That one thin scar that cut through Etienne’s lips from when he got busted up in his first fight was Izzy’s absolute favorite. She found it added some intrigue to his handsome face. Even if he protested that it was the dumbest scar he’d manage to get, she still liked how charmingly roguish it made him look. Besides, it was impossible to miss the way he smiled when she’d press a kiss right over top of it.
His busted lip was far from his only scar. Each time Etienne returned from defending her honorable name, Izzy would lay him down in her bed and make him recount how he got each and every bruise. Most he didn’t remember, or chalked up to bumping into something while climbing, but there were a few dark and deliberate bruises from heavy punches that littered his ribs and made Izzy wince.
She kissed over them soft and slow. Though Etienne teased her for being a sap about it, she knew he didn’t mind. He gave her a small smile and let out a sigh of relaxation. It was nice, to be able to stop for a moment and catch his breath.
“Je t’aime.” He murmured, reaching out to run his fingers through her hair.
“Je t’aime aussi, mon beau faucon.” She replied quietly.
When he pulled his hand from her hair, she reached out to take it in hers. She brought his knuckles to her lips and kissed at the scrapes and bruises. When she finally let him go, he motioned for her to come cuddle up against him. They laid together in the last rays of the evening sun, watching the sky through windows and letting themselves breathe.
They were both still alive. Fuck the bruises, fuck the cuts, fuck all the battle wounds. They were both still alive, and that was all that mattered.
oh oh oh and '41. kisses to shut them up' for Gat/Faith heh heh
Saints Row; Faith/Johnny; PG-13
She's been seething the entire way home, and he can't help but choke down a snicker. Smirking at her, Johnny pulls a bottle of beer from the fridge behind the bar. He works the cap off with his knife; the former hits the floor, and he leaves the latter lying on the bartop. Leaning back into one of the padded barstools, he eases a swallow off the bottle as he watches her pace.
"You know, I don't think this is about me throwing your plan to hell at all."
"...what?"
"I think this is all 'cause you don't wanna admit how much you fuckin' enjoyed things goin' off plan." Eyes narrow, she glares at him dangerously. Gat leans forward, daring her to prove him wrong. "C'mon, Boss, since when's a little arson got you-...?"
The rest of the sentence gets shoved right back down his throat by her tongue. Johnny slips his free hand behind her, pressing her closer against him. And when she finally pulls away, it's only by a fraction of an inch.
"What? That somehow supposed to convince me-..."
She kisses him again, not so deeply but enough to cut him short. This time, she breaks away with a soft, shaky little breath, her fingernails digging into the whorls on his neck.
A cackle bubbles up within him, and it's barely rumbling in his throat before she's on him again, a forceful, frustrated "Just fucking shut up," being murmured against his tongue.
Falling back away from him, she lands flat on her feet, and shoves her fingers through her hair. But his hand lingers on her side, and she's got the beginnings of a blush darkening her cheeks. The bottle slips from his hand as she steals it straight from him; he lets her have it, and watches her take a long sip.
He knows damn well what it's like.
To have that itch under your skin.
"I didn't even say anything that last time."
With a huff, The Boss slams the bottle onto the bar behind him. With a sharp grin, Johnny pulls himself up into the seat properly, and, when she immediately moves to follow, he hefts her up after him, where she settles onto his lap.
Gatboss - Stop pretending like everything is fine! ♥
Okay, so this is the request I lost my original draft for, and I’m still so sorry about that, because I had some really funny shit in there.
However, it is what it is, so I took that pain and put it into this new, more angsty draft for this prompt instead, because I haven’t put my new Boss through much pain yet lol (but I did start an SR3 playthrough with him, so the pain...is happening more now.)
Thank you for requesting, and I hope you like it!!!!
My love to all who read/like/reblog!
He wondered if this was what losing it felt like. If this was what it looked like, driving around Steelport alone in the middle of the night with the radio up just enough to hear.
After all, the conversation came first.
He could swear he could hear Gat as if he was sitting right next to him in the car. “Stop pretending like everything is fine. You’re so concerned about everybody else and how they’re dealin’ with this, but what about you?”
“What about me?” Ellis muttered to the empty passenger seat. “I’m the Boss. I need to have my shit together. For them, and for the gang to survive out here. Shit’s crazy.”
“Still human. Still need help, a break, someone to talk to. And lettin’ Shaundi and Pierce vent to you about missing me doesn’t count as gettin’ help for yourself.”
“Like you’re one to talk,” Ellis spat back, and could see the exact look Johnny would have given him if he was there. “What about when Aish died?”
“That’s a low fuckin’ blow, plus, you’re wrong. I had you. You stayed with me, let me vent, let me cry. I got through it because I had you, because you were my help. You need to do the same now.”
In his mind’s eye, Johnny had taken off his sunglasses, and that always meant Shit Was Serious.
“That was supposed to be you,” Ellis sighed, and wiped away a tear before it could obscure his vision as he sped through the empty opposite lane to get past a closed road. “You’re my help, the one I vent to. I don’t have that with anyone else, I’m not fuckin’ essentially married to anyone else!”
The street lights glinted off the ring Gat had given him. One for Aisha, and one for him, and one for Gat, all of them matching but individualized just enough to know which ring belonged to who. His had a tiny E etched at the back of it, all he’d wanted for customization. Aisha and him had never been...like that, but since they were sharing Johnny, and doing so out of love and respect for each other, it felt only right that everybody’s rings should match.
Now, he struggled to wear it. To take it off was impossible, because he barely ever had since Gat had given it to him. To leave it on hurt just as much, because it reminded him of how alone he was. His second in command, his lover, his rock in the storm, was gone, and there was not a damn thing he could do about it. No revenge he could take that would bring Johnny back.
When Johnny’s voice came through again in his head, it was soft, sweet. “I know. And I’m not askin’ you to do that, unless you’d find someone that makes you happy. But I’ve got a feelin’ you won’t, just ‘cause you’re picky as fuck. Don’t know how I made the cut.”
“You made the cut because you’re amazing, and kind, and smart, and the only man I wanted to spend my life with,” Ellis pulled over with a screech onto the grassy shoulder of the road and wept. “You dumb-ass. I should have stayed with you. Shaundi could have taken the parachute, I could have helped you fly the plane and fight off Loren’s people. You’d still be here!”
“Or we’d both be dead,” he could see the shrug of Johnny’s shoulders. “You can’t know for sure. Why sit here and ponder it when it’s only gonna keep the wound open?”
“Because I don’t want it to close,” Ellis admitted. “I don’t want you to be gone. And if you have to be gone, then I don’t want to lose my anger about it. That’s the only thing keeping me going some days. What else am I supposed to do anyway? They can’t find your body, so it feels...”
“Like I’m still somewhere out there,” Gat finished. “That’d be nice, wouldn’t it?”
“Yeah,” Ellis sighed, and drove the car down closer under the bridge, past the open parking lot, as close to the edge of the water as he dared. “It really fuckin’ would.”
He locked the doors, turned off the car, and pulled off his leather jacket only to toss it over himself as a blanket. He could never sleep in any of the cribs, not even their HQ, and it wasn’t like anybody came looking for him anyways unless something went wrong. They’d call him if they needed him, and they probably wouldn’t, which was good. Meant he had capable people in his roster.
That didn’t mean shit in the morning though, with the sun blinding him as it streamed in through the car windows, and his phone empty of any calls or texts.
“I could just disappear,” he sighed as he sat up and pulled his jacket back on. “I really could. So long as someone was still giving orders, and it appeared to be coming from me, they’d never know. They wouldn’t miss a step, or blink.”
He pulled his mirrored aviators from the glove box and put them on before pulling down the sun visor and using the mirror to check himself over.
“You look like shit,” he muttered, ruffling his dark purple hair. It needed a touch-up, the black and grey roots were already showing. Gat would have made fun of him for it, about how the “kids” were turning him grey so early.
But was it just the gang, or everything that resulted it from it that would make him eventually look like Father Christmas, that was the question.
He had no time to answer it now, as his phone finally rang.
“The Deckers are-”
“Where,” he interrupted flatly.
“Uh...near Nobody Loves Me, there’s a-”
“Great,” Ellis interrupted again, and ended the call with a tap to the Bluetooth hooked around his ear. He didn’t really feel like dealing with it, what he wanted was to drive all the way back to Stilwater, to his shitty little studio apartment he’d stayed in after breaking out of prison, where he and Gat had stayed after Aisha had died, where their relationship had bloomed and flourished every night that they were able to stay in and relax together, being a couple, not just gang leaders constantly on call like backwards firemen.
But he couldn’t do that. And no one else was going to go take care of the mess the Deckers were currently making.
He started the car, and tossed in his Queen mixtape CD into the CD player. The first few strains of Save Me woke him enough to finally put the car into gear and go.
It’s what Johnny would have done. Kept carrying on. And for Johnny’s sake, he couldn’t do any less than that.
7. Does your OC have any markings, such as a birthmark or a scar?
V has one right on her chin, that actually stands out really well. She picked that up from a fight/attempted mugging on the way home, and after the fact felt lucky that she was able to walk away to begin with.
After the boat explosion, she had others littering the backs of her arms and legs, but does seek out some treatments for them once SR3 rolls around.
15. What was your OC’s childhood like?
She’s a foster kid, and was largely overlooked by her foster family once they were able to conceive a child of their own. Being left to her own devices, she acted out, deciding that negative attention was better than none, and tried not to feel too resentful towards her sibling. It didn’t matter if she snuck out, ran around, or cut classes, they were fairly non-plussed about it until the negative attention started affecting them directly, in which case they’d ground her or start taking away the few items that she’d been able to earn for herself. College was the final straw in a lot of ways, and they cut ties fully with her once it became clear that she wasn’t going to apply herself like they wanted (for a degree that she sure as hell didn’t want), and V struck out on her own after that.
The few times that she did meet her biological mother were on the way home from school. The woman was kind to her, friendly but a bit on the quiet side, and they would talk while she was on her way to meet her family. On one of these trips she was given a hat to wear, and she fell in love with it instantly, wearing it home and every day whenever she was able.
She didn’t see her mother again after that.
40. How does your OC handle grief?
Poorly. She’ll drink herself blind, and look for an outlet to work off the sensation, oftentimes by throwing herself into extra work to distract herself. When the breakdown hits she’ll try to isolate herself as well, but if V’s lucky (and with the Saints she truly is) she’s never alone for long, and can finally let those bottled feelings go.
41. What is your OC’s greatest fear?
Having it be proved that she’s nothing of value, and that everyone is better off worse for having known her.
63. How does your OC display love?
Lots of touches. Small ones like brushing her shoulder against theirs, poking them lightly, holding their hand, and placing a reassuring hand on their back or shoulder, which she’ll keep there as long as its welcome. Larger ones like hugs, draping herself over them if they’re sitting together, and lots of kisses.
In non-physical ways, V will give all of her attention to them, making sure they know she’s listening intently. If there are little things that they enjoy as well she’ll make sure to surprise them with a gift or two, saying that she was sure they could use an extra (coffee, cigarette, knife, etc), and totally loves seeing any of their reactions she’ll get.
its me im back and im asking for '33. bandaging the other’s hand and not quite letting go' for whoever u like ♥
Saints Row; Faith/Johnny; PG-13 (some hand injury description, idk)
It looks worse than it actually is, or so he'd like to think.
Not that it isn't obvious what happened: she mangled her hand going over the fence, and at the time didn't bother to tell him. Blood everywhere, and it's all over them both by now, and there's a fragment of broken metal that's just... kinda... sticking out of the hole in her glove, where she's still oozing.
The thing that makes him doubt is how quiet she's being about it as he assesses the damage. Because with her, that usually means it hurts like hell. He stares until she meets his eyes, and raises an questioning eyebrow. Her gaze flicks between him and her hand, and with a huff she ends up staring at the wall.
Gat passes her hand from his right to his left, and tightens his grip as he turns to reach for his knife. Twisting it around between his fingers, he slips the edge of the blade under the gap in the leather. It's tough work, doing it carefully, but there's already a bit of a lead in the tear and all he has to do is work it wide enough to peel it off her hand.
And getting the glove off is hardly gonna be the worst part.
As he's trying to figure out his next move, from the corner of his vision, he notices her pull her lip between her teeth.
"Don' bite your lip," he mumbles absently, and pushes his glasses up. "Hurts that bad, and you'll end up biting through."
"It doesn't hurt that bad."
And there was the enunciation coming out, too.
Johnny smirks wryly, shaking his head.
"Sure it don't."
She's impatient for it to be over, and he doesn't blame her in the least. He chuckles as she lifts her other hand to her mouth, and tears the velcro strap loose to work her other glove off with her teeth.
Still, he thinks she might've gotten lucky with the padding of the glove taking the worst of the damage. It might heal right. Then again, the muscles of her hand might be fucked. Time would tell.
He pinches the razorblade one way, and realizes immediately that it's not going to work. Not without doing more damage, anyway. He finds another hold, and her muscles flinch in his grip as he tests it. Gingerly ain't really worth it, so....
Gat rips it free in one go, tearing a harsh whimper from her throat.
She stifles it best she can, but in that moment he's damn well aware that with almost anyone else, he'd be enjoying that sound. Working for it. The root cause of it.
With her, it just...
...hurts.
Deep inside.
And he fucking hates that sensation.
She's bleeding all over again as he does his best to clear out any little bits of leather left and double checks for any fragments of metal that might've broken off. Then he cleans it all with disinfectant, packs the wound with gauze, and starts wrapping it up.
And that's... it.
They're both still covered in blood. She's still pouting like it hurts. Her hand is still in his, resting on his lap. He's still staring at his work, not his usual, with that sympathetic little thrum in his nerves driving him a little bit crazy.
"...what?"
Johnny jerks his head up, with a distracted little Hmm?
"Nothin'." He shrugs. "Just thinking how rare it is seein' you with the gloves off."
It's the truth, or a part of it.
She blinks, and starts to pull her hand away, but he curls his fingers around hers, easily keeping it right where it is. Smirking, Gat brushes his thumb down her cheek, and his thumbnail under her chin.
And when he kisses her, she makes another sound in her throat - this one softer, more agreeable, and far easier on his sensibilities.
Desvelado: Being unable to sleep or to be sleep deprived
Saints Row; Faith/Johnny; PG-13
He hasn’t seen her in two days, and when he does find her she’s in the office, watching the club below over a bottle of liquor. At first he thinks she might’ve been painting; her gloves are tucked into her back pocket and her white clothes are smudged with color, but then he notices there are healing scabs and bruises on her knuckles, which changes the narrative but affords him some small amount of pride.
She doesn’t notice him at first, not until he steps up beside her at the railing, and it’s only then, when she smiles at him – sluggish and more than a little drunk, not that he’s not glad to see it – that it clicks and he notices how worn down she is.
Her fingertips graze his face, and his mind stills. Her hand slips over the back of his neck, and his arm finds its way around her waist.
And it’s nice, he’s not complaining. But Johnny can’t get past that dullness in her eyes; the lethargy where there should be preternatural grace.
“When’s the last time you got any sleep, Boss?”
She pulls back far enough to squint at him, then pulls away altogether and takes a drink from the bottle. “I dunno. What day is it?”
“Thursday.”
“Three days?” she ventures, sounding uncertain. “When’d I see you last?”
“Tuesday.”
She gives a little shrug. “Two days, I guess.”
It’s not the worst she’s ever gone, he’ll grant her that.
She offers him the bottle.
He takes it, takes a swig...
...and lets it slip from his hand, over the railing.
She makes a grab for it. Maybe too tired. Maybe too drunk. Far too late to catch it, in either case, and he gets a fistful of the back of her shirt, just to make sure she doesn’t tumble over after it. Dropping one shoulder, she shoots him a sour look.
“Oops.”
“Oh, fuck you, Johnny.”
“Yeah,” he grins at her, “maybe later. If you ask nicely.”
Gat tugs her back by the shirt, away from the railing. She stumbles back, and he lets go to get a hold of her arm instead. She gives a little huff of indignity, but lets him lead her back to the desk. He kicks the chair back towards it, and sits down.
He tugs her over to gather her up onto his lap, and she doesn’t really resist, she just squirms. And pouts. And sighs, with her face tucked up against his neck. He kicks his feet up on the desk, and rubs his hands down her arms, and up her back.
She nuzzles his throat, and he smirks at nothing.
“Tired,” she finally admits, softly.
“Mhhm.”
In his arms, her breathing slows and deepens. He sates his fidgety restlessness by trailing his fingers over her exposed skin and through her hair, and maybe that helps, maybe it doesn’t, like he’d know. Her lips move against his thumb, but he’s pretty sure she’s out, and really? Right now, that’s the important part.
If you asked Étienne, he’d happily tell you that the relief of finally being home paled in comparison to the joy he felt when he locked eyes with Izzy for the first time in months.
As soon as he met her gaze, he let his bags fall to his feet and brought his arms up to catch her. True to his prediction, she had launched herself into his tight embrace, wrapping her legs around his hips and laughing all the while. All Étienne could do to maintain his balance was to twirl them around. He clutched Izzy tight to his chest and buried his face in the crook of her neck, taking in the sweet scent of her favorite perfume.
“Hello, mon cœur.” He murmured against her skin, once they’d finally stopped spinning.
“I’ve missed you.” She whispered back.
“Really? I could hardly tell.”
“Étienne, my love, my heart, my darling, stop being a smartass and let me enjoy this.”
