed to melt away as soon as you were face to face with him. 

Erwin stands from his chair, walking towards you slowly and taking your hands firmly in his. 

“Darling,” he mutters, “I know you’re strong, and I know you can protect yourself, that’s why I fell in love with you.” 

He looks into your eyes, his gaze overflowing with adoration and worry for you. 

“But please, let me protect you. This journey is extremely dangerous and there will likely be numerous casualties. I couldn’t live with myself if you were one of them.” 

You continue to stare up at him, you could tell that he was terribly worried about you, he rarely made somewhat selfish decisions like this. Not wanting to worry him further, you agree to his plan. 

“Alright, I understand your concern, I’ll stay in the back” you respond, lightly squeezing his hands which still rested in yours. His eyes soften as he smiles slightly, a comforting look you had grown to love. 

“Get some rest before tomorrow, dearest” Erwin mutters, pulling you close and kissing your forehead. 

---

It was just before dawn, a few hours before the scouts were to move out beyond the wall. You were at the stables, loading cargo onto wagons and readying your horse, still somewhat disgruntled over Erwin’s overly cautious decision on your placement. When you heard the casual chatting of the people around you cease, you knew who was there, and your face began to burn. His footsteps slowly came up behind you. A hand rests on your lower back, one of the few subtle affectionate gestures he showed when you weren’t alone. 

“Commander” you greeted him somewhat shyly, turning your head to look at him. 

“I wanted to check on you before we head out. Are you alright?” Your eyes meet his and you can’t help but melt slightly at the sight of his softened gaze. 

“Yes commander, I’m fine, just a little nervous” your voice trails off as you speak. Erwin only nods, trying to pretend that you’re having a normal interaction so as to not raise any suspicion. 

As he parts from you, his hand meets your shoulder. “You’ll be alright, sweetheart. I know you can protect yourself.” he says in a low voice. 

Heat rushes to your face, causing you to hide behind your hands in embarrassment. You turn to look at him again, baffled as to how he’s checking on the other scouts completely unbothered. Trying to keep your cool, you continue loading the wagons and climb onto your horse, riding with the other scouts to the front gate. 

---

The mission was off to a rough start. Titans seemed to be appearing out of nowhere, attacking scouts from every direction. 

Things continued getting worse, multiple squads had been displaced and were struggling to fight off titans, including yours. You continued trying your best to stay safe, defeating any titan that entered your line of sight. However, you were running out of supplies quickly. All of your blades were either broken or dulled, and your air tanks were sputtering. As you were preparing to set off a flare, a titan came out from behind a tree, sweeping another member of your squad off of his horse. Immediately you swerved your horse away from the trees and brought it to a halt. It was an abnormal titan, you could tell by the way it moved, and you knew it was going to be a challenge to take down with your minimal supplies. Cautiously, you brought your horse closer to the titan, attempting to climb up its back. Using the last bit of gas you have, you make your way onto its back, climbing your way up to its neck. 

Your dulled blades barely cut through the titan’s nape. Just as you tried to anchor your odm gear into a tree, the titan swung its arm towards you, grabbing you out of the air. You were trapped in its hand no matter how hard you tried to squirm out, its grip becoming tighter by the second. 

Just as the titan began bringing you towards its mouth, a member of your squad climbed its back, cutting into its neck without defeating it. It then dropped your body to the ground and snapped its head around to devour your squad mate. 

It was too late for you, the titan’s powerful grip had crushed you. Waves of excruciating pain come over you as you bleed out. All you can think of is Erwin and how broken he’ll be over his plan not keeping you safe. You would give anything to tell him goodbye. The last thing you can see is the last few members of your squad continuing to ride forward, narrowly escaping the titan.

---

The captain of your squad was approaching the front of the formation, a horrified look on his face. Erwin had given him special instructions to inform him if anything happened to your squad. 

“Commander, we’ve been hit, we lost three people” he shouts to Erwin, panic present in his tone. 

A chill ran over Erwin’s entire body, a rare feeling for him. He turned behind him shouting “Continue on forward. Make it to the forest.” before veering his horse towards the direction of your squad. His breathing quickened as he continued on, his usual composure slipping. As he got closer to where you were, he noticed the blood covering the ground and he began hoping that no one would follow him, he couldn’t let anyone see him like this. A few sparse trees covered the area, various scout’s odm gear hanging down off of the branches. Scanning the ground meticulously, he caught sight of your body sprawled across the grass. He quickly brought his horse to a halt at the sight in front of him. He was used to losing soldiers, but this was different. Immediately he dismounted his horse and rushed to your side. Upon observing you more closely, he realized he was far too late. 

A titan had almost completely crushed your body, your limbs sticking out in uncanny directions, a gaping bloody hole sat in the middle of your torso. The sight made his stomach churn, the person who he adored more than anything bleeding out in front of his eyes. 

 Intense vibrations shook the ground beneath him. A five meter titan stood dauntingly in front of him, a smug look on its face with your blood coating its hands. Erwin stepped away from your body before pulling out the blades at his side. He blinked hard, trying to force away the tears that had welled up in his usually focused eyes. Within seconds he had flown out of the titan’s sight, climbing the curve of its back and gliding over the nape of its neck, successfully cutting out its weak spot. It collapsed in an instant, right next to where you laid. 

Shakily putting his blades away, he kneeled next to you. One last time his strong arms reached towards you. He lifted you onto his lap, your blood sloshing onto him as he did, not that it mattered to him. He gently caressed your hair before moving his hand down your face and cupping your cheek one final time. Carefully, he tore the crest off of your jacket, tucking it into his pocket before anyone saw. 

“You died fighting for humanity’s future. I’ll admire you forever.” he said in a voice only loud enough for the both of you to hear. 

He leaned in closer. “Goodbye, my love” he whispered, gently kissing your forehead and closing your eyes with a feather light touch. 

Snapping back to his usual composure, he returned to his horse, setting off to find someone who could safely retrieve your body. He had tunnel vision, the only thing on his mind was getting you back to the wall and burying you. 

After ordering a soldier to collect your body, Erwin returned to his assigned position at the front of the formation. Levi’s disapproving stare didn’t even phase him, not when he had just lost the love of his life. 

The entire journey back to the wall was nerve wracking. He couldn’t travel next to the wagons, so he had no idea if your body was safe or not. He felt as if nothing mattered to him anymore, not the safety of the scouts, not the success of their mission, not how others felt about his decisions. All he cared about was protecting you one last time, he felt it was the least he could do. 

---

Erwin immediately went to his room when the scouts returned to their headquarters, he needed to collect himself before facing anyone else. He laid in his bed, picturing all of the ways he could have saved you, if only he had paid more attention. Usually he would be more rational than this, but he had no willpower left to keep delusion from taking over his thoughts. 

Interrupting the silence, there was a harsh knock at the door. Erwin stood slowly, striding over to answer the door. Levi stood on the other side, glaring murderously at him. 

“Commander, the scouts are waiting for you.” Levi hissed. 

A short silence followed, as if he was deciding what to say next. 

“Or is the only one you fucking cared about dead already?” He inquired fiercely. 

Neither of them moved, an awkward silence filling the air. Although Erwin was used to Levi’s cold attitude, he was taken aback by his particularly cruel words. 

“Members of the scouts go out there and risk their lives every day. Nothing made her special besides your feelings for her” Levi continued to berate him. 

“That’s enough” Erwin interrupted, an unusual anger present in his tone. “You have no right to speak to one of your superiors like this. I am the commander of the scouts and you are in no place to critique my decisions.” 

“I am when your decisions involve the safety of everyone. Your ignorance already cost you her life, but you could have lost a whole hell of a lot more. I’d criticize your choices further, but I think you’ve already lost enough.” Levi said, raising his voice. 

“We can continue this discussion later. As you can probably imagine, I am not in the mood for this at the moment” Erwin sighed, hoping to de-escalate the conversation.

With that, Levi closed his mouth and disappeared, storming back down the hallway. 

---

The pain of missing you had already become unbearable for him. He had ordered that no one was to clean out your room, it was the last piece of you he had, and he would desperately cling onto it forever. On particularly hard days he found himself lying in your bed, acting as if your scent still lingered on the pillows. 

Erwin had become a shell of himself since losing you. The once reliable and strategic commander had become irrational and unapproachable, lashing out at anyone who dared to question his decisions or motives. Many of the scouts had begun to disregard his authority, not that he cared anymore. 

A few days after your passing, he arranged a memorial service for you which all scouts were required to attend. The group gathered in the scout’s cemetery, huddled around an open grave at the very front of the burial plot that was surrounded by empty space. Rain poured down, the sky mourning the loss of an angel. 

Erwin stared at your freshly covered grave the entire time, it was the only way he could keep himself from completely breaking down. He couldn’t help but imagine the day that he would be buried next to you, when you could finally be together forever. A majority of the scouts questioned why a funeral was held for you in particular, but one look at the commander’s face helped them put the pieces together. None of the new recruits dared to goof off or make a sound at all, thanks to a stern lecture from Levi before the service. A few tears cascaded down Erwin’s face, thankfully the rain hid them from the others’ sight. Slowly, he walked towards your headstone, hesitantly placing a small bouquet of flowers on the grave. The rest of the scouts began to file out of the cemetery, but Erwin stayed where he was, as if the weight of his grief prevented him from moving.

Levi placed a hand on his shoulder, his best attempt at comforting the completely broken man. 

“Looks like all your gambling caught up to you,” Levi drones, “shitty that it had to be this time.” 

---

"i'd kill myself to hold you one more time"

[vmprgrl-2005]

a real hero-hotline miami-jacket x reader

“your pursuits are called outstanding, you’re emotionally complex”

word count-3.6k

warnings-blood, violence, death, strong language (the usual), spoilers for hlm 1, drug use

How long have you been laying in this bed? All of the days blur together, you’ve seen life through a drugged haze for god knows how long now. Your eyes glaze over to a pile of pill bottles and empty needles next to you, whether they were used on you or someone else you don’t know. A bulky man sits in a chair across the room, watching whatever “film” he was about to produce. No one had come near you today, it seemed like most of the men passing through had something bigger to worry about, judging by their raised tones and rushed gestures as they spoke. You’re unsure if you’re going to make it out of here. At this point, most of your time is spent in a dazed state, staring forward, rarely paying attention to anything.

There’s a sudden loud sound, interrupting the tense silence that previously filled the room. You try to listen and decipher what’s happening. The sounds continue, gunshots, then footsteps, then more gunshots. Your body tenses with each reverberation, terrified of whatever is happening in the rest of the building yet still unable to will yourself to move.

The man in the corner finally leaves the room, pushing the door open harshly, mumbling curses under his breath. Three gunshots later he doesn’t come back. You can hear approaching footsteps and your heart begins to slam against your rib cage. Too weak to move to make yourself decent, you lay in whatever thin pieces of lace still cover your body. Trying to run doesn’t even cross your mind.

Then you see him. Looming in the doorway, his stance wide and his shoulders heaving, a large shotgun in his hand. Your body shakes and your breath quickens no matter how much you try to hide your fear. Staring towards the door, you watch him intently, waiting for any sign of movement. Why the fuck hasn’t he killed you yet?

You try to talk to him, voice shaking. “Come on, make it quick.” He walks closer, leaving a bloody trail of the sins of the night behind him. Expecting to feel the cold barrel of a gun against your forehead or hands around your neck or a knife through your chest, some pathetic noise leaves you when instead you feel arms slip underneath you, lifting you up from the grave you’d been laying in for weeks. He’s terribly gentle, cradling your head against his chest as he carries you away like some demented knight in shining armor. The palm of his hand lays partly across your face, most likely trying to shield your eyes from whatever carnage lies beyond the threshold of the door.

With a hard nudge of his shoulder, he opens the door and carries you to what you assume is his car, laying you down in the back seat as if you’re made of glass. Before he closes the door, he takes off his warm jacket, laying it across your mostly bare body. He gets in the driver's seat, throwing his head back and sighing deeply before taking off the plastic mask covering his face. The neon lights from the street shine in through the window, illuminating his face, the sweat across his strong jawline glistening in the pink glow. He lights a cigarette and blows the smoke out the window as he drives away.

You keep your eyes closed for most of the ride, even though you’re still suspicious of the man in the front seat. He smokes the entire time, it’s evident that he’s stressed about something. After passing through streets and streets of neon lights, his car stops outside of a run-down apartment building. Quickly, he steps out of the car and opens the door to the backseat. For a brief moment he just looks at you, as if he’s wondering whether or not you can walk by yourself. Taking in the bruises covering most of your body, he lifts you into his arms once again, carrying you to his apartment effortlessly.

He lays you across his couch, placing a pillow behind your head. After leaving the room for a moment, he returns with a blanket, which he spreads across you, tucking it into the curves of your body. A small wince leaves you as his hands brush against the dense bruising on your hips. Before walking away, he gazes down at you, standing awkwardly and scratching the back of his head. His mouth opens, allowing a raspy voice to escape. “I’ll be in my room down the hall if you need anything.” You just stare into his eyes, which he takes as a response. The racing of your heart had finally calmed down. You were safe now, part of you was sure he was not going to hurt you.

At some point, you drift off, the softness of the worn couch comforting you. The cozy living room already felt pleasantly familiar compared to where you had been living for the past few weeks. Under heavy eyelids, you gaze around the room. Light from a tv illuminates the walls, and the figure you encountered earlier. He’s sitting in front of the couch by your legs, looking up at the tv every now and then between wrapping bandages around his hands. Shamelessly, you stare. There's something charming about his exhausted stare and stiff broad shoulders. Eventually, he notices you, meeting your eyes. “You ok?” he mutters. You nod in response, still not confident in your ability to speak steadily. “Need anything?” he continues, still looking at you, his expression tired and soft. After a moment, your hand reaches out from under the blanket, towards him. He stares for a few seconds, as if he’s unsure of what to do. Once he realizes what you want, his hand comes up to meet yours, covering your palm with his gently. It looks like he’s broken a few fingers before, and the soft feeling of the bandages are a stark contrast to the rough skin of his fingers. For the first time in seemingly a lifetime, you smile, warmth filling your body from the comfort of knowing that someone is there to protect you. Your fingers intertwine with his, and he squeezes your hand gently. “I’ll be here, you can go to sleep.” he mutters, softer than before. Without a word, you close your eyes again, sleeping soundly as he rubs circles on the back of your hand with his thumb.

When you open your eyes again, it’s morning. The room is flooded with soft light which allows you to see your surroundings in more detail. You wonder how long it will take to sleep off the sick haze of the drugs in your system. A note next to a cup of water on the coffee table catches your eye.

I had to go take care of something, I'll be back soon. If you get cold you can take a blanket from my room. There's really nothing but liquor in the fridge, sorry.

Stay safe

You read the note carefully, multiple times, studying the blocky and messy handwriting that covers the paper, noticing that he didn’t sign it with a name. Still feeling exhausted, you close your eyes, falling into a deep sleep again, hoping that he returns to you soon.

The sound of a door opening wakes you. You force your still weak body to sit up. He’s standing in the entryway, keys in his hand and a cigarette in his mouth. Looking over at you, he smiles slightly before coming over to sit with you. You pull your legs up to your chest so he can sit next to you, still keeping yourself covered with the blanket as much as possible. He sits down, putting out his cigarette in the ashtray on the table and coughing out the last bit of smoke before turning towards you. Hesitant to speak, you just look at him, taking in the drops of blood on his shirt and the bruise covering his left cheek. Finally, voice shaking, you say “Are you alright?” He turns away, looking down at his lap, “Yeah, just got into a little bit of a fight.” It sounds as if he’s making up a story as he speaks. Taking the opportunity, you move closer, inspecting the wounds on his face. As if it’s second nature, one of his hands lays across your back, keeping you steady as you kneel next to him. There are countless tiny cuts on his face, as well as bruises, freckles scattered in between them. After a moment, he gently bats your hands away from his face, insisting that he’s fine. You sit down next to him, your side flush against his entirely by accident. The blanket that had been covering you falls off slightly, causing you to remember that you’re not wearing anything besides whatever cheap lingerie hadn’t been ripped off of you. Hiding yourself as best as possible, you stutter out, “Do you have a shirt I could borrow or something?” Wordlessly, he leaves the room, returning a moment later with clothes in his hand. He’s holding a neon pink pair of dolphin shorts and a bright green tank top, probably something that a one night stand left behind. Still covering yourself with a blanket, you walk to the bathroom to change. The outfit fits you perfectly, and you’re happy to be fully clothed for the first time in a while. Taking in the clothes in the mirror your heart begins to race. The shorts cover only a sliver of your thighs and the shirt leaves part of your stomach exposed. You’re unsure of how you’re going to face him while wearing this. After building up enough courage, you exit the bathroom. His eyes grow wide when he sees you and he bites his lip before turning away. It’s obvious that he’s checking you out, but you choose not to notice.

A few days later, he leaves without disclosing where he’s going again. Minutes feel like hours while he’s gone. Trying to pass the time, you pace around, smoke a few of his cigarettes, check your hair in the mirror, anything to keep your mind busy. After a while you resort to laying on the couch, waiting for him to come back.

You’re immediately alarmed when you hear someone struggling with the door. Rushing through the apartment, you look through the peephole. There he stands, blood pouring down him, propped up against the doorway by his elbow. You open the door and he stumbles into your arms, his chest producing a fierce rattle as he coughs blood onto you. You try your best to hold him up, moving him to the couch. Looking at him in the light gives you a better idea of how injured he actually is. There’s a steady stream of blood coming from his nose and a large gash above his right eye. You can’t tell if the rattling in his chest is from how much he smokes or the blood he’s coughing up. You run into the bathroom, rifling through every cabinet to find bandages or anything that could stop the bleeding. “Who the fuck doesn’t keep a first aid kit in their house?” you mutter during your search. Finally, you come across a few bandages and a near empty bottle of antiseptic. You sit next to him on the couch and try to decide where you should start. Before you can do anything, though, he slides you onto his lap. Flustered, you begin wiping blood off of his face. His hand rests on your back and grips at your shirt whenever your fingers graze over the wounds on his face, to which you apologize profusely. After covering the cuts with bandages, you slide off of his lap and stand, taking in the blood in his hair and covering his clothes. You sit down again, tugging at his shirt to encourage him to take off his blood soaked clothes. His eyes open, glancing over at you slyly, “Ask nicely,” he mutters between heavy breaths. Your face flushes and you bat at his arm gently “No dumbass, you’re getting blood everywhere” you say. With a groan, he lifts himself off of the couch. You put one of his arms over your shoulder and help him into the bathroom. Weakly, he shrugs his thick jacket off, which you take from him and begin rinsing the blood off of it in the sink. He then reaches to take off his shirt, causing you to turn away and blush. You can hear him chuckle from across the bathroom, but you decide not to say anything. When you hear the shower running, you leave the room, leaving the door open just in case. You go to his room and look at the small pile of clothes you’ve amassed but you were uninterested in wearing any of them. Instead, you grab one of his shirts, admiring the way the soft fabric ends halfway down your thighs.

Again, you walk back to the couch, settling against one of the soft pillows. A wave of emotion hits you when you look at your bruised bare legs. You remember what happened to you, why you’re here, that this isn’t some fucked up dream or a scene from a movie. Glimmering tears fall from your eyes and your mouth hangs open slightly as your breathing slows. You stay sitting in a familiar dazed state as your new reality sets in. Somehow, he must have heard you crying, judging by his slow and careful steps into the living room. You frantically wipe tears off of your face with the back of your hands in an attempt to regain your composure. “Are you okay?” he hesitates, sitting down with his arm on the couch behind you. Tears begin falling from your eyes again when you look up at him. His arm falls across your shoulders and you move closer to him, taking in his warmth. “Do you know what happened to me?” you ask him. He shifts uncomfortably, shaking his head. His jaw clenches, it seems he wishes he could give you an answer. “Why did you save me?” you ask. Before he can respond, you begin sobbing again. He pulls you close to him, encircling you in his strong arms. Tears continue to fall from your eyes which you try to hide, covering your face with your hands. Gently, he grabs one of your hands, looking at the barely healed lacerations around your wrist. Looking up at you, he leaves the room, returning with a roll of bandages. His rough hands work gently, wrapping the bandages around your wrists until all of the cuts are covered before running his fingers over them softly. His eyes meet yours, his gaze softer than you’ve ever seen, “Are they too tight?” You shake your head, flustered by his unfamiliar gentleness.

When he stands up to leave, you grab his hand. His expression changes, as if he’s waiting for you to say something. “I don’t want to sleep alone,” you mumble. Instead of offering to sit next to the couch while you sleep, he lifts you up, carrying you to his room. He lays you down on his bed, one of the two twin beds in the room. It seems he can tell you think it’s odd and he mutters “Sorry…my girlfriend used to live here.” You look at him, surprised. “Ex-girlfriend,” he hurries to say. After putting a blanket over you, he effortlessly pushes the second bed as close as possible to the one you’re laying on. He sits down on the other bed, a small distance from you. You stare up at him, doe-eyed, hoping that he’ll notice you want him to move closer. Reaching over to the night stand beside him, he takes a pack of cigarettes and lights one before turning towards you. “What’s that look for?” he says, smiling, smoke flowing out of his nose. Just as you did the first night you slept in his apartment, you reach your hand out from under the blanket towards him. He takes your hand in his, lacing your fingers together slowly. His eyes gaze at you adoringly, it’s hard to believe that he killed a building full of people a few days ago. Inhaling a few more times, he puts his cigarette out before laying down next to you. Nervousness fills you from how close he is. Despite the rapid beating of your heart, you move closer to him, hoping he doesn’t notice your nervousness. Hands grab your hips underneath your shirt. His boldness causes your heart to flutter even more. “Is this mine?” he asks hesitantly, looking at the shirt you’re wearing. You nod, staring up at him, your eyes focusing on the blush covering his face. “…Cute,” he mutters, rubbing the tips of his fingers against the fabric covering your side. Quietly, you giggle, it’s obvious to you that he’s flustered. Looking back at you, feigning annoyance, he says “Go to sleep.” You move closer to him, laying against his chest, the faint sound of his quick heartbeat echoing in your head. The now comforting smell of cigarettes and cheap cologne radiates off of him, lulling you to sleep.

A few days later you lay propped up against a wall of the small bathroom in his apartment, slumping from the slick blood covering your back. You dragged yourself down the hallway to try and bandage your wounds, but you became dizzy before you could, not knowing that nothing would stop the bleeding. Every part of you hopes that you’ll get to see him one last time, even if it’s a selfish desire.

“Baby?” you hear his voice call from the front door. The trail of blood across the hallway leads him to you. “…No” you hear him breathe out as he enters the room. He falls to his knees next to you when he sees the blood, pressing his hand against your stomach firmly yet tenderly. As always, his mind goes to what's most important to him, protecting you. Warm blood gushes from the holes in your stomach, flowing out from between his fingers no matter how much pressure he puts on the wound. Death was like an old friend to him now. The metallic scent of your blood and the far-away look in your eyes told him all he needed to know. His glistening eyes meet yours, seeing the light start to fade from them. The hand that was just cradled against you comes up to meet your cheek, leaving a trail of blood in its path. “Look at me, you’re okay” he breathes out, not believing his own words yet still trying to convince you. Letting out a weak sob as your chest becomes heavy, a small amount of blood runs out of your mouth. Quickly, his hand comes up to wipe the blood away, hoping you don’t notice. He knows that he has to say goodbye but no words can tell you how much you mean to him. His main concern, though, was not letting you know how much danger you were in.

Knowing this is probably the end, he lifts you up into his lap. Like the first night you met, he holds your head gently, propping it up against his shoulder. Your hand moves to lay across your injuries in an attempt to cease the blinding pain consuming you. Noticing this, he pulls you closer, whispering “I know, baby, I know.”

Using all of the strength you can muster, you lean in close to his face. His eyes flutter closed, eyelashes brushing against your cheeks as his lips slowly meet yours. Had you kissed him before this? It was impossible for you to remember now. When he pulls away, you notice your blood in the cracks of his lips. “I love you” his voice comes out as a crack, hopelessness seeping out through his words. As much as you want to melt into his arms and tell him how much you love him, the pain you’re in overrides all of your other feelings. “…love you” you whisper in response using the last remnant of air in your lungs. His hold on you tightens as he watches you take your last breaths, deeps, rattley gasps that become louder as more blood floods your lungs. By now he would’ve expected to be used to the sound, but something about this was different. The scared look in your eyes made his stomach turn. He knows that there's nothing he can do to help you, but he tries anyway. Comforting you until the end, he holds you close and caresses your face, feeling your heartbeat slow against his arms. He stares down at your now unmoving chest. He couldn’t save you this time.

Blood covers his hands, more than ever before. A blur of dizzying thoughts race through his head, knowing that these are his last moments of freedom. How long has it been since he last slept? Everything he did since your death had been fueled by love-driven vengeance. The feeling of your cold, limp body in his arms was so vivid you would think he's still holding you. The sunset looked beautiful tonight, an endless heaven of pink and orange stretched across the sky all the way to the horizon. He always loved watching the sunset with you. This was it, he knew it. Soon red and blue lights would pull up outside, demanding he drop whatever weapon he’s holding and come outside with his hands up, he knew the drill by now. They’ll sentence him to whatever, he doesn't care, all he has to live for is this moment, remembering you in the warm summer breeze on the balcony of this gaudy mansion whose occupants are now dead. He slowly lit a cigarette, one of the last few in the pack he kept in his pocket.

[vmprgrl-2005]

arguing with micheal afton headcanons

“darling you can’t let everything seem so dark blue”

word count-284

warnings-angst!! mostly based off of the fnaf games, gn reader

-he is his fathers son, definitely very loud during fights

-most of the arguments you have are over the secrets he keeps from you and the amount he works, he starts to neglect your relationship without really noticing

-will yell at you, probably won’t notice he is unless you start crying

-if you do start crying, he stops yelling as soon as he notices and feels extremely guilty. he’ll hold you close to comfort you and most of the time he starts crying himself

-it gets ugly fast if you bring up a sensitive subject, he’s an extremely defensive person

-definitely just walks into another room and slams the door if he gets tired of arguing

-tries not to argue a lot, for your sake and his

-it takes him a while to directly apologize, but he will approach you again after storming out, trying to comfort you without upsetting you again

-if you continue to ignore him, he’ll either get even more upset that he hurt you or he’ll get angry all over again, possibly starting another fight

-he can’t really look you in the eyes when he apologizes verbally, not because he’s being insincere, but because he’s embarrassed that he let himself behave like his father

-if you fight before he has to go to work, he’ll crawl into bed with you the second he gets home, holding you and running his fingers through your hair, six hours is enough time for the guilt to set in and for him to realize what he did wrong

-he buys you flowers if the fight was really bad, it’s easier for him to apologize by doing something for you instead of actually saying sorry

[vmprgrl-2005]

yandere baizhu headcanons

i love it when i hear you breathing, i hope to god you’re never leaving

word count-601

warnings-yandere behavior/possessiveness, sickness, medication/over medication (don’t treat people like this and don’t let yourself get treated like this!!)

an-this isn’t proofread throughly. im so sorry for this lmao

-you are literally never getting away from this man

-he will figure out how to keep you sick, forever

-the medications he insists on you taking seem to be endless, leaving you swimming in pills, injections, and liquid medicine

-on days he’s feeling generous, he’ll take you for walks around the city, holding you upright and walking extremely slowly as to not exhaust you, smiling at people you encounter as if everything is fine

-as much as you want to fight against it, you do begin to actually feel sick, your head and stomach aching almost constantly

-eventually, your willpower runs out and you wait for Baizhu’s attention helplessly in bed all day, exactly what he wanted

-he will never admit what he’s doing to you, and he’s great at playing innocent, always insisting that the way you feel is just side effects of the medicine or whatever condition he believes you have

-you can’t stand hearing him talk to people in the pharmacy, telling them that he can’t seem to figure out how to treat your condition, how he’s just trying to keep you comfortable and happy

-he’ll never truly get angry at you, he’s too infatuated with you to do that

-however, he will be extremely condescending towards you, asserting that you’re sick constantly, that you need medicine and that you need him

-every night he holds you close, telling you that you’re the most precious thing in the world and all of the things you’re going to do together once you feel better…if he ever lets you feel better

“Oh, darling” Baizhu coos as he approaches your bedside, taking notice of your sunken eyes and runny nose. Putting a hand to your forehead, he grimaces at how hot you feel. As if on cue, he pulls out a small bottle, a now familiar sight. You turn away from the spoonful of medicine coming towards your mouth. The amount of drugs Baizhu made you take were starting to make your memory foggy. “Please,” he begs, “don’t be like that, I just want to make you feel better.” Without a word, you turn off the lamp at your bedside and lay down, your final attempt at refusing the medication. Defeatedly, he says, “Alright then. Goodnight, my love” before pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

In the middle of the night, you wake up, sweating profusely and in severe pain. You grasp helplessly at the sheets, trying to find Baizhu. “Hm?” you hear him say sleepily, reaching to turn on a light. His eyes widen when he catches a glimpse of your face. “Medicine, please” you cough. Hurrying out of bed, he replies “You’re alright darling, give me one second.” He returns with the bottle, putting a spoon up to your lips. It’s the same bitter flavor you’re used to. As soon as he gets back into bed, he props you up against his chest. His large hands rub your back to soothe you through the intense coughing fits you were having.

“Do you feel better?” he asks after a bit, hoping that the medicine had kicked in. You nod meekly in response. “Honey, when I give you medicine, it’s because I want you to feel better. It’s my job to keep you safe.” He says, “The next time I do, do you promise to take it? I never want you to feel like this again.” Once again, you nod against his chest. “Good. Now get some rest.” You fall asleep quickly, most likely from the medicine. This wouldn’t happen again and he would make sure of it.

[vmprgrl-2005]

me you and the bottle (resident evil-leon x reader)

word count- 675

warnings-drinking, reader is kinda shy, re4-6/vendetta leon

an-this isn’t great and i might end up changing it, i didn’t really know where to take it while i was writing lol

His name is Leon. He started coming into the bar a few months ago, showing up almost daily since then. Every day it’s the same thing, he asks for a whole bottle of top shelf liquor to himself before retiring to one of the tables in the back, never engaging with any of the other rowdy patrons. Rarely, he’ll sit at one of the bar stools, talking about his life if you approach him. He tells stories of guns and zombies and how one day his life completely changed, most of which sound like some wild fantasy. You listen intently anyways, liking the change from his usual silent demeanor, being infatuated with his presence. The first time he sat at the bar was when you finally got a good look at him. Thick brown hair, tired blue eyes, slight stubble, and a leather motorcycle jacket that he always wore. For being a bit older, he was an attractive guy, you thought.

One night, the bar was nearly empty, save for a few people who were too drunk to be loud. You were cleaning a few glasses, having nothing to do as everyone else had already left. The familiar rumble of a motorcycle engine outside was comforting, knowing who was going to walk in shortly.

Same as always, he walks in, comes to the counter, and pays for his liquor immediately. But instead of walking away, he sits on a stool. After a short silence, he clears his throat, “You here alone tonight?” You just stare at him for a moment, stunned that he’s attempting to make conversation. “Yeah, everyone went home already” you reply somewhat shyly. He nods in response. “If you’ve got nothing else to do, why don’t you come sit?” He says, raising his glass to his lips. Wordlessly, you walk out from behind the bar, taking off the small apron you were wearing and throwing it over the counter as you approach the stools. When you sit down, he speaks up, “My name’s Leon, by the way.” You introduce yourself as well and Leon smiles slightly at the way your name sounds coming from your mouth.

You both talk for a bit, with most of your responses being short or quiet, Leon’s sudden friendly behavior still surprising you. “You seem awful nervous sweetheart, is everything alright?” he says, bringing you back from your thoughts. He must know what he’s doing, and he has to see the obvious blush covering your face. “I’m fine, it’s just been a long day” you stumble over your words a bit. “I can go, if you want.” he mutters, sounding slightly defeated. “No it’s fine, stay.” the words fall out of your mouth, and you don’t notice yourself grabbing for Leon’s arm as he stands. “It’s just,” you continue, hesitating slightly, “I think you’re pretty cute and I’m a little nervous, that’s all.” A soft chuckle leaves him, as if he hadn’t heard that before. “Well” he says, sitting down again “Maybe if we spent some time together, you wouldn’t feel so nervous.”

It had been hours since Leon sat down, everyone else had left, but you kept talking and warming up to each other as the night went on. You could listen to his stories forever, and you adore the way he looks at you when you talk.

He began sitting at the bar more frequently after that night, it was almost like he enjoyed talking with you. You grew closer every day. He would leave you notes with sloppily drawn hearts on them every night with his tip. Sometimes he would take you home on his motorcycle, letting you wear his leather jacket if it was cold outside. As you got closer, he became a lot more protective over you. He always made sure you were safe, confronting any men at the bar who made you uncomfortable and making sure that he called you “sweetheart” or “angel” as loudly as possible. Though you weren’t exactly sure what you two were, you liked the attention Leon gave you.

[vmprgrl-2005]

I never told you what I do for a living (hotline miami-jacket x reader)-part four

"I don't want to wake up from this tonight"

part one part two part three wattpad link

word count-1.3k

warnings-blood, violence, mentions of death, kind of angsty?

an-last part:((( i hope you guys liked it!!!! thanks for reading:) (also the ending is absolutely subject to change because i kind of hate it lmao) <-ending has been edited!

I wait restlessly for what feels like hours, turning frantically in the uncomfortable car seat every few minutes. Each gunshot I hear makes my heart skip a beat. I can’t help but picture the scene from the other night, the blood coating the floors and walls, the pure terror that ran through my body when I saw my loving boyfriend murder two people in front of me. The thought of it makes me feel sick, and I rub my eyes to try to shake the vision from my mind. Trying to pass some time, I pull Jacket’s wallet out of his pocket, searching until I find the beat-up polaroid that he takes everywhere with him. It's a picture from when he was in the military a few years ago. A man stands next to him in the photo, a couple inches taller than Jacket with shoulder length red hair and a thick beard. Jacket looks like a kid next to him, it seems like they were close friends.

I remember the stories Jacket would tell me about his time in the military when I couldn’t sleep. How he met his best friend, how he almost died, always pulling his shirt up to show me his scars, how he would lay on the beach and smoke instead of doing his work, that the beaches in Hawai’i were even more beautiful than the ones in Miami, and that he would take me there someday. He would always stare at the picture fondly, but with a bit of despair in his eyes, I’ll have to ask him about it someday. I put the picture back, tucking his wallet away and sighing when I realize how much time has passed.

After dozing off for a while, I hear a sound nearby, footsteps. I glance at the door expectantly, hoping that Jacket is on the other side. The door opens and he stumbles outside, shirt covered in blood and jeans slightly more ripped than before. I get out of his car and run towards him. Dropping the large fire ax in his hand, he wraps his arms around me, lifting me up before stumbling slightly and pulling away. I lift the mask he's wearing over his head with one hand, bringing the other to cradle his face. His cheek is bruised slightly, and part of his lip is bleeding, but he's still in one piece in my arms. “I’m so glad you’re okay.” I whisper. He doesn’t reply, only wrapping his arms around me again before turning me around and leading me back to his car.

I slide into the car again, moving awkwardly a few times so that the barely healed hole in my side isn’t hitting the seat. We both sit in silence for a moment, not sure what to say or do anymore. I turn and look at Jacket with wide eyes, “Where do we go now?” I ask. He stares forward for a moment, as if he's just realized everything that has happened, his apartment is destroyed, his car is falling apart, and he could collapse at any second from his bullet wound. Wordlessly, he begins driving. After a few minutes of unfamiliar turns, Jacket takes one of my hands from my lap and encloses it in his. I look out the window, and he squeezes my hand to get my attention, asking, “Can you close your eyes? Just for a few minutes, I promise.” I do, of course, despite my suspicion. A cool breeze still blows through the holes in the windshield, but it feels wrong, as if the peaceful evening is an out of place sign that some other awful thing is going to happen.

After a few minutes, we slow down and I hear Jacket put the car in park. “Let me get you out, but don’t open your eyes yet.” He says. I feel Jacket’s arms under my legs as he picks me up slowly before placing me in front of the car, his hand still in mine. “Okay, open your eyes” he says quietly, and I swear I can hear a hint of out-of-place excitement in his voice.

We're parked on a small cliff on a desolate stretch of the beach, where we went on one of our first dates. Looking down at the sand brings back memories of that night. The perfect sunset, Jacket’s hand placed hesitantly in mine like all of this was new to him. Jacket squeezes my hand lightly, muttering “Come on”and leading me back to his car. He steps on the hood of the car, sitting down on the roof, then holds out his hand to help me stay balanced as I climb up to sit by him. He puts his hands on my hips to pull me down to sit between his legs, looping his arms around my neck and pulling me towards his chest. Reaching around my side and into one of the pockets of his letterman, Jacket pulls out his cigarettes and lighter, as always. He lights one of the cigarettes, inhaling deeply and turning his head to blow the smoke away from me. As he’s turned away, I take the cigarette from in between his fingers and put it between my lips, breathing in a few times and holding back a cough before Jacket can take it back and mutter “Stop, you shouldn’t smoke” under his breath. Holding the cigarette in one hand, he reaches underneath my shirt, resting his other hand on the bandages that cover my side. I can tell that he wants to say something, he’s never been good with words. “I’m sorry that I scared you” he eventually says, “this has been going on for a few weeks now.” Gray smoke leaves his mouth with every word, contrasting against the pink sky behind him. I lean further into his touch, “At least it’s all over now, right?” I whisper. Jacket pauses for a moment before replying “Hopefully” in a somewhat hesitant tone. I’m not sure how much blood is on his hands, or if I care anymore, especially as we’re both dying. I can tell by the look in Jacket’s eyes that I don’t have much time left with him, and I know that no amount of arguing is going to convince him to go back to the hospital. It’s a terrifying thought, knowing how much we’ve been through and the worst is still yet to come. “I’m going to be fine, and so are you.” Jacket says, my concern must be obvious. I throw myself against him softly, leaning my head onto his chest, wanting to feel his warmth and breathe in his scent for as long as possible. The soft crash of the waves against the sand and the dimming light of the sunset make everything feel like a dream, not much different from how the past couple of days have felt. I stare out at the ocean, wondering what comes next, what other terrible thing could happen, as per usual. The only thing keeping me conscious while also being the thing that’s lulling me to sleep is the warmth and softness of Jacket’s body against mine. Without thinking, I stand, sliding off of the hood of the car carelessly whilst holding onto Jacket’s hand, pulling him down with me. He doesn’t say anything as I pull him closer to the edge of the cliff before wrapping my arms around him. Without hesitation, he wraps his arms around me, one hand on my waist, the other on the back of my head, keeping me as close to him as he possibly can. “I love you, okay?” Jacket says, running his hand up and down my back. “I love you, too” I reply after a short silence. I lean my head against him and close my eyes.

After a moment, my exhaustion catches up with me and my legs start to give out. Without a word, Jacket sits down and pulls me onto his lap, dangling his legs over the edge of the cliff. He hesitantly reaches underneath my shirt again, bringing his hand to my bandages and carefully pulling them off before pressing his hand to the bullet hole, attempting to stop the bleeding. I can barely keep my eyes open, only looking to see the large red stain on my shirt and Jacket’s blood covered hand, my stitches must have ripped a while ago. He then moves his hand up my chest, resting his hand over my heart. It seems like my pulse is slower than usual. I can hear Jacket sob quietly and I bring my hand to my chest to hold his, trying to comfort him.

The last thing I hear is the sound of waves in the distance and a whispered “I love you.”

[vmprgrl-2005]

I never told you what I do for a living (hotline miami-jacket x reader)-part three

"Kiss me hard before you go, summertime sadness. I just wanted you to know, that baby you the best"

part one part two wattpad link

word count-3k

warnings-strong language, blood, violence, injury, a tiny bit of angst

an-this is the second to last part! hope you like it:)

The next time I open my eyes, a bright light blurs my vision. As the haze of sleep starts to wear off, I realize that I’m in a hospital, hearing the soft beeping of a heart rate monitor next to my bed. My entire body aches, and my head is throbbing. I try to put a hand over my eyes to soothe the pain, but I can’t lift my arm more than a few inches, I’m handcuffed to the bed. “What the hell?” I exclaim, confused as to how I got here and why I’m restrained. I look around as much as I can without moving my aching body, no one else is in the room. I start to panic. I don’t know where Jacket is, or if he's even alive. My breathing quickens, realizing that the somewhat normal life I used to know has been torn apart. The sound of footsteps outside of the door shakes me from my thoughts. I pretend to be asleep, but the sped up beeping of the heart rate monitor gives me away. Someone opens the door cautiously and approaches my bed. “Hey, kid,” I hear an unfamiliar, nasally voice say, “Come on, we gotta talk to you.” I flutter my eyelids open, attempting to pretend that I just woke up. There's a cop next to my bed, taking in my form with a sympathetic look and standing with his hands on his hips. “Good, you’re finally awake,” he says, somewhat under his breath,  “Ok, listen” he continues, but my still sleep-ridden mind can’t focus on the words that leave his mouth. What is this dude thinking? “Is my boyfriend ok?” I interrupt. I don’t even know if he knows Jacket, or if I want to hear what happened to him right now. “Oh, blondie? Hasn’t woken up yet.” he says bluntly. “Kids lucky, bullet barely missed the front of his brain.” His words make my stomach churn. I stare down at my hands as he speaks nonchalantly, trying not to reveal how emotional I am. “When will he wake up? I want to see him, '' I say. The officer sighs and places his hands on the railing of my bed. “Look kid, I’m just here to ask you if you have any idea what lover-boy was doin’ in his free time.” I can tell he’s getting frustrated, and thank god I’m good at playing dumb. “What do you mean? Did he do something wrong?” I plead, being sure to add a hint of fear to my voice. “Well…” He looks around the room somewhat frantically, unsure of what to say next. “Your boyfriend is a suspect in more than a few murder cases. And not just shootout in the back of the alley murder, full-on massacres, entire buildings taken out in one night.” He winces as if the words hurt to say. It's not hard to pretend that my entire world just collapsed, as it already did just a few hours ago. I let a few of the tears that have already welled up in my eyes fall. This guy can’t take a hint, and keeps talking, “I know this probably isn’t the best time, but I gotta ask you a few questions, no one else seems to know who he is.” I try to keep up my innocent act, but I can’t hide my annoyance as I huff an “Alright” under my breath in response. “Ok, can you tell me what kind of car your uh...boyfriend drives?” I look at him with watery eyes, “He totaled his a little while after we got together, we both use my car.” The officer nods, not letting his professional facade slip. “And what kinds of clothes does your boyfriend wear?”  He hasn’t broken eye contact. “He’s almost always wearing his college letterman, I told him he looked good in it once and now he never takes it off.” I say, allowing myself to smile. “He’s got a job?” the officer continues. “Yeah, he works nights as a bartender, I can’t remember which bar though.” I add a bit of confusion to my voice and rub my head as if I’m trying to recall something. “Mm hm,” the officer nods his head before flicking through a small notebook that was in his back pocket. 

“Alright,” he exhales as he starts toward the door. I lift my restrained arm off of the bed, gesturing at the handcuffs slightly. The officer nods again before making his way back to my bed and uncuffing my arm. It feels nice to be able to move both of my arms again, no matter how horrible the pain from my bullet wound is. As he turns to exit, he points at my arm again. “I’ll be back later, so don’t think about going anywhere.” I give him a small nod, being too caught up in stretching my arm to care about what he has to say. Immediately after the officer is out of sight, I crawl out of my bed and limp over to the small window across the room. I’m on one of the upper floors of the hospital, and I can see the sunset over the beach in the distance. I stare outside, my brain is still trying to catch up with the events of the last day. After opening the window to smell something other than the stale hospital air, I limp over to the door to my room. I miss Jacket, I can’t seem to keep his safety off of my mind. Despite the officer's request, I leave my room, hoping to find out if Jacket is okay. I crack the door open slightly, not wanting to draw attention to myself. There's almost no one in the hallway, so I walk as swiftly as I can, staying out of sight of the doctors roaming around and peeking into every door until I find Jacket’s room.

The door is already open a small amount, and I slip inside. I walk to the side of Jacket’s bed slowly, not wanting to bother him. My heart shatters at the sight before me. There's an IV stand next to his bed, slowly dripping some sort of painkiller into his veins. His heartbeat is slow and his breathing is steady and deep. Bandages cover the entire top of his head, small pieces of his soft hair, caked in blood, stick out. His hands still wear the same tape as they always do, except they aren’t stained with the blood of other men anymore, only his own. I take one of Jacket’s hands in mine and bring it to my face, missing his touch. Sobs rack through my body, I can’t help but feel that I could have done something to prevent this. As carefully as possible, I crawl into the bed next to him, wrapping my arms around his midsection and resting my head on his chest. My sobs soften slightly, and I try to move as little as possible. His body is still warm, and the sound of his heartbeat is more comforting than ever, a constant reminder that he is still alive. I turn my head to look up at Jacket’s face, committing all of his features to memory more than I already have. Slowly raising one of my arms, I run my fingers over his hair, trying to comfort him even though he's unconscious. I move my hand from his hair to his cheek, rubbing my thumb over the soft skin just under his eyelashes. When the pain of holding my arm up becomes too much, I wrap my arms around him again, moving closer to his side and closing my eyes. I don’t care if the cops find me, all that matters is that I’m by his side again. Before I drift off to sleep, I tighten my grip around Jacket gently, whispering “I love you.'' He doesn't respond.

I wake up with arms around me, a pleasant warmth that I’ve missed for what feels like centuries. I open my eyes to the sanitary hospital room filled with orange and pink tinted light from the sunrise and Jacket watching me through half lidded eyes. “Morning, babe.” He rasps, his voice heavy from sleeping for so long. “Thank god you’re awake.” I exclaim, burying my face in his chest. “Somebody missed me.” He smirks, tightening his arms around me. “I didn’t think either of us would make it.” My voice shakes, I’m already on the verge of tears again. Jacket pulls me closer to him and takes my hand in his, whispering “It's okay” while rubbing the back of my hand with his thumb. His words comfort me, even though I know the situation we’re in is anything but fine, people are trying to kill both of us and there's a cop somewhere in this hospital who's looking for me. Despite Jacket’s words, I let a few tears fall, and he wipes them away softly with his knuckles. “Get some rest, I’ll make sure everything is okay,” Jacket says, his voice weak. I’m afraid that if I fall asleep, Jacket won’t be here when I wake up again, but I still feel so exhausted. My eyes close, and just before I fall asleep, I feel Jacket bring his hand to my head and run his fingers through my hair. “I’ll never let anyone hurt you again, I love you so much.” I hear him mutter, barely loud enough for me to hear. 

By the time I’m somewhat conscious again, I can tell I’m not in the hospital anymore. I shiver, missing the warmth of the bed I remember falling asleep in. When I open my eyes, the environment I’m in makes me jolt upward, which sends a searing pain through my side. I’m in a trashed apartment, Jacket’s trashed apartment. Rubbing my eyes, I sit up completely, confused as to how I got here. I look around the room for Jacket, hoping that he's here with me. He eventually comes out of the bathroom down the hall, pulling a white t-shirt over his head and adjusting his belt slightly. He must’ve just gotten out of the shower, his damp hair is free from blood, and his bandages are gone. The only memory of his bullet wound is the jagged line of stitches, bruised and blood-caked, that run across his forehead. Jacket lifts his letterman off of an overturned chair before he realizes that I’m awake and hurries to my side. “Look at me. Are you ok? How do you feel?” he says, taking my face in his hands. My entire body aches, the hospital painkillers must have finally worn off. Before I can lie, a shaky “Everything hurts,” leaves my mouth. Jacket’s eyes soften slightly, and he drapes his letterman over my shoulders, which I pull as close to my body as I can. “Are you cold?” he asks, and I nod slightly. He sits next to me and runs his large hands up and down my arms to keep me warm. “Look,” Jacket sighs, “I have something I need to take care of and…I can’t leave you alone.” I can see the guilt on his face when he looks at me. “I’ll be okay.” I reply, looking him in his eyes, trying to reassure him as much as possible. He stands, reaching towards me to help me up. I grab his hand firmly, close my eyes, and push myself to my feet. Jacket looks at me, taking in my shaking legs and how hard I’m gripping his arm to support myself before putting one arm behind my back and one underneath my knees so he can carry me. A small gasp of protest leaves my mouth before I realize how safe I feel in his arms, despite everything, and I reluctantly hold onto him. Jacket walks slowly through his apartment, carefully stepping over pieces of upturned furniture and holes in the floor. Nothing was left untouched, whoever broke in made sure to displace every piece of furniture and steal a few things in the process. As Jacket passes through the front door, I reach up to his face, brushing a few pieces of hair away from his stitches and asking “Does it hurt?” Without meeting my eyes, he replies “You don’t need to worry about me” in a hurried tone. I don’t pry any further, but his words won’t stop me from worrying about him. Jacket makes his way down the stairs more slowly than usual, probably noticing how tightly I’m gripping his shoulders. I eventually relax into Jacket’s firm hold, slumping against his shoulder. I wonder how he’s so calm about this, maybe he doesn’t want me to know he's scared, or maybe he's been doing this for longer than I thought, he never told me when the phone calls started. The pleasant feeling of the humid summer air against my shivering body shakes me from my thoughts as Jacket walks outside to his car. 

Jacket’s once spotless delorean has been completely destroyed. Most of the windows are shattered, the driver’s side door is hanging off, and “whore” is written in white spray paint across the hood of the car. He walks to the passenger side door, gently placing me in his now ruined car before climbing into the driver's seat and putting the key into the ignition. As always, music starts blaring immediately. Despite how fast Jacket flinches and turns the volume down, I can still tell it's the cassette I made him last month with all of the love songs he didn’t want to admit that he liked on it. As he pulls out of the parking spot, he pulls a cigarette out of the cupholder. “Shit” he says under his breath as he reaches to where his lighter would be, before realizing that I’m still wearing his jacket. I grab the lighter and lean over to light his cigarette for him, turning his face towards me slightly. The pink tint that rises to his cheeks when I do makes my heart flutter. 

We’re both quiet for most of the drive. At one point, Jacket reaches over and puts his hand on my thigh, a habit he formed a while ago. When I feel his hand reach my leg, I look over at him. He's still perfect, but he's never looked worse. The dark circles under his eyes are more prominent than usual, there are cuts and scratches scattered over his face, his normally fluffy hair is unusually flat, and the stitches on his forehead have started to bleed slightly. Eventually, his car slows down, parking outside of a large brick building with boarded up windows. Jacket looks into the rearview mirror and a soft “dammit” escapes his lips when he notices the blood running down his forehead. “Here” I say, turning his face toward me gently and wiping the blood away with my hand, then pressing my lips to his forehead. Jacket takes my hand from his face and encloses it in his, staring into my eyes and saying “I’ll be back soon,” in a tone more serious than I’ve ever heard from him, “If anyone comes out here, forget about me and drive.” He takes the keys from the ignition and places them in my hand before turning to get out of the car. I open my door and walk over to him, stumbling with every step. When Jacket sees me approaching him, his hands find my waist and he lets me lean on him to stay upright. “Do you want your jacket back?” I ask, looking up at him as he leans against his car. He pauses, smiling slightly as he brushes my hair from my face gently before shaking his head. I wrap my arms around his torso and bury my face in the warmth of his chest. Rocking both of us back and forth gently, he hums quietly under his breath. I can’t imagine how nervous he is, how much he wants this to be over. I look up at him, wanting to take in as much of his face as I can in case he doesn’t come back after this. “Please be safe” I whisper. “I will, for sure this time,” he replies. I stand on the tips of my toes and Jacket leans down slightly, bringing his hand to my cheek to lift my face towards his and pressing his lips ever so gently to mine. He moves cautiously, as if I could fall apart in his arms at any second, his soft lips are almost hesitant against mine, a stark contrast from the rough condition of the rest of his body. Jacket pulls away slowly, gazing into my eyes. The light of the sunset is shining on his face beautifully and for a moment in time, this is a normal date. Neither of us are hurt, there's no blood on our hands, our apartment is how we left it, Jacket’s car is still spotless, the cops aren’t after us. I’m lost in his eyes, my mind drifting thinking about various ways that all of this could have gone, hoping that our ending will be a happy one. Jacket’s drawn out “I love you” brings me back to earth and reminds me of where we are right now, and how we got here. “I love you” I reply, it feels more right to say it now than it ever has. I stumble as Jacket lets me out of his arms, keeping a hand on my waist as he reaches for his mask in the back seat of the car. His hand moves from my waist to my hand as I sit back down in the driver's seat. “I’ll be back soon.” His voice breaks, he doesn’t know if he’ll live through the night. I grip the steering wheel tightly, watching Jacket turn away hesitantly and enter the building, hoping with all of my being that he comes back unharmed, I can’t lose him now.

[vmprgrl-2005]

I never told you what I do for a living (hotline miami-jacket x reader)-part two

"I'd end my days with you in a hail of bullets"

link to part one wattpad link part three

word count-926

warnings-blood, strong language, violence, severe injury

an-is this even good? idk but heres a part two anyway lmao. this is pretty short so i'll try to have a part three done soon :)

After a few hours of sleeping dreamlessly, a sound at the front door wakes me. Slightly disoriented, I sit up and rub my eyes, letting the memories of the last few hours flood back into my head. After gaining my bearings on reality again, I hurry out of bed, hoping that Jacket is finally home. As I approach the door, I realize how violently whoever is on the other side is pulling on it, and the strained grunts that sound nothing like Jacket. Assuming the worst, I run to the kitchen, grabbing the sharpest knife I can find and attempting to hide. Before I can get too far, the man breaks down the door. I stay as close to the wall as I can, being sure that my shadow is hidden and slipping back into my bedroom. I duck behind the bed, gripping the knife as tightly as my trembling hands will allow. The man stomps swiftly through the hallway, obviously not trying to keep his presence unknown. He storms through every room, and I hear his muffled voice say “I know that fucker is here.” Before he approaches the bedroom, I try to prepare to defend myself, but I can’t keep my hands steady. He opens the door, standing still as his eyes search the room. I have a brief moment to take in his appearance. He's significantly smaller than Jacket, in a blue and green blazer, jeans, and a rat mask with a large gun in his right hand. I know he sees me, and I steady the knife in one of my hands. Before I can even think about hurting him, he hurries over to where I’m hiding, grabbing me by the neck, hoisting me into the air, and putting his gun to my head. “Where is he?” the man yells, his voice gruff. “I don’t know who you’re talking about.” I cough. “Your piece of shit boyfriend, where is he?” The man yells louder as he shakes me harshly. He looks around the room, still not believing that I’m the only one home, and his grip on my neck loosens for a second. I take the opportunity to lift my limp arm as far as I can and slash his shoulder with my knife. Blood sprays on my face as he yells, doubling over in pain, dropping me and giving me a chance to run. Before I can make it out the front door, though, my body is shoved forward by a sudden force and a burning pain shoots through my side. I can’t feel myself scream as my body hits the ground. The mystery man walks past me slowly, but instead of finishing the job he sits down on the couch smugly, crossing one leg over the other. The pain in my side is unbearable, but I barely have enough strength to writhe. A pool of my blood spreads on the floor beneath me, still warm. As I fade in and out of consciousness, my mind drifts to Jacket. He's probably almost home, exhausted from another round of killing. I wish I could be here waiting for him when he opens the door, helping him clean the blood off of his face and forcing him to get some sleep. My eyelids flutter a few times as I try to stay awake, but I pass out after a few minutes. 

Somehow, I regain my consciousness when I feel footsteps near me. It takes all the strength I have left to open my eyes to a familiar sight in front of me, white converse and blood splattered blue jeans. Jacket moves in slow motion in front of me, running through the door and bending down next to my limp body. He kneels in the large puddle of my blood, shaking my shoulder with one hand and slapping my cheek gently with the other. He's yelling something, but my ears gave up on hearing a while ago. All I can do is bring my clammy and blood covered hand up to meet the hand resting on my face. Jacket intertwines our fingers and squeezes my hand gently. He attempts to lift me out of the pool of blood and into his arms, but the whimper that leaves me makes him hesitate and gently lay me down again whispering “Fuck, sorry” in a shaky voice. Though my vision is beginning to fade, I can still see the pained look in his eyes, and it's one I’ll never forget. Jacket looks over his shoulder, finally noticing the masked man that I can only assume is still sitting on the couch. Giving me one last loving look, Jacket stands and approaches the man that almost killed me with no way of defending himself. I can’t tell exactly what's happening through my blurry vision, I can only hope that Jacket doesn’t meet the same fate that I have. After a few painful minutes of keeping my eyes open to watch what unfolds, I can feel the bang of a gunshot echo through the room, the bullet not stopping until it meets Jacket’s forehead. He collapses almost instantly, body going completely slack. I wish I could move to comfort him, or that I could’ve taken the bullet for him. I can’t fix this. We’re both going to die laying across the floor from each other in his apartment and the cops will barely care to identify our bodies. I try to say something along the lines of “I love you, I’m sorry,” but all that leaves my blood-tainted mouth are a few incoherent mumbles. My eyes become heavier than ever, and finally close.

[vmprgrl-2005]

I never told you what I do for a living (hotline miami-jacket x reader)

“Another knife in my hands, A stain that never comes off the sheets, Clean me off, I’m so dirty babe”

wattpad link part two part three

word count-3.6k

warnings-mentions of death, blood, strong language, mentions of drugs/alcohol, smoking, mentions of cheating, angst

an-this is my first writing post, go easy on me :')

May 27th, 1989. Finally nighttime, a light breeze blowing from the beach into the city cooled the steamy air pleasantly. I drive slowly down a crowded road, the neon lights that cover every building illuminate the street pink and yellow. A half burnt cigarette hangs from my lips, stolen from my boyfriend, of course. The smell always reminds me of him. He should really find better hiding places if he wants me to stop smoking all of his, I’ll buy him more before I go home, anyway. Driving through the city is pleasant on nights like these, windows down, the cool yet humid air flooding into my car. Seeing the streets crowded with people is comforting, a familiar sight that lasts all summer. The street gets less busy as I drive on, the hoards of people thinning as restaurants and dance clubs fade into dark alleys and run-down office buildings. The only reason to come to this side of town, one of the most popular clubs in the city. It’s a dangerous place, especially at this hour. Nobody knows how many people have gone in and never come out. Idling up to the red light next to said club, I notice a sickeningly familiar sight parked next to the front entrance. 

A silver delorean. 

My stomach flips. Though there were more than a few in town, I can tell that this one is Jacket’s. The heart shaped picture frame hanging on the rearview mirror that I know contains a picture of me with his letterman draped around my shoulders is a dead giveaway that the man I go home to every night is inside this extremely shady club. Looking over my shoulder, I slam on the gas and u-turn, pulling into the alley that leads to the parking lot behind the club. My hands are sweating, slipping off the wheel as I park my car. A heavy sigh leaves my mouth as tears threaten to spill. “Why did I think he would be any different?” I whisper, ripping my keys from the ignition and practically kicking the door open. Still trying to mentally prepare myself, I pause to stomp out my cigarette and adjust my hair before approaching the entrance. Being here makes me wish I had my knife or pepper spray, things that seemed to be essentials for living in this city and often being out at night. But Jacket told me that I didn’t need to do that anymore, that as long as he was around, no one would hurt me. I guess I shouldn’t have listened. The thought of him makes blood rise to my cheeks and my fingers dig into my palms. Shaking my head to clear my mind, I notice how quiet it is. I pause for a moment in the dim alley. Music can still be heard coming from inside, but none of the usual commotion. No glasses clinking, no singing, no footsteps, no ambient chatter. Nothing. The club that was racking up noise complaints like it was their job just last week has gone silent. I pick up the pace of my already rushed steps. My fingers tremble as I reach for the front door, something really isn’t right.

Cracking the door open, a sickening metallic stench hits my nose, causing my eyes to water even more. “Jesus Christ” is the only thing I can think of to say as my mind races with every horrible possibility. Is he hurt? Is he dead? Did he leave this stupid club with someone else? Finally gathering up enough courage, I fully step inside, my eyes being graced with the most horrific sight I have ever seen. Piles of bodies, literal piles. The once neon blue carpet is stained red, small bits of god only knows what body parts sprinkled and splattered on the walls, tables, and decorative lights. Only my eyes move, my body frozen in fear at the fact that whoever…whatever monster had done this could still be in the building. My excessively tight grip on the door handle does not falter, knowing my knees could give out at any second. I still find it in myself to move forward, figuring that I’m most likely already halfway in the grave, and still desperately wanting to find out the fate of the man I think I love, but I’m unsure of now. The dimly lit entrance splits into two halls, both guarded by thick doors. Thinking that one side probably isn’t better than the other, I cautiously step around as much viscera as I can and reluctantly make my way to the door on the left. 

I thought it couldn’t get any worse. 

The bright lights of the main dance floor flash through the mostly glass hallway, illuminating at least a dozen more bodies, all of which had been ravaged, none of them donning the familiar brown letterman. “How?” is all that I have time to say before I think I hear movement behind me. Letting my fear get the best of me, I run. My shoes slam against the ground rapidly, barely paying attention to the carnage at my sides. I groan as I feel the slick red liquid coating the ground splatter up my uncovered legs. I finally reach the end of the hall, chest heaving as I check around the corner for any sign of another life. “Nothing” I breathe, looking back at the silent hallway lacking any amount of movement. In front of me is a short carpeted staircase leading to a smaller section of the club. Deciding whether or not to go up, I can’t shake the thought of Jacket. “I have to make sure he's safe…he would do the same for me” I say almost inaudibly as I clutch the heart shaped charm on the necklace he had gotten me a few weeks ago, the memory of him gently moving my hair to put it around my neck fills my chest with warmth. I keep my back to the wall, wanting to stay unnoticed by whatever horrors await me. I peek one eye around the corner, another dim hall lit by a neon light here and there and a small light bulb in the corner. 

The scene it illuminates paralyzes me. A man of seemingly inhuman stature straddling another man, a bloody baseball bat raised over his head, which is covered by a chicken mask. He tightens his hands around the bat, preparing to crush the smaller man to pieces. I can’t look away. Something feels familiar about those bandaged hands clinging the bat in their grip. As my eyes make their way up the masked man's arm, I notice something. The letter “B” on the front of his jacket. 

No fucking way. 

My mind races. No, there's no way. I didn’t notice, but at some point I walked to the middle of the hallway. What the hell do I do? My mind wants to run, my heart wants to scream. He stands, wiping his free hand on his jeans and adjusting his mask, still facing away from me. 

“Jacket?” I practically scream. I can almost see his heart sink, he thinks he's hearing things. 

“Jacket?” I repeat, my rapid steps ending halfway down the hall. He turns slowly, he's facing me now. His body language has completely changed, from killing a man with animalistic strength just moments ago to the terrified looking man who stood down the hall from me now. He doesn’t speak, so I decide to open my mouth. “I saw your car out front.” I say, weakly at first, “...figured you were with someone else.” I shake my head, not sure what else to say. He lowers his gaze, still not trying to make a move. “Jesus Christ, Jacket, you’re a murderer?  There are bodies covering the floor down there, dozens of them.” I pause “What else don’t I know?” The words sound pathetic as they fall from my lips. Jacket slowly steps closer, I can tell he's trying not to scare me. Too late. He drops the bat at his side, “I know,” he says defeatedly “I can try to explain everything, but I’m not sure it’ll help my case. I just wanted to keep you safe.” His words come out shakily, I can tell he's not himself right now. I open my mouth to speak again, but I can hear footsteps rapidly approaching from the other side of the building. Jacket motions for me to hide, and I slip back around the corner, still keeping an eye on him. He picks up the bat, and with one brutal swing, he knocks the other man on the ground, dead. I’m even more terrified than before, not sure if I can even look at Jacket anymore. He turns to look at me again, but I can’t bring myself to leave the stairs. “Please” he says breathily, “Can we at least try to talk?” I can’t. There are tears running down my cheeks and I can’t let him see me like this, not when he's just murdered two people right in front of me. “I’m sorry.” I say, hopefully loud enough for him to hear. I sprint back down the path I came, eyes forward the entire time. “Dammit.” he whispers, hitting his fist against the brick wall, but I can’t hear him. I’m already gone, shoving the front doors open and running back to my car as fast as my weak legs will take me. I think about stopping at his car, waiting for him to come out, driving home with him, taking what he has to say into consideration. I can’t, not while I still don’t know if the Jacket I knew was just a facade.

I lock my doors the second I get in my car as realization sets in. The tears free fall down my face, and I wrap my trembling arms around myself, trying to keep myself grounded to reality. There is no way what I just saw wasn’t a nightmare. Jacket was quiet at times, sure, but he never seemed capable of doing something like this. He was such a sweet boyfriend, bringing home flowers at least once a week and taking me to the beach every weekend. The thought of the memories I have with him makes my heart throb. I sigh and start my car, knowing that I have to drive to his apartment, almost all of my belongings are there. I can hear him leave the building, the slam of his car door and the music that shakes his car as soon as he puts his keys in the ignition. Pulling myself together as much as I can, I take a deep breath and pull out of the alley. As I drive the route back to his apartment that is practically programmed into my mind, I think. I should have realized. The first time we met, the mysterious look in his eyes as he said “Just call me Jacket,” the fact that he never gave specific details on what type of job he had, always compensating with affection whenever he had to leave in the night to “go to work”, the musky and metallic smell that always lingered on his letterman. Knowing that things will never be the same after this was nauseating. I love Jacket, or at least I think I do. It's hard not to fall in love with him, though, his soft blonde hair, his dreamy brown eyes that soften ever so slightly when he smiles at me and always catch the light of the sunsets perfectly. My tears fall even faster, blurring my vision. What brought him to do this?

Before I have too much time to think, my car is already outside of his apartment complex, which is nearly empty as always. The air feels cold and bitter as I walk to the door, and the climb up the stairs feels more difficult than ever. I struggle to keep my hand steady as I unlock the door using the spare key he had given me after three months of being together, “I really like you, and I trust you. It would be nice to come home to you every day,” he had said as he hid his pink tinted cheeks behind his large hands. It feels stupid thinking about it now. The apartment still feels the same as always, like home. I don’t even bother to turn on the lights, immediately making my way to the bathroom to wash my face. The note on the mirror with “love you, see you 2-nite” and a blocky heart scribbled on it feels like it's mocking me, a relic of the normal relationship we had just hours ago. Everything fades as I splash cold water on my face, my last resort for trying to wake up from this nightmare. I stare at myself in the mirror, my eyes are bloodshot, bags underneath them. As much as I don’t want to fall asleep, I’m exhausted. I grab a blanket from our shared beds and sit on the couch, wrapping myself up in an attempt to minimize how much I’m shaking. I close my eyes, I know he’ll be here soon. I don’t know what to say. 

After dozing for what feels like an eternity, I hear the door open quietly. He looks tired, the light from the hallway behind him shows his tear stained face and the purple crescents underneath both of his eyes. There's blood coming out of his nose, too. He puts out his cigarette in the ashtray next to the door, and softly closes the door behind him, differing from his usual careless slam. He keeps walking closer, slowly, turning on a small lamp on his way over to the couch where I’m sitting. I can tell that he doesn’t know what to do, I keep my eyes on him the entire time. He eventually sits opposite me on the couch, not too close, not too far away. He sits with his elbows on his knees, head down, taking deep, shivery breaths. “I’m sorry.” he whispers, not meeting my eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask, and he finally looks at me. “I didn’t want to scare you.” 

“So you were going to wait until I found out?” My voice wavers from how shaky I am. I don’t want to fight with Jacket, especially after everything that’s happened tonight. I scoot closer to where he’s sitting, realizing how cold I am. He hesitantly wraps an arm around my shoulders, his warmth is somehow still as comforting as always. I notice his bandaged hands, his knuckles bruised and bleeding. I bring my hand to his cheek and turn his head to look at me, running my thumb over the dark circles under his eyes, “Tell me what’s going on.” I whisper, voice cracking slightly due to fear. He sighs, looking away “The phone calls.” His voice is deep and raspy, “They tell me what to do, who to find. I’ve been trying to figure out where they’re coming from.” “Any luck?” I ask, he shakes his head. “Well, I’m glad I found out sooner rather than later,” 

“Are you scared of me?” he blurts out before I can continue. 

A chill runs through me. His cold eyes stare into mine, and I nod hesitantly.

“God, I never wanted it to come to this.” he replies, pulling a small box and a lighter from the pocket of his jacket. It's second nature to him now. Putting the paper stick between his lips, holding the lighter to it until the end glows red, blowing the ash scented smoke from his mouth and nose. He makes it look like an art form, an attempt to ease his stress that only adds to the tightness in his chest. The guilt that I can tell is devastating his entire being makes me want to turn back time, forget everything that happened tonight. I want to go on living normally, but I’ll probably never sleep soundly again after the shit I’ve seen tonight.

After breathing in the toxic smoke a few times, he speaks again, “I’m taking you back to your apartment tomorrow.” He says it like we’re strangers. “What?” I reply, sounding more exasperated and defeated than I expected to. Leaning away from his shoulder slightly, I continue, “You want me to move out? Even with what we have?” I hope he can’t tell that I’m on the verge of tears by the shakiness in my voice. “You can’t live with a murderer. At least now while all of this is happening, I don’t want one of them to find you.” His voice is raised slightly when he says it, smoke coming out of his nose and mouth rapidly as he speaks. “If you didn’t want me getting hurt then why did you start doing this in the first place?” I’m yelling now. I can tell that what I said hurt him, and I recoil slightly at the thought. He stands, not wanting to show that he’s getting emotional. “Why don’t we wait until tomorrow morning to talk, you’re probably exhausted.” His attempt to deflect my concern doesn’t work. “No, Jacket, we have to figure this out now.” My legs force me upward as I speak, I can already tell where this is going to end, and I don’t like it. “Why can’t you just stop?” I plead, “Stop leaving in the middle of the night to go kill god only knows how many people. What if you get hurt? What if the cops find you?” 

“The cops already know,” he interrupts. “They’ve found me a few times before, but they’ve never been able to catch me. They didn’t see my face.” What he says makes me nauseous. “Imagine what will happen if they find you. Please, please just stop,” I say, sounding more desperate than ever. “I can’t stop.” He’s yelling now. “If I stop they’ll find me, or you, and do god knows what. They said it would be worse than anything the cops could ever do to me.” He paces around the room as he speaks, I don’t want to know what he has in his system. “Ok, ok, calm down, we’ll figure this out.” I try to comfort him as much as I can. “God dammit.” I exclaim under my breath, I don’t know what to say next. Before either of us can say anything, the phone rings, a piercing sound in the middle of our silence. I look at Jacket with wide eyes, and he sighs “Fuck,” he whispers and walks over to the screaming phone. He yanks the phone off the base. I can’t hear what the person on the other end is saying, but I can tell it's not good by the way that Jacket stands with one hand covering his eyes. He stands with the phone up to his ear for a few minutes before slamming it back down. For a moment, he's still, throwing his head backwards and staring at the ceiling. Eventually, he approaches me again. “I have to go again,” he pauses and turns away. “I’m sorry.” he states, keeping his eyes down. He walks towards me slowly, watching to see if I move away from his close presence. When he gets close enough, he wraps his arms around me, one hand on my waist, the other on the back of my head, keeping me as close to him as he possibly can. He presses his lips to my forehead, lingering there for longer than usual. “I love you,” he says softly, only loud enough for me to hear.

I don’t reply. He pulls away from the hug, noticing the tears falling slowly from my eyes. Wiping the tears away with the back of his hand, his eyes soften. “I’m so sorry,” his voice is barely audible. He places a final kiss on my nose before he pulls away, but before his arms entirely leave my body, I put my arms around his neck and fiercely pull his head down to my shoulder. “Please come home safe.” I mumble, my tears muting my voice. “I will, I promise,” he whispers in response, squeezing me so hard that he lifts me off of the ground slightly. He holds me for what feels like seconds before letting go hesitantly and walking to the entryway, slowly grabbing his keys and opening the door, meeting my still sobbing eyes one last time before stepping outside. I stare forward at where Jacket was standing just seconds ago. I’m panicking. What if he doesn’t come home? God, I don’t know what to do. When I can see through my tears and have some semblance of control over my limbs, I make my way into our bedroom, collapsing on Jacket’s side of the two twin beds pushed together. It's freezing without him, no matter how far I crawl into the blankets, I can’t get warm or comfortable. After tossing and turning for a while, I crawl out of bed and trudge over to the small dresser across the room, opening the top drawer and pulling out one of Jacket’s shirts. I slip it over my head, the soft fabric ending halfway down my thighs. Falling back into bed, I continue trying to sleep, forcing my eyes shut and keeping myself from thinking about Jacket, knowing that he’s not safe makes my heart pound, I hope he makes it home soon. Eventually, I end up drifting off, my panicked thoughts finally silenced in my unconscious state.