4k drabble celebration: [o3/22]: “It’s always been you.”
word count: 809
warnings: canon typical stuff
notes: All prompts for this challenge come from “Super Sappy Lines Prompt List” created by @tiptoe39. Sadly, I can’t link the list without Tumblr sniping this post but you can find a link to it on my tumblr.
. . .
"C'mon we gotta keep moving."
You lean against the metal fence, your fingers sinking into the gaps till you can feel the cold metal sink into your flesh. Your heart is galloping so fast your chest hurts, and the sting of raw terror is becoming so familiar you can barely remember not feeling this way. It's hard to imagine it's only been hours since you fell into this nightmare.
"Gimme a minute," you choke out, your fingers trembling and even though it's pouring outside, you can feel sweat running down the back of your neck. "Just—"
Leon's feet appear in your vision, and you almost flinch when his hand lands on your shoulder. "We need to get to safety before that thing—"
"I said give me a goddamn minute, Leon!" you snap angrily, shrugging his hand off with a sharp glare in his direction.
His expression falters, softens, before he nods mutely, lips parting like he wants to say something else. A moment of silence passes between you, and you almost feel bad. It isn't his fault—none of this is—and he's been watching out for you for so long, you can't quite imagine being here without him.
"I'm sorry," he starts, voice low as he looks at you. "I didn't mean to be pushy but we both know staying in one place is a bad idea. I just don't want you to—"
He hesitates, jaw clenching as he looks away from you. Rivulets of rain pour down the smooth curves of his face, and it's almost mesmerizing to look at him like this.
"I don't want you to get hurt, okay?"
The quietness of his admission surprises you. As partners since Academy, you've had each other's backs for years now, despite the friendly rivalry that exists between you. But this—this is new.
"Does it matter?" your question is soft, brittle, and you see confusion bloom across his expression. "Here, there. Now, later. What if there isn't an end to this, Leon? What if we're the only ones left? What if the world is gone? What's the point if it all ends with death anyway?"
"Don't say that."
"Why not?" you snarl and the terror you feel makes your voice break, a strangled noise leaving you as you bow your head. "Why not? Of course, you won't understand. Perfect Leon Kennedy with his perfect Academy scores and his stupid perfect h-hair. Not everyone is like you, alright? Some of us are not perfect a-and—"
You feel pathetic for the sting of tears in your eyes, for the giant lump in your throat that makes it impossible to speak. The logical, trained part of you knows it's natural for your body to break down after the unspeakable horror and stress of the last few hours but for some reason, that knowledge brings you no comfort. If anything, Leon is the last person alive you want to see you freak out over this. You're supposed to be reliable and steady, someone he can depend on to have his back, and not be an emotional mess.
He says nothing, and you wonder if it's because he can't think of anything to say, or if he's waiting to see if you will say anything else.
"It's you, you know?" you whisper thickly and a harsh, humourless laugh escapes you as you swipe your hand across your eyes. "It's always been you. You're the reason I joined the Force in the first place. And you were so damn perfect at everything that I just...I wanted to impress you so bad, told myself that I couldn't stand in your shadow. And I didn't. I didn't. So if this is it. If this is the end—you promise me that if it comes down to saving yourself or me, you save yourself. You can make it in this world Leon, I know you can."
The rain is freezing cold but you can barely feel it against your skin anymore. But you do feel it when he steps closer towards you, and you certainly feel it when he takes your face in his hands and lifts your head. His face is serious while his pale eyes flicker over your features, his soft lips parted.
"No," he says so bluntly, you can only blink. "I know you're scared and that's okay. Hell, I'm pretty freaked out too. But I'm not leaving you behind, got it? Not ever. I need my partner with me. So don't you dare to ask that of me because that's never gonna happen. We're both going to make it out of here (Name). Both of us. Alright?"
You stare at him wide-eyed before nodding weakly. "Alright."
His mouth curls slightly to one side and he looks almost relieved. His thumb brushes across your cheekbone and you have to hold back a shiver. "Good. Now let's move, partner."
. . .
an: hope you all liked something a little different. As always, feedback is gold dust and all of you who support content creators are the coolest!
4k drabble celebration: [o1/22]: “I’m in love with you.”
word count: 896
notes: well here we go! All prompts for this challenge come from “Super Sappy Lines Prompt List” created by @tiptoe39. Sadly, I can’t link the list without Tumblr sniping this post but you can find a link to it on my tumblr. To start us off, please enjoy some more Mr Morgan~
. . .
"That tickles."
His breath is warm against your ear when he chuckles, his fingers pausing. You like the sound of his happiness, liked how his lips curve slowly against yours when he smiles, or how the muffled rumble of his laughter makes you feel warm. The joy that once came so rarely now flows easier. Perhaps because you are both finally free, or perhaps because it no longer feels like you are teetering on an edge of an abyss.
"You oughta get some rest," his voice sounds against your ear, and you smile mildly, still listening to the sound of his beating heart. You have come too close to losing him, too close to never seeing him or feeling his touch again. "We need to be up early tomorrow, and you're gonna be tired as hell."
You raise your cheek from his chest, resting your chin on top of your hand as you stare up at him. "Yeah? Is that concern I hear in your voice, Mr Morgan? Are you becomin' sweet on me?"
His gaze is warm, and a faint smile twists the corners of his mouth as he rolls his eyes. "Oh, I think I'm a little past that point, don't ya think?" he speaks faintly, his fingers lazily sliding up the length of your spine.
Your skin tingles where his rough fingertips stroke, and you arch into his touch with a small whine. Pressing closer to him, you sigh softly at the sensation, before laying a tender kiss over his heart.
"Well I sure hope so, mister," you mutter mildly, lips tracing up his chest as you feel his arms around you tighten. A small groan vibrates in his chest and your lips twitch again. "Because I'm in love with you, and I don't wanna be no love-struck fool. At least not alone."
"(Name)," he says your name softly, quietly, and you look up at him. His hair is messier than usual but you only have your own wondering—greedy—finger to thank for it. "You don't have to say it—"
Your teeth scrap against his collarbone, and you swallow an affectionate laugh at the noise he makes. Your eyes flicker up, leisurely moving to straddle him as your fingers brush against his stubbled cheek. His eyes open reluctantly, and he gazes at you through half-lidded eyes, his fingers resting against your hip.
"Well I'm gonna do it anyway," you hum lightly, smoothing your thumb against the curve of his cheekbone, and he leans slightly into your touch, making you smile silently. "I'm gonna tell you how much I love you for the rest of my life. You wanna know why? Because I love you."
His large hand settles on top of yours, fingers warm and encompassing, as he holds your hand pressed against his cheek. There is silence between you for a long minute, and your expression softens at the peaceful moment where he appears to savour your words. It makes you sad sometimes, the way he always seems caught off guard by the smallest hint of affection. Even months later, you can still feel doubt lingering in his touches, feel his self-hatred seep back into his thoughts every time the topic of Dutch or Mary comes up.
Ghosts of his past still cling to Arthur even though you try your best to erase them with every kiss and caress. He wants to be free but it's not as easy as either of you would like to admit.
"Mhm. I love you, Arthur Morgan," you tell him again, and a slow breath escapes his parted lips. "Ya know, I can keep goin'."
There is a tug around your waist and you hold back a squeal when Arthur pulls you down against his chest. His arm wraps around your shoulders and he simply holds you pressed to him, your nose buried against the crook of his neck.
"I don't deserve you," he finally says after a pause so long you were starting to grow sleepy in the safety of his arms. "I never have. I oughta let you get on with your life, make somethin' of it. But I'm a goddamn selfish bastard, always 'ave been and I—I'm afraid damnit. Terrified that one day you'll wake up and realise that I ain't no good. Every good thing in my life I've ended up losin'. And I can't—"
He must think you're asleep. That's the only reason he would ever speak so openly about his feelings. It took him months just to admit that he feels something deeper for you, and you knew that he holds everything locked away so tight even you can't fully understand him.
The bed creaks as he wraps his other arm around your waist and rests his nose against your hair. His bare, warm skin against yours feels like home, safety, happiness and you never want to leave his embrace.
"Don't ever leave me," he echoes lowly, and you want to tell him that you never will; not ever, but something tells you that in this moment he needs to hold you more. So you keep quiet and let him think you’re asleep.
The brokenness of his tone stays with you though, and you promise yourself a hundred times—and him too, even though he doesn't know it yet—that you will never leave his side.
His heart is yours to protect now.
. . .
an: I have written 3 angsty/pining Arthur fics, thought smitten/happy/but-still-insecure Arthur might make for a nice change. Hope you enjoyed it, and keep an eye out for more celebration drabbles to come! Thank you for reading <33
4k drabble celebration: [o6/22]: “I can’t wait any longer.”
word count: 2.1k+ (what can I even say?)
warnings: nada
notes: All prompts for this challenge come from “Super Sappy Lines Prompt List” created by @tiptoe39. Sadly, I can’t link the list without Tumblr sniping this post but you can find a link to it on my tumblr.
. . .
You were surprised you managed to sneak up on him.
Either he was losing his touch (doubtful), or he was too preoccupied with whatever he was scheming (more likely).
The blade slid against the elegant curve of his neck and he stilled.
“You shouldn't be here, silver-tongue,” you hummed behind him, and pressed another dragger against his ribs when he made a move to grab his own weapon. “It’s a dangerous place for a princeling like you to venture to.”
Loki had always been fast—annoyingly, brilliantly, fast. He pivoted on his feet, his own dagger pointed at your throat in a blink of an eye before he flattered upon taking in your face. The piercing hostility melted from his features and into soft disbelief and confusion.
“(Name)?”
You heard the ring of relieved disbelief in his voice, and suppressed a smile at the immediate and calculating way his green eyes started tracing over your features.
“I thought you dead,” he spoke after another moment, and his words felt heavy despite their softness.
“Likewise,” you countered coolly, taking in how different he looked from the prince you once knew. “Last I heard you were dead. Clearly, that’s old news. Though I suppose I should have known better than to trust the word of mouth.”
“Indeed you should have,” he noted, and there was a bite to his words that made your jaw clench.
You wanted to ask him a thousand things: how he had ended up in Sakaar, what happened in Asgard, where was Thor, and most importantly, if what the whispers said about him was true.
If he had truly aligned himself with the one individual whose name no one dared to speak out loud. If he had truly tried to take over Midgard, and served under the Mad Titan himself. The Titan was practically a myth on Sakaar, yet no one dared to speak ill of him—at least not in public. His influence hung over the universe like a dark shroud, and the thought that Loki had…
“Well, it’s truly difficult to keep up-to-date with Asgard news when one is banished,” you pointed out drily, and the subdued iciness of your tone made Loki’s eyes narrow. He looked different; somehow hollowed out and torn down all at once, unmade. There was a new sharpness to his gaze—still cutting, still far too clever for his own good—that pierced you though. “It wasn’t exactly easy or pleasant news to hear—”
“Did you mourn?”
A million things were packed into the quiet question. His face had smoothed out, giving away nothing as always. He was far too good at this game of words. You had an appreciation for his methods but little patience for them. You had slowly learned how to adapt his method for your own survival. That tends to happen when you spend all your spare time around someone like him though. Or you did.
Once you had been inseparable.
But now—even though you hadn’t been this close physically in years—it felt like a bottomless chasm had opened up between you.
“Yes.”
It felt uncomfortable to admit it. Neither of you had ever been much for heartfelt exchanges of sentimentality. The closest he had come to sentiment was the day you were banished. You could still recall the fervent burn in his eyes when he swore that he was going get you back no matter what.
But that was then.
Years and years of waiting and bitter longing stood between you now.
And here you both were. At the edge of the universe, reunited once again.
“What’s the deal with your new outfit?” you finally forced out, realising that he wasn’t going to say anything else. You couldn’t quite read his expression, and it felt safer to fill the silence with something. Loki always loved to talk.
“What’s the deal with your hair? It looks abysmal.”
A strangled—and dare you say it, relieved—laugh slipped past your lips, and his expression softened too, a smug grin tugging his own lips upwards. And just like that, the suffocating tension disappeared, making it easier to breathe.
This. This you had missed terribly. The easy, near antagonistic relationship between you. And the trust and the respect, and…
Perhaps just him too.
“What are you doing here, Loki? Where are the others?” you spoke, sheathing your blades, and noting that he had already put his away. Still quick with his hands too. “How did you end up in this garbage dump?”
Eyes crinkling, he approached you with that familiar swagger in his step, “They’re not here. And maybe I can’t wait any longer for them to show up, and came to take over and rule this planet myself.”
You made a thoughtful noise at the back of your throat, folding your hands over your chest, and gazing at him for a long moment. Loki always liked being clever. Always liked explaining his grand schemes and seeing how quickly you managed to catch on to all the little nuances in his plan. It had been one of his favourite games to play—aside from making Thor’s life a living misery. Once it had been harmless fun, but now…
“Well for one, you should not underestimate the Grandmaster,” you told him mildly, watching his expression sharpen with interest. A new source of information, that's what you effectively just made yourself, and this felt familiar too. How many times had you both done this routine before? Too many times to count. “He’s far smarter and ruthless than you think. Don’t let the frivolous act fool you. And taking over this world? Have you forgotten what happened in Niflheim?”
Loki’s eyes twinkled with mirth, and in that spark of life, you saw the mischievous prince you once knew so well.
“Oh, Niflheim was a delight,” he practically purred, his smile all teeth like the memory woke up something buried deep down; something dear to him.
And you could understand it. It was a simpler time then. Just you and him, with Thor and Warrior Three, sometimes joining in. The Nine Realms had seemed like your playground then. But that was a long, long time ago.
“No. Niflheim was most certainly not a delight,” you pointed out incredulously, your expression twisting in disbelief. “Did you hit your head or something? I was thrown to prison because you were a little shit and decided it was a good idea to—”
“Help me take this place,” he cut you off, grabbing you by the shoulder, and you felt the air in your lungs burn. Loki’s eyes were aflame with that familiar fire, the drive you once believed would get him the throne. You had never expected this though. “You and me, just like the old days. We take this place for ourselves and the rest of the universe can rot for all I care. Just like Niflheim,” he added, softer, and you exhaled sharply.
Niflheim held many memories for you both. But there were some that needed to stay buried.
You stared at him for a long moment, and you saw the flicker of realisation in his eyes—perhaps even disappointment—as his hand dropped from your shoulder suddenly. “You’re not going to help me,” he pointed out flatly, but much to your surprise it lacked malice.
“Loki…” you began unsurely, before you swallowed heavily, shaking your head and turning away. “Things are not what they once were. We’ve changed. Perhaps not for the better. I can’t just close my eyes and forget everything that has happened to me. I can’t just go back to the way things were between us.”
“And why not?”
Sharper, colder. This was a tone that matched the man all those rumours talked about. A maniac who tried to destroy Jotunheim. Who obeyed the order of the most hated and feared individual in the galaxy.
“Because you abandoned me,” you snapped angrily, turning to face him. A violent throb of rage and bitterness pulsed with every escalated beat of your heart, and you swallowed shakily. “Left me behind when you swore that you were going to get me back. I sacrificed my freedom, my home, so you could walk away unscathed because I cared for you. Because it was you and me against the universe, remember? I—I trusted you and you threw that trust back in my damn face.”
His face went slack at your outburst. You wished you had a moment to gloat at the fact that for once in your life, you managed to render Loki speechless, and not the other way around. But instead, the rage you had harboured for years crumbled to nothing in your chest, leaving a hollow hole in you that made you feel—
Lost, lonely, helplessly adrift.
If nothing else, you had always had your unlikely, improbable—never should have worked in a million years but somehow did—friendship with Loki.
Even when you had nothing else—a real home, fancy titles, or riches of any kind—you had your trickster. And for so very long, it had been enough.
You were each other’s number one choice.
Loki envied and loved Thor in equal measure, but you had always known in the way you often exchanged secretive looks and unfailingly had each other’s backs, that you were irreplaceable to him.
And you were wrong.
You had been so stupidly, naively wrong, it made you feel ashamed.
“I searched for you,” Loki’s voice was low but serious, “I did not abandon you. I searched for you.”
Something that didn’t even resemble a smile twisted your mouth, “Not hard enough. Not nearly hard enough, and you know it.”
You saw his jaw clench, eyes blazing but before he could spin you another pretty lie, you reached out first. Your fingers brushed against his cheek and you felt him still under your touch. So helplessly caught in the moment, you almost forgot to speak.
“My trickster,” you addressed him quietly, and hated the note of affection that bled into your words. “I am not cruel, and I will not punish you for this. For old times’ sake, I will help you survive this place, gain a foothold too, if I can. But nothing more and nothing less. I want to be free of you after this.”
His cheek was cool when your lips brushed against it, and you felt his strangled exhale at the contact. You savoured the moment too. The last one you would ever allow yourself.
“I’m glad you live, trickster,” you told him honestly and pulled back, giving him a sad smile. “It would be an awfully boring universe without you in it.”
Loki’s lips were parted slightly, his eyes flickering quickly over your features.
“Thief…”
Your heart stuttered in your chest at the old, teasing nickname he had bestowed upon you so long ago. He rarely called you by it, but he always managed to weave some muted, teasing fondness into the word that once upon a time made you grin and shove him playfully.
Truthfully, there was nothing you would not give to go back to that time.
But you had no such power, and never would.
“We should go,” you stressed weakly, looking away from his keen gaze. “This is not the most secure location, and we have work to do.”
He grabbed your wrist before you could step around him, and when you turned to him, his gaze was gutting in its intensity. Loki had always been full of chaos and mischief; it often felt like it was in his very blood, like he was born for it, ready to unleash it upon others and revel in the chaotic mess after.
But you saw how different he now was too. It was true that some things were unchanged. But some things, you imagined, would never be truly recovered. For you or him.
“This conversation is not over,” he said easily, all matter-of-fact and so sure of himself. It almost made your heart ache. Once, you had taken so much comfort from his quiet confidence: in his plans, in himself, in you. “We will speak of this again.”
“Still a demanding princeling bastard, I see,” you replied dully, forcing the teasing tone into your words.
There was a glimmer of something like relief in his eyes, but it was a gone in a blink. “It’s king now, actually.”
“Hmm...no.”
“You would disrespect your king?”
“Sure I would.”
“Witch.”
You swallowed a sob, your grin almost pained, but it was tinged with relief too, “Bastard.”
Maybe some things could never be recovered.
But maybe better things could be built in their place.
. . .
an: I somehow wrote this whole thing in one sitting in a span of few hours, and you all know I love backstories and angst so this was my favourite type of story to write. Ahh, I might write more for it, I found this dynamic highly enjoyable. Thank you for reading! <33
notes: All prompts for this challenge come from “Super Sappy Lines Prompt List” created by @tiptoe39. Sadly, I can’t link the list without Tumblr sniping this post but you can find a link to it on my tumblr. Special shoutout to the wonderful and talented @malanoches for the beautiful gif.
…
“What took you so long?”
A familiar smirk pulls at the corners of his mouth as he approaches you unhurriedly, “Well if I had known you will miss me so much, love, I would have—”
Your knees shake and you stumble, legs suddenly too weak to hold you up any longer. You never hit the ground though. Loki’s arms wrap around you like a vice; firm and secure, as you gasp in pain. Your body melts against his for a moment, and he lowers you to the ground carefully, eyes wide and searching.
“I’m—I’m sorry,” you whisper grimly, breath catching in your throat when you peel back your trembling fingers from your side. They come away dark red, and ugly realisation twists Loki’s expression. Something—perhaps disbelief, perhaps grief already—creases his face and his arms around you tighten. “I’ve never been quite as quick as you, trickster,” you whisper fondly, smiling feebly at him.
“You’re going to be fine,” he says with forced calmness, but you see the harsh clench of his jaw and hear the strain in his quiet exhales of air. His eyes flicker in the direction of your bleeding wound as the battle rages behind you, and a certain hardness—determination—bleeds into his expression. “I’m going to get you out of here. There is a healer—”
You shake your head, your breaths shallow as you swallow weakly, “It’s too late for that, we both k-know that. J-Just get everyone else out of here.”
His answering smile is cold, near frightening, and in it, you see centuries of mayhem and chaos. That smile sharpens his features, allows the wickedness underneath to slip through the cracks.
“Do you think I care for them?” he asks softly, his voice as cutting as the sharpest blade. “I would let Asgard burn thousand times over. The only reason I’m here is because you were reckless enough to follow my foolish brother into this mess in the first place.”
An unpleasant laugh slips from you and you flinch, your hand pressing against your wound. Numbness spreads further and further, and with it a terrible sort of fear coils in the pit of your stomach.
“You—really are...a bastard,” you mumble quietly with a smile and taste copper on your tongue. Tears blur your vision and you blink frantically when you realise that you can no longer see his face. “Will it...will it hurt?”
His expression only hardens, and his arms around you tense as he tugs you up, “It will not because I’m getting you out of here. Hold on.”
A tortured cry escapes you when he tries to lift you up, and Loki immediately pauses in his action. You struggle in his arms, pressing against him while a pained groan hisses through your clenched teeth.
“No—I can’t—I’m sorry,” you murmur between gasps of agony, and curl tighter against him. “I’m sorry but I can’t. I—Please don’t leave me. I don’t want to be alone.”
His cool breath brushes against the top of your head as he holds you close, and you feel his colder fingers settle on top of yours. You blink when you feel him lift the hand that is covering your wound before gently lacing your fingers together. Your blood stains his hand but his grip only tightens when you try to pull back.
“Loki, I need—” Thor’s words cut off abruptly, and you hear his heavy steps come to halt in front of you. “No…”
Loki doesn’t acknowledge his brother, and his silence scares you more than you would care to admit. Your trickster always has something to say; he always has to have the last word. Silence doesn’t suit him.
You want to say something but it becomes hard to form words when your mouth refuses to work, when words get lost in a sea of murky thoughts, when the numbing darkness pulls you closer. Or is that Loki pulling you closer? You can’t quite tell anymore.
“Be it in this life or next,” he murmurs, his words low but soft against your skin when he squeezes your bloodied fingers in his. “I will find you again. I swear to you, I will.”
There is a tremble in his voice you have never heard before, and it almost makes you smile.
“Don’t...don’t leave me alone,” you plead faintly as darkness sinks deeper in your vision. “Please...”
His lips are cold but familiar when they press against your forehead.
“Never.”
And—
. . .
an: I always planned to write for Loki. Never quite thought this will be the first time it will happen.
4k drabble celebration: [o4/22]: “Shut up and kiss me.”
word count: 793
warnings: canon typical stuff
notes: All prompts for this challenge come from “Super Sappy Lines Prompt List” created by @tiptoe39. Sadly, I can’t link the list without Tumblr sniping this post but you can find a link to it on my tumblr. Another shoutout to @resourceangel for the awesome gif (sorry I totally tagged the wrong blog last time)
. . .
You no longer see people.
You only see enemies and killers, and everyone is a target to be disposed of.
Maybe that's what happens when you linger in the shadow of a Reaper. Perhaps your own humanity is being chipped away piece by piece, body by body. You didn't want to call it paranoia because it feels more specific than that. But you can't really call it fear either.
There isn't much to fear when Reaper himself kisses you so softly and holds you close.
The gun feels heavy in your hand as you wade through the snow, the crunch under your boots a comforting distraction to the harrowing silence. Death is surprisingly still, surprisingly soft and peaceful. After all that chaos, it feels odd to still linger in a world so silent.
You don't see the bodies littering the snow-covered ground as you walk, and you have become better at ignoring the blood soaking through the white too. A distant sound of a struggle echoes in the distance and you move towards it, your shoulders slumped and heart heavy.
It's not long till you find him. And you can't help but pity the fool who thought he could measure up against Connor and win. There is a separation—a distinction—in the very way he moves. He has a way of making death look so elegant.
It blooms with a wet, gurgling sound of a man too foolish to know better, and the silence that falls around you once the man goes silent is near deafening. Connor's expression is blank when he straitens, briefly fixing his jacket.
His attention turns to you, eyes hard and piercing as you slowly walk towards him. You notice his side soaked in blue Thirium and feel your eyes narrow in worry. Your feet carry you right up to him, and you don't pause till you're slumped against him, inhaling his scent.
Connor's hand comes to rest against the nape of your neck and you feel him pull you closer.
"Are you injured?" he asks immediately, his voice hard, and a shiver races down your spine that has nothing to do with the cold.
"No," you breathe against his chest wearily, squeezing your eyes shut, "I'm okay. You're injured though."
He hums quietly, and you feel his thumb scrap against the sensitive curve of your neck. "Minor damage only," he explains plainly, clinically, the same way he always does. "It is of no consequence. Something is wrong with you, however. What is it? I detect a drop in your sugar levels and—"
"Just shut up and kiss me."
His cold expression wavers, and you feel his fingers tighten briefly against your skin. Dirt and flecks of blue blood speckle his face and he looks godly, deadly, yours.
You don't wait for him to move. You slant your mouth over his without any prompts, fingers tightening in his jacket as you hold him close. The kiss is hard and brief—almost bruising—before you pull back, your breaths laboured and lips tingling. He still manages to warm your blood with his presence, and make you feel near foolish with giddiness.
His fingers are freezing when they settle against your cheek but his expression is grim. "We need to move before more arrive."
"I know."
His brows furrow, twisting his expression into something severe, and the darkness of his eyes feels endless as they flicker over your face.
"(Name)—"
You smile faintly, turning briefly as you kiss his hand—killer's hand, murderer's hand, a monster's hand—and close your eyes for a moment.
"I love you," you tell him and see his jaw click. "Now let's go."
He leans down, pressing your foreheads together for a moment before he pulls back. "Later."
And there is no room for an argument to be found in his voice. He knows something is wrong and he will not let it rest—it's not in his nature to do so.
You almost tell him then.
Tell him that you're tired of the killing, tired of the running. That despite how much you love him—and you do, so very much—a part of you is withering away day by day.
But you also know his heart. You know that you live in it, know that he cares for you more than anything or anyone else.
And you also know that he will not rest till he has Kamski's head on a spike and his empire is cinders at Connor's feet.
He will go on till it's done because completing his mission is the only thing he knows. CyberLife might be done with him but he's far from being done with them.
You're just a variable no one saw coming.
And there is always a price to pay for loving a calamity of destruction.
