18 Crossed Lines

The blonde leans back, tossing her lengthy arms over the leather booth and cocking her head. “Really? So that’s why the jesters got a clipped tongue for the very first time.”

He offers a pinched smile. “Sorry to let you down.”

You shuffle in your seat, gaze catching on the uncanny expression across Gojo’s features before he excuses himself for a moment.

Everyone returned to their conversations like nothing was out of sorts but you couldn't overlook Gojo’s seeming displeasure, scooting out of the booth yourself and heading towards the restrooms.

You stand outside of the gentlemen’s room, awkwardly rocking on your heels until the man in question shuffled out. 

His milky hair is slightly damp, like he had just carded his wet fingers through it. And as soon as he spots you, which doesn’t take long given those brilliant six eyes, does that shit-eating grin take its rightful place on his face. 

“Fancy seeing you here,” he teasingly grins, shoving his hands into his uniform pockets and tilting his head.

You scoff, a giggle leaving your lips that makes Gojo’s heart soar and smile falter, all of which goes undetected by you. “Well, who would I be to miss wonderful conversation with my colleagues and a lovely dinner in my favorite hole-in-the-wall izakaya sponsored by a certain white-haired idiot?”

Gojo angles his head in feigned thoughtfulness, placing a finger to his pursed lips for even more dramatic flair. “A fool, I'd say.”

Rolling your eyes, you smack a hand against Gojo's shoulder, not even realizing his Infinity technique had long been released. 

He takes a few slow steps away from you, leaning his back against the corridor walls opposite to you and crossing his ankles. “So. Didn’t know you and Suguru had gotten so close,” he starts, heart slamming against his ribcage, bruising black and blue.

You shrug noncommittally, your back meeting the wall, too. “Kinda makes sense since we’ve been assigned on a couple of missions together. Plus, there’s a lot to learn from him.”

“A lot to learn from weird bangs?”

“Ha ha,” you dryly chuckled, before gazing down at your feet. “He is a special grade sorcerer, after all. He can teach me things about my technique, Satoru.”

Gojo pauses, eyeing the way your foot taps against the marble floor and your mind seemed to slide elsewhere. And for once, he pushed aside a snarky comment about how he could teach you these things himself.

He was the strongest at the end of the day.

Gojo pushes off of the wall, dusting his hands like he was ridding himself of the very clarifying conversation. He leaned in towards you, folding in half and making a show of getting in your space. “Sure you don’t have the hots for him?”

“Ewww,” you groan incredulously, peeling Gojo away from you and palming his shoulders. 

Regardless of the repulsed nature of your voice, Gojo was able to pick up on the faint quiver of your lips and the warmth emanating from your cheeks.

And for the very first time, Gojo Satoru wished he didn’t have his dissecting and all-seeing abilities. At least to save himself from heartbreak. Ignorance really can be bliss.

Leon S. Kennedy

He does it too sometimes, but it’s not an « addiction » for him, more of a last resort for his almost-fried-by-stress brain. Usually he doesn’t even have the opportunity to bite, he’s always in the action, he needs to stay focused and ready to act.

Still, he understands it’s an anxiety response.

Notices but doesn’t say anything most of the time – he doesn’t want to pile up onto your agitation.

He doesn’t like to see you hurt though, so he’ll research the best bandaids and present them to you nonchalantly.

He’ll buy you nice hand creams with smells he knows you like, in the hope that you’ll use them and that the lack of dead skin to pick at will trigger you less.

Chris Redfield

He’s seen a lot. A lot of shit, a lot of unhealthy coping mecanisms. This isn’t something he can’t handle.

He’s not disgusted or uneasy about it.

He doesn’t find your hands ugly. They’re hands. He himself is covered in scars. He knows what it looks like when what you go through leaves marks on your body. It’s a body that did what it had to to survive, to push through.

The kind to carry bandaids with him in case you make yourself bleed (silly cartoon characters bandaids if you’re into that).

Albert Wesker

Will experiment to figure out what makes you bite your nails.

Ultimately needs you to be perfect to be worthy of standing by his side, so he will also experiment to find out what can make you stop.

Tries not to get pissed at you when he sees you biting your nails, because he knows that it would only make it worse, but you can feel the angry tension behind the smile.

Sadistic enough to use it as a way to « punish » you, making sure you bite your nails until you bleed when you disappoint them, and then throws gloves at you with a sneer.

Carlos Oliveira

Has seen many colleagues do the same through the years (stressful job, after all).

Sees it as a warning sign that something is getting too much for you.

Will ask if you are okay, what’s going on, every time he sees you biting. Talks you through what is bothering you, even if it gets you sad or angry because your emotions coming out is actually healthier.

If you say you don’t want to talk about it, he won’t insist, but he will start blabbering about anything to try and make you think about something else (he has baby animal videos saved on his phone in case of emergency).

Luis Serra

Starts saying « ouch » at every bite like it’s his fingers you’re biting at.

When you inevitably side-eye him and start biting like a madman, he gives a very over-the-top, very unserious performance of being in unbearable pain.

It does get you to laugh and stop (just for a moment).

If you tell him that you unfortunately have to remove this bit of nail/skin because it triggers you too much, he reassures you that he understands, and he gives your finger(s) ✨ magic healing kisses ✨ afterwards.

If you live together, he makes sure to kiss each of your fingers before going to sleep and upon waking up.

Ethan Winters

Takes your hand(s) in his. Squeezes. Looks at you like you’re his entire heart and he can’t bear to see you hurt.

If it starts to frustrate you, he’ll kiss you.

He’ll cheekily say : « Put those pretty lips to better use. »

He’s talking about kissing, but if you answer with something more toward, he’ll go beet red and sputter.

Lots of hand-holding and kissing and hugging. Replacing physical pain with physical affection.

Jack Krauser

Do. Not. Damage. What’s. His.

Death stare with a barely veiled promise of violence if you don’t stop.

WARNING : do not attempt at home. The normal nail-biter reaction to this is to turn into a nail-eating squirrel on crack, in a very childish display of « fuck you, I do what I want ».

Karl Heisenberg

Dad voice : « Don’t do that. I said STOP. »

You can try to run away but there’s no running away from him in his own home. He’ll get you, and once he does he’ll trap your hands in metal until you explain.

Trauma-inducing therapy I guess ?

Afterwards, if he catches you biting your nails, he’ll trap both of your hands in his bigger one and hold them out of reach until you give up and tell him what’s bothering you.

You're standing in the kitchen telling him about your day while he reads through paperwork at the table.

You pause.

"Are you listening?"

He doesn't answer. Instead, one hand reaches out, hooks around your wrist, and gives the gentlest tug.

You stumble forward with a surprised laugh. Before you can protest, you're sitting sideways across his lap.

"There," he says, wrapping an absentminded arm around your waist as he keeps reading.

"It'll help me focus."

He heard every word before. He just wanted an excuse.

CHRIS REDFIELD

There is no warning.

You walk past him.

Then suddenly, you're airborne.

"Chris!"

He laughs as he deposits you onto his lap like you weigh absolutely nothing.

"There you are."

"I was literally going to the kitchen."

"Nah."

"I was making coffee."

"You can make it later."

He smiles so shamelessly that arguing feels pointless.

You stay. And since you're here, you get comfy.

ETHAN WINTERS

Ethan doesn't announce that he had a bad day. You know because of the way he walks through the door.

His shoulders are tense. He drops his keys on the counter a little harder than usual. He stands there for a second like he's reminding himself that he's home.

You open your mouth to ask if he's okay. You don't get the chance.

He crosses the room. No words. No explanation. He just reaches for you, pulls you into his lap, and buries his face against your neck.

You freeze for half a second. Then your arms wrap around him.

"That bad?" you whisper.

A quiet breath leaves him.

"Yeah." His grip tightens slightly. "Missed you," he murmurs.

After a few minutes, you feel his breathing finally even out, but you still don't talk until he's ready.

ALBERT WESKER

You are halfway through explaining something.

Wesker simply reaches out, takes hold of your wrist, and pulls. It's so smooth you don't even realize what's happening until you're sitting across his lap.

"Was that necessary?" you ask.

"Yes."

He returns to reading the document in his hand.

You wait. "Are you going to tell me?"

"No."

"I have to–"

"I wouldn't recommend leaving."

"Why?"

Without looking up, one corner of his mouth lifts. "You're right where we both want you."

Annoyingly, you stop trying to get up.

SIMON RILEY

The room is packed. Too many people. Not enough chairs. You stand near the wall, trying not to look as uncomfortable as you feel while everyone else settles in. You shift your weight from one foot to the other, preparing to just stand there for the next hour.

Simon notices.

He looks around quickly, trying to find the solution. No seats. No room.

Then his hand closes around your wrist. He pulls you down.

Suddenly you're sitting on Simon Riley's lap, his arm resting securely around your waist to keep you from slipping.

The conversation around you continues. Nobody says anything. Nobody seems to even want to look in your direction.

Simon must be sporting one of his infamous 'I don't want to hear anything about it' looks.

You turn your head slightly. Peek at him.

Yep.

You look away, trying very hard not to smile. You hear his voice in your ear.

"Comfortable?"

You glance back at him. "Are you?"

His eyes soften just slightly.

He hums.

“Then I guess this works. At least, until I start squishing you.”

He wraps his arm tighter. Chuckles under his breath.