#*hands healers guns*

[halveablock]

some doodles of toxic yuri ocs i've been thinkin about

[plasticflowersinahistorycemetery]

"are you trembling for god, or for me?"

part I

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Angel!Reader

Summary: Ben never thought he'd like innocence this much... he wants to see how far he can twist it.

Warnings: 18+!, Soldier Boy is a warning, language, corruption, religious reference, violence, innocence, smut (dirty talk, dry humping, corruption kink, praise kink), I may have missed some.

Word Count: 5,853

Ben hated waiting. Especially for those assholes.

The safehouse was hot, dusty, and stank of something sweet and rotten—probably whatever the last squatters left in the fridge. Or maybe MM's shitty protein shakes. He paced the living room like a caged dog, boots creaking on warped floorboards, jaw grinding as he chewed the inside of his cheek.

They were late.

Again.

And Butcher's last text—got somethin extra, stay fucking put!—wasn't helping.

He scoffed under his breath. "Better be a goddamn nuke."

Outside, gravel crunched under tires. Ben rolled his eyes and dropped onto the arm of the busted couch, leaning back with a sigh just as the door swung open.

Butcher came in first, blood on his sleeve and that usual sour look twisting his face. "Christ, that was a fuckin' mess," he grunted, tossing his gun onto the table. MM followed behind him, eyes sweeping the room with military precision. Hughie was limping. Kimiko had blood spattered across her cheek.

And then—

You.

Barefoot. Wrapped in someone else's coat—Hughie's, maybe. Your face was drawn, pale. You looked... wrong. Not in a monstrous way. Not like a supe. Just—

Fragile. Quiet. Too quiet.

Ben froze. The air changed. He sat up straighter as you crossed the threshold, your steps hesitant, like each one needed permission. You kept your arms close to your body, your fingers twitching like they weren't sure what to do without chains.

You didn't look at the others. You looked at him. And he stared back. Hard. But you didn't flinch. Didn't look away. You studied him. Wide eyes. Calm face. Like he was a puzzle to solve, not a weapon. Not a threat.

It unsettled him.

"What the fuck is that?" He muttered, voice low.

Butcher dropped into the nearest chair with a groan and unceremoniously cracked open a beer. "That," he said, nodding toward you, "is the reason this whole thing went sideways."

Ben didn't break eye contact. "Looks like a deer caught in a goddamn bear trap."

"Yeah, well, she's Vought's little secret. Kept her underground for—what'd Frenchie say—six years? Seven?" Butcher waved a hand. "Some angelic-class prototype. Supposed to be a healer. Maybe a nuke. Who the fuck knows."

"A what now?"

"Angelic. You know. Wings. Light. God complex. That kinda bollocks."

Ben scoffed. "You're kiddin'."

"Do I look like I'm in a joking fuckin' mood, cunt?"

He didn't respond. You were still staring at him.

And it wasn't scared. It wasn't reverent. It wasn't even curious. It was detached. Like you'd been dropped into a world that didn't make sense, and you were trying to find a shape in the noise. You looked at him like he was a radio station that kept cutting in and out.

Ben stood up slowly, letting the weight of his presence fill the room like smoke. He walked toward the kitchen, keeping you in his peripheral vision, and grabbed a beer from the fridge. He popped the cap with his thumb and took a long, slow pull. Still, you watched him.

It wasn't until you spoke—soft, almost unsure—that something in him twitched.

"Are you the loud one?" You asked.

The room fell quiet.

Ben raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"You're the one I heard. From the van. The heartbeat." Your voice was calm. Tired. "It was very loud."

Butcher chuckled darkly from the couch. "Told you. Fuckin' weird."

Ben didn't laugh. He took another swig of his beer, then turned his full attention to you. You didn't back down. Just tilted your head again. Like a bird listening for rain.

She's not scared of me, he thought. That's gonna change.

He meant to forget you. Really, he did.

Meant to write you off like the rest of the weird shit The Boys dragged back from the edge of hell. Meant to file you away as some broken Vought pet project—another fucked-up science experiment with glass bones and too much light behind the eyes.

But the thing was...

You didn't do anything. You just were.

You wandered the safehouse like a ghost in someone else's body. Always barefoot. Always quiet. You'd trail your fingers along the walls like you were feeling the pulse of the place. You watched the toaster with reverence. You flinched when someone raised their voice but never spoke up. You didn't eat much. Didn't sleep, either.

And Ben—who wasn't subtle, wasn't patient, wasn't nice—found himself watching.

At first, he told himself it was because you were a liability. A Vought ticking time bomb wrapped in soft skin and borrowed clothes. He was just being careful. Keeping an eye on you.

But then you tilted your head at him one morning—like you were listening to a song only you could hear—and smiled. And he knew he was fucked.

It was late afternoon now. Too hot. Too quiet.

He sat on the windowsill, one leg propped up, watching the hallway like it owed him something. The rest of the team were out getting supplies. He'd stayed behind to "rest." Translation: he didn't feel like playing nice.

And there you were.

Walking slowly down the hallway, your hand brushing the wall, bare feet whispering over the scuffed floor like you weren't sure gravity applied to you yet. You stopped in front of a painting—ugly, generic motel art in a fake gold frame—and stared at it for a long time.

Then you said, softly, "Why is that tree on fire?"

Ben blinked. "It's fall."

You turned, startled. Then you smiled like he'd said something kind.

"Oh. I thought it was a warning."

He stared at you.

Who the fuck talks like that?

You walked toward him slowly, like someone approaching a wounded animal. You weren't scared. You were just... careful. He didn't move. You stopped a few feet away, folding your hands in front of you.

"Do you like it here?" You asked. No context. No explanation.

Ben raised an eyebrow. "Do I look like someone who likes anything?"

You tilted your head again. That damn bird look. Thoughtful. Soft.

"You don't have to, you know."

He scoffed. "Don't have to what?"

"Pretend to be angry all the time. It makes your heart beat too hard."

What the fuck.

He stared at you like you'd grown a second head.

You smiled, barely. "I can feel it when it's too loud."

That made his jaw clench.

"You feelin' me right now, sweetheart?" He asked, voice low.

You paused. Then nodded. Softly. Innocently. "Always."

Ben looked away. He didn't trust what his body was doing. Not his breath. Not his pulse. Not the coil tightening low in his gut.

You weren't flirting. You weren't trying to get a rise out of him. That was the worst part. You didn't know. And that made him want to bite something in half.

Later, the sun dipped low, painting the walls of the safehouse in bruised orange and peeling gold. The shitty air conditioning buzzed overhead, doing a whole lot of nothing. Somewhere down the hall, Butcher was yelling about someone eating his last protein bar.

Ben ignored him.

You were in the living room, cross-legged on the carpet, watching the tiny TV like it held the secrets of the universe. Some rom-com flicker of mid-2000s sap, all fake city backdrops and orchestral swells when the guy finally realised the girl was his entire goddamn reason for breathing.

Ben stood in the doorway. Arms crossed. Shoulder leaned against the frame. Watching you watch the movie. He wasn't even trying to hide it anymore.

You tilted your head the same way you looked at everything—curious. Quiet. Like you didn't know whether to laugh or cry, so you settled somewhere in between. There was a half-eaten orange in your lap. Your fingers were sticky with juice.

Ben didn't think he'd ever seen someone look more out of place and more made for a moment all at once.

"You ever seen a movie before?" He asked gruffly.

You didn't look away from the screen. Just nodded.

"Do you like it?"

Another pause. Then: "I think it's nice." You said it like it meant something.

He huffed. "Romantic shit always look that dumb to you?"

You blinked. Then turned your head, slow and deliberate, to face him. Your eyes held no edge, no sarcasm—just a soft kind of interest.

"I don't think it's dumb," you said. "It seems kind."

Ben didn't answer. He didn't move. Something sharp twisted in his ribs. You held his gaze like it was easy. Like you didn't know what it meant to make a man like him look away first.

He clenched his jaw. Then, before he could stop himself:

"You ever been kissed, angel?"

You blinked again, slower this time. Like you had to process the question. Your mouth parted, just a little, and Ben's hands twitched at his sides.

"No," you said.

He swallowed.

"Why?" That word. Soft. Curious. Not defensive. Not shy. Just you.

Ben stared at you. He didn't answer. Didn't trust himself to.

You turned back to the screen, unfazed. Like the question hadn't meant anything. Like it didn't split something open inside him. As if he hadn't just hurled a brick through the stained-glass window of your innocence and expected you to thank him for it.

Ben stood there for another beat, staring at the slope of your neck, the curve of your cheek, the way your lips parted in thought like you were tasting the word kiss without knowing what it meant.

And just like that—no warning, no control—

He got hard.

No buildup. No fantasy. Just you. Sitting there barefoot and honest, asking why. He shifted where he stood, jaw tight, swallowing back a groan like it might choke him.

Jesus Christ.

He hadn't been that hard in years. Not even during the real thing. This wasn't lust. It wasn't even want. It was hunger.

He turned and left before he embarrassed himself. In the hallway, he braced a hand against the wall, breathing hard.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

But he already knew. You were untouched. And now, he was fucked.

Ben didn't talk to you the next day.

Didn't look at you, either—not directly. Not when you drifted into the kitchen with that quiet grace like your feet barely touched the floor. Not when you tilted your head at Frenchie's joke and laughed like you didn't understand it but wanted to, anyway. Not when you gently pressed your fingers to Kimiko's temple after a headache and the girl visibly relaxed in your hands.

He didn't look.

But he felt you.

Every time you were near, the air changed. Like something holy was crackling just under the skin of the world, threatening to tear it open.

Ben kept to himself. Grunted when spoken to. Smoked more than usual. Tried to convince himself it was nothing. Just another freak in a long line of freaks.

But then the call came in.

A low-level Vought squad spotted across the city—unregistered supes doing damage, maybe a trap, maybe just cleanup. The team loaded up. He didn't ask why you were coming along this time. No one did. You just went where they went.

That was your thing. You followed. Quiet. Soft.

Ben sat in the back of the van, bouncing his knee, jaw tight as you stared out the window beside him. You didn't ask where they were going. You didn't ask why. You just watched the city blur past like it was a painting you weren't allowed to touch.

He told himself he wasn't going to protect you. That if things went sideways, you'd be fine. You had power. You could handle yourself. And if you couldn't? Not his problem.

Not his fucking problem.

You reached the target building around dusk. Grey light bleeding into alleyways. Frenchie and MM took the left flank, Butcher and Kimiko circled right. Ben moved dead centre—no orders, no backup. Just fists and fury.

You stayed with Hughie near the van, hands folded in front of you, waiting like someone told you to stay put and you still believed in rules.

The first hit came fast.

One of the supe bastards barrelled out from behind a stack of crates and slammed into Ben like a goddamn freight train. He didn't go down. Just grunted, spit blood, and swung back. Another one tried to jump him from behind—missed. Kimiko caught that one midair and threw him straight through a van windshield.

Chaos. Sharp and sudden. Concrete echoing with grunts, gunfire, the static of suped-up comms.

Ben was in it—fully, brutally in it—until he heard it. You. Screaming. Not a human scream. Not fear. Not pain. Something higher.

He turned before he could stop himself.

You were surrounded. Three of them. Closing in fast. MM was too far, Butcher pinned behind debris, Hughie unarmed. And you—barefoot, bleeding, breath hitched in your throat—you looked so damn small.

But you didn't run.

You stepped between one of the attackers and Hughie like you were made of steel.

Ben's blood roared in his ears.

"HEY!" He bellowed, already moving, too late to get there in time.

And then it happened. You raised your hands—trembling, bloodied—and screamed again. The air warped around you. Not like an explosion. Like a miracle.

For a split second, the sky went white.

Your wings burst into view—not solid, not whole. Like smoke and sunlight caught in motion, burning at the edges. Feathered shadow outlined in divine fire. They didn't flap. They didn't stretch. They just existed—blooming behind you like vengeance and purity all at once.

And above your head, a flicker. A ring of gold. Not bright. Not clean. Holy.

Ben stopped moving. His heart slammed into his ribs like it was trying to break out.

You moved faster than he thought you could—one hand out, a pulse of something unseen knocking one of the supes back twenty feet. Another charged and you touched him, palm to chest, and he dropped like a stone, eyes rolling back.

You turned to the last attacker, and for the first time, Ben saw your face twisted with something real. Rage. Sorrow. A divine kind of devastation.

Your halo pulsed brighter. Your wings burned.

And Ben didn't duck in time.

One of the remaining bastards clipped him hard from the side—a pipe or maybe a bat, he didn't see. Pain exploded across his ribs. He hit the ground with a curse, teeth clenched, vision blurring.

The fight blurred around him. Distant shouting. A body hitting the pavement. Concrete under his palms.

And then—

You. Kneeling beside him like you'd always been there.

Your hands hovered, unsure. "Ben," you whispered. "Ben, you're hurt." Your voice shook. You were crying.

He blinked up at you, his vision stuttering over the faint gleam above your head, the scorched shimmer of light curling behind your shoulders. Your wings were fading, flickering, like the moment was too much for the world to hold.

"Don't fuckin' touch me," he growled—weak, hoarse.

You didn't listen. You pressed your hands to his ribs. Light flared. Warmth poured through him—sweet and golden and goddamn unbearable. Not just healing. Not just power.

Pleasure.

His breath caught. His back arched. His hips twitched. He groaned. Loud. Rough. From the pit of his stomach, and your eyes fluttered open—wide, startled.

"Did I hurt you?"

Jesus.

He grabbed your wrist, holding you there.

"The fuck was that?"

You looked at him, confused. Tears still drying on your cheeks. "I made you better." Like it was that simple. Like you didn't just make him feel reborn. When you tried to pull your hand back, he didn't let you. You didn't fight it. You just tilted your head and waited.

She made me feel clean. I'm gonna ruin her.

He didn't sleep that night. Couldn't. Every time he closed his eyes, it was your face. Your hands. The way your breath hitched when you healed him. The way your wings shivered before they flickered out. The way your halo burned like a gold ring above your head for a single, impossible heartbeat.

He swore he could still feel it. Your light. Inside him. Like warmth crawling under his skin, coating his bones, cleansing him. He hated it. He needed it again.

So when morning came and the others went out—supply run, recon, something he didn't give a shit about—he stayed behind.

Alone. With you.

It started in the hallway. Ben leaned hard against the wall, one hand pressed to his chest, brow furrowed. His breath came in slow, heavy drags. You found him like that. Quiet footsteps. The faint sound of your inhale as you saw him slouched against the wood paneling like something was wrong.

"Ben?"

Your voice was so gentle it made his fists clench.

He looked up slowly, gritting his teeth like he was in pain. "Heart," he rasped. "It's—fuck—beatin' too hard again."

You stepped forward instantly. No hesitation. Just soft urgency.

"I can help you," you whispered. "Let me—"

He caught your wrist, gently this time. Played the part. Scared. Shaky. Broken.

"Need you," he muttered. "You're the only thing that helps."

And God help him, he meant it.

You laid your hand over his chest, and his body lit up like a fucking altar. That golden calm sank into him again—cool and thick, like honey sliding down his throat, like blood being replaced with grace.

He groaned. Low. Unfiltered.

You froze.

"Is that better?" You asked, confused.

He didn't answer.

He watched your lips. The way your mouth moved when you said his name. He stared at your lashes, how they fluttered when you concentrated. He watched your throat work when you swallowed.

And then he said it. He had to.

"You ever think about how that feels?" He asked.

Your brows knit in confusion. "How what feels?"

"Touchin' me like that. Helpin' me." He leaned in. "You ever wonder if it feels good because you want it to?"

You blinked. "I don't—" You looked down at your hand still pressed to his chest. "I just... I want you to feel safe."

He chuckled, dark and low.

"Sweetheart," he said, "I haven't felt safe a day in my life." He leaned in, brushing his lips near your ear, not quite touching. Close enough to taste your breath. "But you made me feel somethin'," he whispered.

You made me feel clean. So I'm gonna make you dirty.

"I think you like it," he said next, voice gravel and sin. "I think part of you likes makin' me feel good."

You pulled back a little, eyes wide. "That's not what I meant."

He smirked. "You keep touchin' me like that, and I'm not gonna be the only one makin' noise next time."

You blinked, visibly thrown. "Noise?"

His smirk widened.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered. "You really don't know what I'm sayin', do you?"

"I..." You trailed off. "I'm just trying to help."

Ben's tongue slid over his teeth. He took your wrist again, slower this time. Measured. Possessive.

"I know," he said. And then—just to twist the knife—"Come on, angel. Be good and calm me down again."

It was unbearable. Watching you. Every goddamn day. Still barefoot. Still soft-spoken. Still moving through the safehouse like a half-remembered dream.

You didn't flinch when you passed him in the hall. You didn't look away when he stared too long. You didn't snap, or scold, or blush—not even when his words started getting sharp around the edges.

He'd corner you in the kitchen just to see if you'd squirm. You didn't. He'd make jokes that would turn anyone else red. You'd just blink. Smile. Ask if he needed help. And every time, it got harder to breathe.

He wanted to snap his fingers and watch you shatter.

This time, you were leaning over the counter, slicing an apple with one of Frenchie's knives. Your fingers worked slow, careful. Your wings hadn't shown since the skirmish, but Ben kept watching for them anyway. Like maybe they'd twitch when he said the right thing. Like maybe they'd flare when you finally cracked.

He stepped into the kitchen, heavy boots echoing against the tile. You looked up. That same serene expression. That maddening stillness.

"Whatcha makin', sweetheart?"

You held up the apple. "It's fruit."

"No shit," he muttered.

You tilted your head. "Would you like some?"

"No," he said. "I don't want anythin'��sweet."

You blinked. Confused again. He stepped closer. Slow. Deliberate. Stopped just a few inches from where you stood, close enough that your elbow brushed his chest when you moved. You didn't even react.

He leaned down, voice low, thick, like honey slathered over gunmetal.

"You gonna keep pretending you don't know what I'm sayin'?"

You turned toward him. Wide-eyed. "What do you mean?"

He grinned, sharp and dangerous. "I mean, you keep actin' like you don't feel it."

"Feel... what?"

He laughed. "Jesus. You're serious."

You frowned, and for the first time, he saw a crack—tiny, delicate, like hairline glass in your expression.

He took it and twisted.

"You know what happens to good little angels like you?" He asked, voice dropping. "The world eats 'em alive. Chews 'em up. Spits 'em out in pieces."

You stared. Said nothing. He leaned in, mouth near your ear.

"But not me," he whispered. "I'd worship you while I ruined you."

Your breath hitched. Tiny. Barely there. But he heard it. He pulled back just enough to see your eyes. Still soft. Still confused. Still unbroken.

"Don't play innocent, angel," he said. "You touch me like you've already chosen."

You shook your head. "I was only trying to help. You said your heart—"

He grabbed your wrist again, same one he always reached for. Fit like a fucking habit now.

"You keep givin' yourself away like that," he said, "and someone's gonna take it the wrong way."

He waited. Waited for fear. For a flinch.

Instead, you just blinked. "Would that be wrong?"

Ben's grip tightened. He turned away before he did something stupid.

You don't get it. And I don't know if I want to teach you or just watch you fall.

He started doing it on purpose after that. The episodes. The short breath. The clutching his chest. The tension under his skin, real or faked—it didn't matter. Because you always came running. Like the good little angel you were.

This time, it was past midnight. The safehouse was quiet. Everyone else out or asleep. Ben was sitting on the edge of the kitchen table, shirt undone, head tilted back, breathing shallow as the phantom ache in his chest throbbed like it knew your name.

He didn't have to wait long.

Your footsteps were light. Barely there. You stepped into the kitchen with that same wide-eyed calm, your hands already glowing before you even spoke.

"Is it happening again?" You whispered, already close.

Ben didn't speak. Didn't nod. Just looked at you through half-lidded eyes and said, "Help me."

You stepped between his knees, one hand on his chest, the other hovering just below his ribs. And when your power touched him—when that divine warmth bloomed inside him—his eyes rolled back.

He exhaled like it hurt. Like it ruined him.

"F-fuck..."

Your eyes snapped up. "Did I—?"

"Keep goin'," he growled.

You swallowed. Nodded. Let more of yourself pour into him. And it hit him again—hot this time. Like liquid sunlight. Like his nerves were singing hymns and bleeding at the same time. He groaned—and not quiet.

Your hand twitched. You didn't pull away. Ben opened his eyes. You looked flushed. Maybe it was the light. Maybe it was him. He smiled. Slow. Predatory.

"You like that," he said.

Your head jerked. "What?"

"You like touchin' me. You pretend it's just healing, but you keep comin' back." He leaned in closer. "You keep givin' me this." His hand covered yours. Pressed it harder against his chest. "You could stop anytime you wanted. But you don't."

"I... I just don't want you to be in pain."

He chuckled. "I'm always in pain, angel. You're just the first thing that ever made it feel good."

You blinked. Tried to look away. He didn't let you. He caught your chin, tilted your face back to his.

"I make noise every time you touch me. You notice that?"

"I..." Your voice shook.

"Bet you never heard a man moan like that before."

Silence.

Ben leaned in. "I could make you sound like that."

You blinked—horrified or curious, he couldn't tell. He hoped for both.

"I could make you scream so loud your halo'd crack in half," he whispered.

Your mouth parted, and finally, finally your breath stuttered. He felt it. That little flicker of your pulse under his fingers. He grinned.

Bingo.

Slow. Shaky. "I... I think that's enough for now," you said. You started pulling your hand back. He didn't let you.

"Uh-uh. Not yet," he said, voice low, rough around the edges. "Feels too fuckin' good to quit now."

Your eyes flicked up, a little unsure. But you stayed. Of course you stayed.

"You ever felt this before?" He asked, his fingers curling tighter around your wrist. "The way it heats up when you touch me? Like your whole goddamn body's tryin' to tell you somethin'?"

"I... I'm just trying to calm you—"

"Yeah?" He leaned in. "Well, newsflash, sweetheart—this ain't calm. This is fuckin' divine."

You blinked up at him, confused. And then you made the sound. A whimper. Soft. Involuntary. Like it slipped out before your brain caught it.

Ben went still.

You looked down. Right at yourself. And fuck—his dick twitched hard enough to hurt. Your brows pulled in. Your hand drifted lower. Palm over your stomach. Down. Your thighs pressed together.

And Ben watched, breath shallow. You looked back up at him like you were scared of your own skin.

Holy fuck. She doesn't even know what the hell that is. And I'm the one who woke it up.

"You feel that?" He asked, voice rasped and wrecked. "That little throb between your legs?"

You nodded. Small. Scared. Curious. "I think something's... wrong."

Ben let out a quiet, disbelieving laugh. "Wrong?" He muttered. "Oh, angel. That's the best goddamn part."

He stepped closer, towering over you.

"That?" He pointed lazily at your hips. "That's your body sayin' thank you."

You swallowed, wide-eyed.

"It's me," he added. "I did that."

Another whimper. Fucking perfect. He wanted to throw you on the counter and make you scream until the light burned out of your eyes—but he didn't. Not yet.

"Don't worry," he said, voice soft now. Dangerous. "We'll figure it out."

Your lashes fluttered. You nodded. Like you trusted him. And that? That was the most fucked-up thing of all.

Ben heard the knock and already knew it was you. Soft. Three little taps. Barely there. He didn't answer right away. Just let it sit. Let the silence stretch. Let you wonder if he was asleep or ignoring you or worse—until finally, he grunted:

"Yeah."

The door creaked open. You stepped inside like you were crossing holy ground. Ben was sprawled across his bed, shirtless, sweatpants low on his hips, one hand behind his head, the other resting across his abs. He didn't bother sitting up. You just stood there. Barefoot. In one of Hughie's oversized hoodies again. Looking down. Looking unsure.

He kept his voice low.

"What's up, angel?"

You hesitated. Then closed the door behind you.

"I... I didn't know where else to go."

He sat up at that. His eyes dragged down your legs. Back up. You looked wrecked—not in the usual way. Not scared. Not hurt. Just... overwhelmed. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

"Talk to me."

You shifted on your feet. Clasped your hands together like you were about to pray. "It happened again," you whispered.

His head tilted. "What did?"

You glanced up at him, almost afraid to say it. Then: "The... the ache. That throb."

Ben's mouth went dry.

You kept going. "I thought maybe it was just when I touch people, but I wasn't healing anyone. I wasn't even near anyone." You paused. Swallowed. "I was just... thinking about you."

His heart slammed against his ribs.

You looked down at yourself again, thighs squeezing together like you were ashamed. "And now it's worse," you whispered. "Now I'm looking at you and it's worse."

Ben exhaled through his nose. Tried to keep his voice steady.

"C'mere."

You blinked.

He patted the bed beside him. "Sit."

You obeyed without question. Slipped onto the mattress, still not looking at him. Ben watched you closely. You were flushed. Your breath came shallow. Your hands curled into fists in your lap.

"You don't know what to do with it," he said, voice low, almost kind.

You shook your head. "I don't even know what it is. Just that it... it hurts. But not like pain."

"It's not pain," he murmured. "It's want."

Your breath caught. He leaned in, slow, voice dropping to a gravel whisper.

"You ever touched yourself?"

You blinked. "I—what?"

He smirked. "Guess that's a no."

You looked away, embarrassed.

Ben's voice softened—not out of mercy. Out of calculation.

"It's okay, angel. Ain't your fault. You're new to all this. Whole world's been keepin' you wrapped in glass." He reached over. His fingers ghosted over your thigh, just enough to make you twitch. "But you came to the right fuckin' place."

You turned back to him. Eyes wide. Lips parted.

He grinned.

"You think I don't love that it was me?" He asked, voice rough with need. "That it's me you think about when it starts? That it's my voice in your head when your thighs start squeezin' together and you don't know why?"

You whimpered. Just a little. And Ben's whole body tensed.

Fuck me. She's gonna come apart and I ain't even touchin' her.

He brought his mouth closer to your ear.

"You wanna feel better?"

You nodded.

"You wanna learn?"

Your breath shook. "Yes."

He smiled against your cheek.

"Good girl."

You were squirming now. Sitting on his bed, knees drawn up under that borrowed hoodie, hands clasped so tight your knuckles had gone pale. Every few seconds your thighs twitched together like you were trying to hold something in.

Ben watched. Every breath. Every shift. Every desperate little tremble. His cock throbbed, heavy in his sweats, but he didn't move. Didn't touch you. He was too busy watching you unravel.

Come on, sweetheart. Fall.

You looked at him, eyes glassy. "I don't know what to do," you whispered.

He tilted his head. "Yeah, you do."

Your mouth parted. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, voice low and mean.

"You came here."

You nodded, almost guilty.

"You're sittin' there all hot and achey, thinkin' about me, and you came here."

"I just thought maybe—"

"—I could make it go away?" He finished for you, grinning. "That it'd stop if you let me touch you?"

Your breath hitched. Ben's grin faded. His voice dropped.

"No, baby. It doesn't stop. It starts."

You whimpered. Just a little. But your thighs pressed tight and you rocked forward slightly—so innocent you didn't even realise you were grinding down against the tension.

Ben exhaled through his nose like it hurt.

"You want me to help you?"

You nodded.

"Say it."

Your brows drew together. "What?"

"Say you want it."

You shook your head—nervous. "I don't know what I'm asking for."

He reached out. Ran his knuckles over your knee. "You want me to teach you?" He asked, voice low. "Wanna learn how to touch yourself right?"

Your lips parted again. Slow. Breath shaky. "Yes."

Ben's cock twitched hard.

Fuck. That's it. That's the sound. She's never said that word like that before. Never meant it like that.

He patted his thigh. "C'mere."

You crawled into his lap like it was instinct.

He adjusted you with firm hands—one on your hip, one around your waist—settling you over his thighs. Your hoodie bunched up as you straddled him, and he nearly groaned at the heat bleeding off you.

He didn't touch you where you wanted. Just leaned in.

"Okay," he whispered against your cheek. "Let's start small."

He took your wrist. Brought your own hand to your belly.

"Lower."

You slid it down.

"Little more."

You swallowed. Obeyed.

Ben's voice dropped to a gravelly murmur. "Feel that pulse right there? That little throb you keep cryin' about?"

Your fingers twitched. You nodded.

"Press. Gentle. Just hold it."

You did. Your breath shook.

Ben's mouth nearly touched your ear now.

"Good girl."

You whimpered. Louder. And then, your wings flickered into view behind you. Not full. Not glowing. Just flickering. Like the light inside you was trying to escape.

Ben nearly lost it.

Holy fuck. She's lighting up just from her own hand. Just from my voice. She's mine.

"Now rub," he whispered. "Slow. In circles. Just like that."

You bit your lip. "Feels weird," you breathed.

"That's good, sweetheart. That's your body learnin'."

You kept going. Small motions. Breathless. And Ben? Ben was smiling. Watching purity fracture in real time. Watching you come to life. One little touch at a time.

You were trembling in his lap like your body wasn't sure it belonged to you anymore. One hand buried beneath the hem of that borrowed hoodie. The other fisted into the collar of his shirt like you needed something to hold onto or else you'd drift away.

Ben sat back against the headboard, legs spread, letting you straddle his thigh with all the slow grace of a sinner crawling toward salvation. You didn't even know what you were doing—and that? That was what made it perfect.

You weren't trying to grind down on him. Wasn't deliberate. Wasn't dirty.

It was instinct. Need. Your hips rolled in these shallow, searching little movements that made his pulse hammer behind his teeth. And you kept murmuring tiny things—"I'm sorry," and "I don't know why," and "It's so hot"—like you thought you were confessing.

Like he'd ever fucking forgive you.

He could feel the heat through his sweats. Radiating off you. Soaking into him. Your thighs trembled every time his voice dipped low, every time he told you "just like that, sweetheart" or "keep rubbin', you're doin' so fuckin' good."

It was working.

God, it was working.

He could feel you—glowing faint under your skin. Light like static trapped in flesh, flickering in bursts. Your breath coming in high, desperate little gasps like you didn't know if you were allowed to make noise.

She's gonna fucking break. She's gonna fall apart with her hand on her cunt and my name in her mouth and she won't even know what hit her.

And then it happened.

That sound.

A moan—real, full, unfiltered. It cracked right out of you like something ancient finally getting free. Soft and wet and so fucking pure it nearly brought him to his knees.

Ben gritted his teeth. His hand moved—instinctual—down to cover yours, guiding your fingers harder, tighter, lower.

"Yeah, baby," he rasped, voice thick with reverence. "You're right there. You feel that?"

You nodded, whimpering. And then—you froze. All at once. Like you'd been caught in a spotlight. Your hand jerked back from under the hoodie like it was burning you. Your thighs snapped shut so fast they slapped against his.

Your eyes were wide. Panicked.

"I—I can't—" You shook your head, voice ragged. "I can't do this. I'm sorry."

Ben blinked. Not angry. Not shocked. Just still. You pulled back, trying to climb out of his lap like you were filthy, like you'd broken something sacred, but he didn't let you go. Not rough. Not forceful. Just firm. Grounded.

"Hey." His voice dropped into something soft. Something careful. But never kind. "You're okay."

You didn't look at him. Your halo flickered behind your shoulder like a candle caught in wind. "I felt something," you whispered. "It was building and it felt—wrong. Too big."

Ben stared.

You were still glowing. Still lit up in that faint, holy shimmer. You were divine like this—flushed and shaking in his lap, eyes wet with something like shame.

She was so fuckin' close. So fuckin' perfect. She doesn't even know what that would've felt like. And I would've been the first.

You breathed like you were trying not to cry. "I couldn't stop it," you said. "I didn't want to but I did—"

He reached up. Brushed your jaw with the backs of his fingers.

"Angel," he murmured. "That? That's what your body's built for."

Your eyes found his. Blown wide. Searching. Terrified.

"Don't you dare apologise for that."

You swallowed.

"But I don't understand it."

"I know. And that's what makes it so fuckin' beautiful." He leaned in, resting his forehead against yours. Breathing you in. "You want me to stop, I'll stop," he whispered. "But don't lie to me. Don't lie to yourself."

You nodded, breath stuttering. Ben pulled you in. Wrapped his arms around you, cradled you against his chest like you were something holy he'd just dragged out of heaven and didn't want to drop. Your halo pulsed once. Dim. And then disappeared. You stayed there. Still glowing under the skin. Still his. Still trembling.

And all he could think—over and over, as his hand curved around the back of your neck and you finally sighed against him—was:

Next time, you're not stopping. Next time, you're gonna see God. And it's gonna be me.

a/n: AHHHHH. Okay, I couldn't help myself, I had to post the first part. I've got the next two parts written up and ready to go, I just don't wanna post them until I've finished up the last two instalments. I'm so excited for you guys to find out what happens. Let me know what you think please!! And if you like it, then you can all thank @tinas111 because this was her idea, I'm just doing the writing, hehehe. All the love.

Soldier Boy/Ben taglist: @mostlymarvelgirl @losers-clvb @lunaleah. @itshellfire @drakulana @sl33pylilbunny @suckitands33 @nevercameraready @0ccvltism @bittersweetfig @lyarr24 @podiumackles @spxideyver @tinas111 @ohgodimgoungtodie @paristheonewhoreads @winchestersbgirl @blossomingorchids @sacr1ficialang3l @kaz-2y5-spn @bitchykittenconnoisseur <3

[aingeal98]

“Oh my god.” Steph says, and Cass doesn’t need to look to feel the distress radiating from her.

She’s said Oh my god three times now. It’s the only thing she’s said since she jumped off her bike, each time more choked and horrified. Cass wants to look at her, wants to hold her and comfort her, but there is a man on the ground dying and she can’t look away.

She doesn’t understand it. She can’t. They were chasing a truck full of guns that Two Face’s men were smuggling through Gotham, an ordinary bust. Then two men climbed on the roof of the truck and began shooting. Not unusual either. Cass wasn’t even worried about Steph getting hit, both Batgirls well used to ducking and weaving from choppy, poorly aimed gunfire at this point.

And then. The older man, big and muscled. He grabbed the lankier gunman and threw him right off the van. Right onto the road in front of them.

Cass saw it coming. The second he grabbed his fellow gunman she could see what his arm was going to do, and she braked with her typical borderline inhuman reaction speed. But Steph…

Cass yelled out to stop, of course she did. But Steph was only human. The second the smaller henchman was thrown she swerved and pressed the brakes, but it was too late. The taller man’s throw had been deliberate, much better aimed than any of his shots tonight. His colleague hit the front of Steph’s bike with a sickening crunch, and Cass remembers the sound just like she remembers her own scream of horror.

Now here they are. On the side of the road, with a man two minutes away from dying.

Cass doesn’t have great first aid knowledge, a few lessons and her own unique body reading abilities are what she’s working with. Steph has experience, has training. Cass watched as she moved around the man, turning him on his side, analysing his injuries.

She’s known the truth the whole time. But she waited and let Steph work anyway, hoping for a miracle. 

Steph isn’t working anymore. She’s just staring at the man, side by side with Cass.

One minute.

That’s how long he has to live. They’ve called for help, called for anything that could save him. Oracle’s voice had been heavy, even through the vocal modulator, when she said that there was no one free to get there in time. 

Cass finally wrenches her eyes away from the dying man. Steph is watching him, trembling with tears in her eyes. There is a look of terror behind the tears. A fear Cass is intimately familiar with, one she never wanted any of her loved ones to feel.

In fifty seconds Stephanie Brown will understand the feeling Cassandra Cain-Wayne did at eight years old: Watching a man dying and understanding despite all arguments and logic people present, that it was your fault.

This is not something Cass would wish on her worst enemy. It is most definitely not something she wishes for the girl she loves to experience. They’re alike in many ways, but their differences are just as precious to Cass as their similarities. No human should have to go through this.  

Steph doesn’t know she only has forty five seconds left. She’s a better healer, but Cass will always be able to understand the body in ways no one but Shiva can.

She tried calling for her biological mother. No answer. Cass can’t say she’s surprised, she’s already deep in debt with that particular relationship. All out of favours.

Thirty seconds.

The man is dying. All Cass wants is to save him. She wants to stop time, to take him away until people with healing hands can work magic or science to keep him breathing. But Oracle said that no help is coming, and if there’s one person she trusts to have exhausted all options it’s Barbara. There is nothing Cass can do to save him. All her body reading can give her is the knowledge of when the light is likely to leave his eyes.

Stephanie is crying now. Shaking and crying and keening, a horrible grief filled noise. It breaks through Cass’s shock and denial, filling her with a deep sadness. Not grief. Not yet. There’s still twenty seconds before she has to give in and start grieving. Nineteen seconds for a miracle to occur.

Stephanie will be haunted by this for the rest of her life. Cass knows that she herself is not normal about death, that her reaction to any and all death is “extreme” even among most vigilantes, but she knows for sure that this isn’t something Steph can walk away from the same as she was, even if it’s not quite as life shattering as Cass’s first kill. It’s close enough to wreck her, close enough to fill her with guilt and horror and disgust. At herself, at the man who threw his colleague, at the world and at humanity. All those negative emotions that Cass spent years carrying with her even as she ran millions of miles around the world, Steph will experience them in ten seconds. It’s a jail sentence with no defined end time, just you and your mind and the moment the light leaves his eyes replaying constantly over and over.

Eight seconds. Steph looks like she’s about to throw up. Cass can see it settling in, the weight of it all. Six seconds until she’s doomed, and there’s no miracle in sight.

Five seconds. Four.

Steph still doesn’t know. There’s still a sliver of hope in her eyes, praying for the impossible.

Three. Two.

They’re out of time. This man is dead and Steph will forever be a killer and all Cass has done is watch. Useless and motionless.

One.

Cass reaches forward and snaps the man’s neck.

Stephanie screams. Cass doesn’t flinch. She looks down at the man, memorising his face, the horror and fear and grief on it. He knew his time was up, and yet he still hadn’t been ready. Cass stole that one extra second from him, and she will punish herself for the rest of her life and carry his face in her mind just like she carries all her kills, right back to Faizul in the office. She is cursed, damned. Evil trying and failing to be good, to be human. Some nights it’s a success when she can blend in.

Tonight she can’t. It’s not a success, but it’s something else as well as a failure. A thing Cass has no word for. No name.

“What did you do?” Steph gasps out.

The fear has turned to shock and horror. Good.

“I killed him.” Cass replies, voice steady as she gently reaches over and closes the man’s eyes.

“Cass.” Steph says her name slowly, like she doesn’t trust that the woman in front of her is her best friend. It stings, but Cass knows it’s better than the alternative. “Cass, why did you do that?”

“Because I’m a killer.” Cass meets her eyes head on, no tears or shaking pupils. “And you’re not.”

She sees Steph’s face morph as it clicks, shock to relief, back to horror then to anger and then sadness. But not the expression Cass fears most. Steph will never wear that expression as long as Cass is alive and able to do something about it.

“You know it doesn’t work like that.” Steph says, far more gently than Cass deserves. “That scumbag killed him the second he threw him off the truck. I killed him by not braking fast enough. You snapping his neck doesn’t change any of that.”

“He could have lived.” It’s an easy lie to say, because even though there was only one second left Cass still believes it’s true. “He could have lived despite what the man did and what- What happened with the bike. But I killed him. Me. Not you.”

Steph doesn’t believe her. Cass can see it in her shoulders, in the curve of her mouth. But there’s also hesitation in the way her brow wrinkles, confusion in her clenched fists. She doesn’t know he only had one second left. She understands what Cass has done but she doesn’t know for certain just how close Cass left it. Probably can guess it was the last second, but Cass will never confirm that. She can’t. As long as that second exists, there was still a chance. Still hope the man could have been saved. Still a beat where something could have happened to change his fate and Stephanie’s.

Cass interfered. She moved and now the man is dead. She is a killer and Stephanie is not. It’s as simple as that. It’s as complicated as that.

The death will still haunt Steph, Cass has no doubt about it. There is guilt rushing back in with every moment that passes, Steph’s spine curving as they sit in silence at the side of the road. Steph knows Cass, knows she wouldn’t have done it if she believed there was even the most narrow chance of a miracle occurring.

Cass is a creature made of guilt. It stole her soul when she was a little girl, hollowed her out deeper than the hunger as she ran. But she is more than that now. She has love. The guilt has not lessened, not really. But it’s changed its form, a different shape in her body. There’s room for coexistence now.

She loves Stephanie. She will not let Stephanie feel that hollowing guilt. She cannot save or fix everything, and she can’t accept that but she can handle the harsh reality slightly better nowadays. Less like a tsunami crashing over her body and more like a pit in her stomach that will never truly fade away.

“You shouldn’t have done that.” Stephanie is angry now. Cass expected that.

“It’s done.” Cass replies. There’s nothing else to say.

“Why?” Stephanie spits, because of course she does. “What gives you the right?”

Cass could walk away. Maybe she should. She definitely would have when she was younger. When she wasn’t as comfortable with this. Love and bonds and relationships outside of utter devotion to a parent. She’s older now. Can speak clearly and use more words than she ever would have dreamed of, back in the day.

But she still prefers to keep it short and simple. People talk too much. A few words are normally all that’s needed to say everything.

“Because I love you.” She answers.

Stephanie’s glare doesn’t diminish. If anything it gets stronger. Cass meets her gaze with a calm stare, utterly unrepentant.

“Fuck you.” Stephanie whispers.

Cass deserves that. Deserves worse, deserves cruelty Steph will never give her. She stands up and holds out a hand. There are sirens getting closer. They can’t be here when the police arrive. Oracle will already be planning how to spin this, coming up with media headlines that will make Cass sick to even look at.

“Let’s go home.”

Steph is still furious. Furious and heartbroken and sick with the same nausea Cass feels so deeply in her bones. There is no forgiveness to be found there, not for herself and not for Cass. But there is the beginning of an understanding, the reality that life didn’t end for both of them when this man died, even if part of Cass wishes hers had. They have to keep moving on, have to react to everything and feel everything and learn to live with every terrible emotion this night created. 

She takes Cass’s hand, and together they begin the long walk towards the sunrise.

[suuuupernovaaa]

healer

Summary: Joel survives.

Warnings/tags: fluff, age gap, jackson joel, HEA always

MASTERLIST

Fuck. Shit. Christ. There’s blood everywhere. She shot him. She shot him, fuck, right in the leg.

I’m going to vomit. Or pass out. I don’t know which. That bitch, that menacing little bitch, is prancing around and yapping, she won’t shut the fuck up.

She doesn’t know I have a gun.

She doesn’t know I have a gun.

She doesn’t know I have a gun.

I’m not quick or stealthy but no one seems to be paying attention to me - all eyes are on Joel.

On Joel. Bleeding on the floor. Joel, in pain. Joel, suffering.

I shoot the man right in front of me first, quickly, giving it little thought, and turn the gun to her next. Quickly. Through the shoulder and she goes down, then another through the neck.

Two. I’ve killed two people today.

Joel is suffering. Joel is bleeding. Joel is staring at me as chaos erupts in the room.

Six Months Later

Joel sits on the porch, a cup of coffee in his hand, rocking back and forth in his chair as the sun rises.

It’s going to be a warm day, he can feel it already. It eases the aches in his muscles, especially his knees, when it’s warm like this.

She emerges from the house, holding her own cup of coffee, dressed in only shorts and a t-shirt, the same outfit she fell asleep in the night before.

She places a kiss on his forehead and sits next to him in a matching chair. She looks beautiful this morning. Her beauty is the quiet kind, that sneaks up on you, and then overwhelms you. It’s not just her face and her body, it’s her voice and her gentleness. The way she cares for those around her, especially Joel and Ellie. The way she’s so thoughtful and always kind, so worried about how people are feeling. There aren’t many people like her left, not how.

Six months later and she still has nightmares about the killings. Even in this world, nearly 35 years old, she’d never killed. She’d never wanted to, not until it came to saving him.

She did it then without so much as a second thought, and Joel lies awake at night thinking about it.

He knows she does too. He tries to soothe the ache with words, but sometimes they aren’t enough.

She smiles over at him. “What are you thinking about, sweetheart?”

He takes a sip of his coffee and looks out at the orange sky. “You, darlin’. As usual.”

She laughs and reaches over for his hand, gripping it so tightly. He knows her nightmares aren’t just about the lives she took. They’re about losing him, too. He still doesn’t understand why she loves him so much, but he’s stopped trying to figure it out.

“I had a nightmare,” she tells him, her smile cracking a little.

He clears his throat, then sets his coffee down. Joel pats his lap. “Come tell me,” he says.

She obliges, moving from her chair to the safety of his lap and arms, and rests her head on his shoulder as she talks.

She’s such a small thing, light as a feather, he feels so driven to protect her and keep her safe. Sometimes it’s all he can think about.

The nightmare is different this time. He expects her to say she dreamed about that day, or about living without him, but this time, the nightmare was that he lived, but left anyway.

“Where the hell did I go?” Joel asks, and she cannot stop herself from laughing.

“Well, I don’t know! Probably to one of the many women in town who admire you,” she says teasingly, and he rolls his eyes behind his crooked glasses.

“Sweetheart, you’re the only one who wants my tired, old ass.”

She sits up and presses a kiss to his cheek.

“What I can’t figure out is why you want me at all,” he adds.

She shakes her head. “No more of that. You know why I love you. You know I’d do anything for you.”

He squeezes her tight, his arms around he waist, and she presses a kiss to his lips, gently at first, but as it often does, it deepens and grows urgent.

“Gross!”

They pull apart to see Ellie walking by the porch, her bag slung over her shoulders “Go inside, please.” But she waves as she jogs off, and Joel waves back.

“That’s a good idea,” his love says, looking back to him. “Let’s go inside and I’ll show you just how much you mean to me.”

He stands up, holding her in his arms like a bride, and walks towards the door.

“The day I say no to that, darlin’, is the day I truly die.”

[howlingmod]

chance x healer reader fed up with his bullshit.. they beg for him to stop gambling and he's just "no just watch chance never loses" and then dies because their gun explodes with weakness C and they don't even care that the killer is ripping them apart they're just glaring at his body chance is the most annoying guything on EARTH and reader just puts up with his bullshit because they love him (they're going to kill him if they get unforsakened) "hey hun, so my gun MAYYY have exploded can i be healed please-" "i JUST healed you the fuck you MEAN you're bleeding out"

summary - chance x healer!reader

misc - reader has the staff of healing which is said to get power from the greek god of medicine so That's why there's mentions of praying . smile. also more pining than anything sorryyy

-Where Elliot and Dusekkar freely gave out heals, you were far more strategic with yours. It wasn't because you were heartless or didn't hear the pleas of your teammates, but with how long it took to build enough energy and use your staff, you couldn't afford to make the wrong choice. You could save someone's life last second where the others would have to hope the victim could power through.

-This didn't stop people from asking though. Usually, they were pretty understanding. Similarly to Dusekkar, using your staff required a significant amount of your own energy, energy that was better suited as a last-resort. Usually, they'd ask, understand when you declined, and then stick qround you for protection until you could find Elliot or Builderman.

-Chance was different though. He hadn't made much of an impression on you at the cabin that first time, maybe a little proud but you didn't hear enough to feel you could judge him yet. So, your very first impression of him would come when he bothered you for healing.

"Hey, you mind giving me a hand?" He smiled despite his words slipping through grit teeth. He was clutching his side, blood spilling over his hand and soaking the fabric. You heard him shamble all the way here, only waiting to ensure it was a survivor.

You'd only looked him over for a second longer before you'd nodded. He was in critical enough condition you could consider this a safe solution. Everyone had been doing well thus far and there were only a few more generators to repair.

"Stand still."

He barely had enough time to right himself, stumbling when he shot straight up, before you got to work. Instinctively, he closed his eyes, sinking into the comforting feeling washing over him. It was somewhere between warm and cold, simultaneously the cool relief of dipping into the ocean on a hot day and the burning embrace of a fire in the cold winter months. It was over too soon for him to come to a conclusion.

"You should be better now. Come see me if your wounds should start to reappear," you ordered bluntly, leaving no room for argument. You'd turned on your heel, making your way out of the delapitated building you'd hid away in.

For a few moments, he stared at your back as you left, watching you shrink into the distance. He spared a look at his side, seeing how the skin had come back together as if nothing had ever marred it in the first place. Then he looked back at you.

"Hey, wait up!"

You looked over your shoulder, finding the gambler chasing after you.

"Two's better than one, right? I'd say we've got better odds sticking together," he grinned at you, half out of breath. You only stared back, sparing him a small hum of acknowledgement, before you continued walking, him now matching your pace.

-It was a sweet enough encounter, if it weren't for all the repeats after the fact. You'd began to wonder if your staff had some sort strange psychological effects you'd never noticed before, because every time you'd heal him it seemed he made a time to show off his aim.

-You'd heal him and then shortly thereafter, he'd try and stun the killer from half a mile away as they chased someone else, and then A) he'd miss and draw the ire of the killer, B) his gun would jam, C) he would hit the target, of D) it would explode and require healing.

-It was D more often than you thought possible. The first few times you'd bit your tongue and healed him anyway, it was a dire situation and it could save his life if the killer came for the noise, but that only lasted a few times.

-Chance had taken to sticking to your side whenever you went out. You hadn't minded that much, he was fine enough company and you figured it was safer to be around someone than to be alone. It was more the chaos he brought with him that was the issue.

-He tried to tone it down after you first denied healing. His gun had worked this time but he still missed, leading the killer to tunnel in on him (and by extension you) until you two could eventually shake them off your tail. You'd been lucky enough to remain unharmed, the killer was significantly more focused on punishing Chance than you, but that didn't remove the severity of the situation.

Chance was slumped against the wall, hands clutched over his sides. He panted but refused to say anything, mouth dry with guilt. You had yet to say anything either, sitting and catching your own breath. Another hard pang of pain ripped through him and he hissed, clenching his jaw.

"Do you ... y'think you could-"

"No. I healed you earlier, you shouldn't have gotten into that situation."

He nodded stiffly, all the courge he'd used to ask leaving him.

"I'll go look for a medkit, but that's all I offer."

He nodded again, just a twitch of the head this time.

He watched you slip out the doorway and disappear, holding his breath until your footsteps vanished. Guilt ate away at his stomach with even more vigor, he could have gotten you both killed. It was lucky that they'd only gotten him, he isn't sure he could forgive himself if you got caught in the crossfire. He was being stupid, getting your attention in all the wrong ways.

-From then on, he was a little smarter about the way he acted. He wouldn't shoot the killer until he was closer, more involved, where the stun would actually matter. He'd try and keep an eye out for medkits, keeping one for himself whenever he did come across them. He helped with generators more. He tried to watch out for the killer when you were busy.

-It was a little desperate on his part, maybe a little overly sweet, but he really just wanted to make it up to you. He didn't want you to dislike him just because of a crazy misplay. He needed to get into your good graces somehow, and if that meant he had to bust his ass being cartoonishly helpful, he'd do it, no matter how embarassing.

-Even at the cabin, he'd gotten sweeter on you. He'd sit next to you at dinner, he'd go on and on with stories about his life before coming here to you, both good and bad (though you sensed even in the bad ones he embellished a few details to make himself look better).

-He'd keep you company where you'd previously stayed alone, joining you at your altar.

"You know, this kinda reminds me of this church I used to pass by all the-"

"Chance."

"My bad."

-You'd noticed the changes but hadn't said anything about it to him, not wanting to risk him changing back to being more abrasive and thrill-seeking in a bid for your favor. It was sweet, if a little corny.

-He would keep going with it, embarassing himself with overly sappy gestures until you'd finally say something to him, until some kind of progress had been made that told him it was all worth it. He could only imagine what it'd be.

-It was just another night where everyone had gathered into the main living room of the cabin, waiting for dinner to be done. You sat next to him because he insisted and he took up the whole couch himself otherwise. He did all of the talking, including you through references to things you'd done or said in the past while you relaxed. He barely even noticed when you'd gone completely still until you leaned onto him.

-He looked over, being met with shut eyes and quiet snoring. The stifled cheering and wild hand gestures were almost enough to wake you up, much to his displeasure.

[threetrenchcoatsinatrenchcoat]

Cloudward Ho predictions:

Murph pc death

rattlesnake familiar

Zac gets even hotter

Zac/Lou romance

a battle set with a working crank

a battle set that shoots steam

a battle set with a pipes puzzle they need to solve while fighting

a whip-off

the railway companies say if we can't own the clouds why don't we burn em all up

Lou seduces a machine

"see you in the clouds!"

the whole cast buys monocles

Siobhan straight up eats a live bird

a special d100 table for what happens to anyone who falls out of the sky

airship with an all-Indigenous crew

Emily makes a gun that launches other player characters

Loose Duke for some reason

Brennan hands out letters of fancy parchment

when discussing the size of a large structure, the unit of measurement is Madison Square Gardens

autistic clockwork woman

the party has no healer

Ally spends a downtime inventing the vape a century early

Erika Ishii cameo in a mech

[lauvesong]

Wah! How about medkit headcanons with a wife yn LIKE LIKE THEY MEET EACH OTHER IN PHIGHTS and he cant help but we sweet with them<3 I JUST WANT FLUFF!! LOSTS OF ITAAA

MEDKIT with a wife!reader who also competes in PHIGHTING!

a/n: im so sorry this took so long!! i LOVED this prompt so much i love writing medkit… ik u wanted hcs but i couldnt help but want to write a short fic 🥺🥺

MEDKIT..stoic, strict MEDKIT. always the one to scold a phighter during the matches for their foolishness and lack of spacial awareness.

you were a RANGED phighter, quick on your feet and easily stationed for battle, so it was rare for MEDKIT to see you at his little healing camp.

..until HYPERLASER spotted you sniping at his teammates.

you looked up to see his gun aimed directly at your goggles. despite your “quick feet,” you weren’t quick enough to dodge the blinding beam that hit you.

stumbling backwards, you immediately ran towards the closest healer on your team. SUBSPACE was not the ideal choice, so unfortunately you had to run across the entire map, searching desperately for a medic whilst dodging BAN HAMMER’S aggression, KATANA’S skill, and the most annoying of all, COIL.

you knew you were done for, until you spotted a familiar teal glow from behind a wall. BOOMBOX was wincing with each step and beat he made as he ran from the corner. he had slight gunshot holes on his shirt and tie, and you knew. it was him.

scurrying to the corner while carrying your heavy weapon, you crashed into a familiar figure , taking both of you down. as MEDKIT opened his mouth, about to scold and yell at you, he stopped.

MEDKIT stood up, brushing the dirt off of his clothes as he crossed his arms while glaring at you. “what are you doing here?” he questioned, eyes sharp as daggers; behind them was a glint of worry and softness.

quickly, you rambled to him about HYPERLASER and how you got injured. pinching the bridge of his nose, MEDKIT took your arm and dragged you towards a stone for you to sit on.

you gulped, bracing yourself for the pain of MEDKIT’S gunfire. squeezing your eyes closed, you held your breath and puffed your cheeks out. MEDKIT removed your goggles, gently placing them in his briefcase.

you pondered why he didn’t just heal you immediately, the easy way. opening your eyes, you saw him patching up your wounds carefully, handling you as if you were glass.

“you need to be more careful,” he stated. behind his strict demeanor, was that man you loved so deeply worrying about you. he had lost so much, and you certainly won’t be a part of that.

his fingers grazed across the bandages, you felt the cool metal of the wedding band on your skin. gently, MEDKIT took your hand in his as he spoke, “i know a spot where they won’t hurt you. you’ll have a better chance at hitting the enemy without having to come back to me.” MEDKIT helped you up, leading you to the area he spoke of.

when you reached said place, MEDKIT helped you get onto the platform, handing you your weapon as well. MEDKIT always struggled with words of affection and love, but you could see in his eyes that he cared for you deeply. he kissed your hand gently before he departed to go back to his regular healing duties.

oh, you loved him so much.

[peanutpinet]

Im really loving your sylus x innocent mc stories!! I was wondering what if Innocent Mc is sick or gotten hurt while Sylus is in the middle of a business deal, and when he finds out, he immediately leaves to go take care of mc. 🥺💖

Healer - Sylus x Sick Innocent Fem Reader

A/N: hi anon, thank you for being patient!! I have a lil something for you and for everyone especially with the 3.0 update! I won't spill anything so I hope you all enjoy reading this little fic and thank you for reading!

Disclaimer: I do not own the images nor the characters or you (the MC). All images were taken from Pinterest and credit goes to the image's respective owners.

Warnings: threatening, blood

If Sylus could just kill everyone in the room and be done for the day, he would. But unfortunately, there was nothing that was reasonable enough to do so.

Luke and Kieran told him about “highly” businessman that wanted to make a deal regarding the protocores Sylus had. Saying that he’s willing to invest in the business that Sylus had going around if he were to be given a fraction of Sylus’ protocore collection. Of course, Sylus knew what this man specifically wanted. As much as he wants this to end quickly to get to you, Sylus loves to make his victims pretend that they got the upper hand before he turn the tables.

But the more this meeting drags on, Sylus realised something. You didn’t text him at all today. You just told him that you had to go into town for some errands but that was at 8am while it was already 5pm and there had been none information regarding you for the past 9 hours which is unheard of throughout your relationship with Sylus since the beginning.

Though Sylus already sent the twins and mephisto to look for you, he was still restless. Sylus tries to think of all other more “reasonable” scenarios. Maybe you forgot to bring your charger and your phone died in the middle of the day. Maybe you were at a friend’s place and you left your phone on do not disturb or perhaps…

His thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a bad feeling when he heard the twins chatter loudly when he was at the end of the hall in the meeting room.

Without thinking, Sylus bolted out of the meeting room, immediately telling the business partner he’ll rearrange another meeting. When his business partner was threatening him, Sylus didn’t hesitate to point his gun at them. “Accept my offer to reschedule while I’m being sane unless you want me to expose all of your dirty little secrets to the world? I’m sure with how the taxes to everything increasing, it’s going to be hard to get the materials you need without my help”

Luckily, his business partner held both his hands up in defeat, making Sylus smirked. “Wise decision”. Sylus signalled his other men to handle his business partner and his men while he went to see what happened to you.

Sylus knew that no matter what, Luke and Kieran would always bring you back to your shared bedroom. It was practically a sacred place for the both of you. A safe haven, a place where the two of you can be yourself, took care one another, and spend time to be with each other.

Sylus felt the walk down the hall back to his shared bedroom felt further than usual. Halfway through the hallways, Mephisto perched itself on Sylus’ shoulder, cawing at its owner as if it was trying to give Sylus a heads up.

However, before Mephisto could show Sylus anything, the door to his shared room with you was opened and it revealed Luke and Kieran who looked worried despite the masks they wore. “Boss…” the twins let out a soft sigh of relief seeing Sylus came.

“Care to fill me in on what happened?” Sylus questioned his two most trusted men, knowing that these twins cared for you just as much as he did (Sylus definitely still cared for you the most)

“There was blood, boss” Kieran started, and it sent chills throughout Sylus’ body. “Yeah. We didn’t know how it happened. When you told us to find the miss, we didn’t expect there’d be blood” Luke added on

“She also started moving in a dizzy way” Kieran pointed out “She almost fainted when we brought her back. We don’t know how to help stop the bleeding” Luke added on more and by now Sylus couldn’t take it and barged into the room, leaving the twins in the hallway

“Sweetie?!” Sylus called out to you and hearing your groan, he immediately went to the bed, seeing you bundled under layers of bed covers and blanket “It hurts sy…” you whimpered and Sylus didn’t waste time to get into bed and pulled you to him. “Tell me what happened, where does it hurt? How much blood did you lose?”

Sylus gently stroke your head, kissing your forehead and allowing you to snuggled closer to his large body. “J-just, just like every other month”

It was then Sylus realised what actually happened and immediately checked his phone. Noticing the reminder, Sylus let out an annoyed sigh “Those twins…they almost made me pull my heart out”

“Sy…” you mumbled and Sylus snapped back at your weaken self

“I know sweetie. I know. You lay back down yeah? I’ll have the chef immediately cook you some warm soup and I’ll bring painkillers” Sylus gently laid you back, pulling up the layers of blanket to keep you warm, kissing your forehead again

“Are you angry?” you managed to asked despite your weak state

“You had me worried a bit but I can never be angry at you, sweetie. What happened to your phone though?” Sylus asked

“I forgot to charge it last night and was only 15% left when I went out. M’sorry” you mumbled, trying to sleep while Sylus shook his head, caressing your cheek

“I understand sweetie. You were out of it since last night. I’m sorry I didn’t notice. I’ll help make sure that your phone is always charged but for now, you try to rest a bit more while I get you some warm soup and painkillers along with your favorite sweets then I’ll cuddle you until you’re better”

Sylus placed one last gentle kiss on your forehead before leaving the room to get the things he said he would get.

“So?! Did you manage to stop the bleeding boss?” Luke asked

“If he looked calmer now, everything must be okay with the miss, right?” Kieran asked as well

Sylus stopped in his tracks before giving the twins a side glare. “You two, my office now. Once I’m back, I’ll make sure the two of you are educated and understand the human anatomy of a woman and her struggles of bleeding every single month”

The twins had never seen their boss looked so serious and menacing towards them which meant they had made a grave mistake. “W-what do you mean boss?” the twins asked as Sylus turned around, his aether core was practically glowing a crimson red colour. “She was on her damn period yet the two of you made it sound like she was bleeding to death! I swear if any of you give me this kind of heart attack again, I’ll have to start cutting your allowances”

The twins rushed to Sylus’ office in fear and started to look up about period, educating themselves everything about it while Sylus took care of you. It’s safe to say that by the next crack of dawn, the twins would understand more about periods and how they could help you if it happened again when Sylus wasn’t around.

A/N: yup, was about periods LMAO

[the-odd-shu]

No one is coming to save me (Silco x Reader)

Part 1 -> Next Part

Masterlist:

If you prefer to read on Ao3, you can find the fic here!

Word Count: 8k

Summary: In Zaun, it’s kill or be killed. Take or be taken from. Get up or stay down and expect to die. But for some reason, the brothers working The Last Drop aren’t like the rest of the city, and you don’t understand why.

Reader uses they/them pronouns.

The bones of your knuckles jerked painfully when they collided hard with the Enforcer’s jaw. You heard and felt the hinge of his jaw joint crack and pop as the blow dislocated it. The man howled, hands dropping his gun to fly up to cradle his limply hanging mouth. 

He left his side open, so you took the opportunity and drove your knee up and into it. The breath punched from his lungs. His lower jaw swung up from the force of the blow and slammed his teeth deep into his tongue. Blood sprayed across the alley wall. 

He dropped to his knees, wheezing and groaning, beside his companions. Two more Enforcers, bleeding out from stab wounds, one with your knife still driven deep into his belly. Leaving it embedded there would give him more time to be saved. But your own world was also spinning too fast for you to stoop and tug it free. 

Across from you, Sevika finished up with her own Enforcer, and annoyingly looked to be in much better shape than you. That was probably because she did the whole fighting thing as a job, whilst you merely stumbled through poorly memorised moves in a desperate attempt to keep on breathing.

“You good over there, Runt?” She called, before spitting out a glob of red phlegm. 

You wrinkled your nose at her. “Fine.” You returned simply, refusing to admit that your stomach was killing you. The moment the last Enforcer had gone down, you’d wrapped your arm tightly across it, feeling the familiar burn of a stab wound shift under the pressure. The blade hadn’t been very long, so you were fairly certain you’d be fine anyway.

“Good.” Sevika continued, “I don’t want to waste time dragging you to a healer.” She glanced up and down the alley for effect. “This was fun, same time next week?” “Only if we meet somewhere warm where Enforcers won’t decide to take a swing at us.” You argued, to which she huffed a humourless laugh out of her nose.

Where Sevika revelled in violence, you preferred to avoid it where you could. Medical supplies were expensive, even on this side of the river after all; crappy as they were. 

“Noted. See you around, Runt.” She saluted you, before she turned sharply on her heel and began striding away. “Don’t linger.” She added over her shoulder, “when they don’t return home on time, more will come.” “I know!” You snapped back, but she was already gone.

Huffing out a tired breath, you turned to take the opposite exit out of the alleyway. Every step was agony, but you were of the stubborn sort. And dying here wasn’t an option. 

The streets passed by in a blur of green lights and quiet chatter once you slipped out of the alley. It was late enough that all but the red light district were beginning to close their storefronts for the night. 

You tried to straighten up once you entered your neighbourhood. Aware of the thugs that lurked around these parts. Any signs of injury or weakness, was a sure fire way to end up backed into a second alley to be shaken down of anything valuable. 

You were planning to return to your place, tucked above the sushi bar. To the quiet, one room apartment that housed your mattress on the floor and a small box of personal items. But then you caught a whiff of something delicious smelling wafting out of the ajar door of The Last Drop, and all thoughts of sleep and patching yourself up swiftly took a backseat. There was nothing more miserable than laying in bed, injured and hungry after all.

The establishment was quiet at this time of night, but no less welcoming. Vander just had that effect on people though. He was an oddity in Zaun. Kind, where most were brittle and suspicious. Warm, where he should be defensive and distant.

Despite hardly knowing you outside of a strict bartender and client relationship, he always welcomed you into his establishment regardless of the hour or the state you were in. It was almost guaranteed that he would offer up a warm bowl of leftovers from the kitchen, regardless of if you had coin on you or not. 

So yeah, Vander was an oddity down here on this side of the river, but he was also a god sent. 

Shouldering open the heavy door, the warmth of the quiet bar washed over you, like a tender hand pushing your hair back from your face. For one blissful moment, the pain of your stomach and throbbing knuckles ebbed away to make room for the quiet lul of ‘Our Love’ playing softly on the jukebox in the back, and the smell of something hearty and homey drifting through the air, with only a slight undertone of stale alcohol. 

Vander’s soothing voice called your name from behind the bar, a hand raised in greeting as if you wouldn’t see him amongst the empty tables and chairs and only two other people in the building. Backlit by the yellow overhead light, he looked genuinely happy to see you, which was also odd.

“About time you showed up,” Vander continued to speak in a cheerful tone, “I was beginning to think you’d finally curled up in an alley somewhere to die.” You snorted, the sound obnoxious and loud against the soft melody of the music. Oh how close he was to being right. 

“You wish.” You returned good naturedly. Arm still wrapped tightly over your bleeding stomach, you strode towards the bar.

Silco had his back to you as he scribbled in one of his notebooks, a sweating glass spreading condensation on the countertop before him. Whilst Felicia turned on her elbow to grin at you over her shoulder, her purple braid sliding off of her shoulder to hang down her back.

The sparkle in her eye had your hackles raising as they often did around her. She was a playful spirit, eager to poke and prod the bear to see how far she could push it before it snapped. It was unfortunate that more often than not you were the bear in almost every scenario. 

“Oh great, your stray cat decided to wander home for dinner, Vander.” She mused, tone light and jolly despite her choice of words. “I hope you’ve got something left over.”

You felt your expression tighten ever so subtly at the light jab.  “Fuck you, Felicia.” You ground out with no real bite. A reflexive greeting at this point.

Her grin only grew, eyes practically lighting up with mirth. 

“But you are kind of like a cat, aren’t you? Mangy little thing like you. Always getting into fights and hiding in dark corners. Sweet on one person in particular, or the guy offering you food.” 

Okay, ouch, that was slightly sharper than usual. 

And to top it off, Vander was merely watching the pair of you interact instead of playing referee like he usually would. Whereas Silco hadn’t even looked up from his notebook, his pencil still scratching away at whatever he was working on.

You fixed Felicia with an unimpressed glare, “you’re in a pleasant mood this evening? Something unpleasant crawl up your ass by any chance?” 

With great care, you pulled the stool beside her out from under the counter, and clambered up onto it. The movement pulled at the split skin of your stomach and made the wound ooze, but you’d wandered around with worse in the past. This wasn’t the kind of injury that would knock you out any time soon, it was bleeding too sluggishly, and so long as you didn’t do anything stupid like running, it would keep until you trundled home with a full belly. 

Felicia wrinkled her nose as you sat, eyes tracking your careful movements, but she did not comment. Stood behind her own stool, twirling the straw of a cup of orange juice, she suddenly broke eye contact. 

Her previous bravado spluttered out as she absently muttered under her breath, “oh nothing. I just found out I’m pregnant is all.”

Your eyes promptly bugged out of your head at the casual admission. Any thoughts of wounds, and food promptly took a backseat, as you spun your stool to study your friend, and only then did you see the slant of her shoulders, the bravado that was just a touch too strong to be real. “Oh shit-!” you blurted out, before the words promptly failed you. Scrambling for support, your eyes jumped across the bar, only to find that Vander had suddenly vanished into the back, and then to Silco at the other end of the counter, who was calmly sipping at his drink, expression carefully blank. Something about his calmness struck a nerve in you. 

“You knew!?” You accused sharply, and his eyes widened in shock at suddenly being addressed.

He recovered quickly. “Oh don’t play up the wounded party, she told us just moments before you stumbled in the door.” He dropped his gaze, and began to stare at his notebook again. He didn’t pick up his pencil again, nor did he really begin reading over his notes. His eyes were stuck at one point on the page, instead of tracking along the lines of messy handwriting. Guilty. The actions read, and you felt yourself frown.

Felicia was back to grinning when you snapped your head back to her. “How far along are you?” You blurted. You didn’t know anything about kids, and had never been around a pregnant person before. Didn’t she need to sit down? Were pregnant people allowed to drink juice? Why wasn’t anyone freaking out?

Felicia snorted outright at your expression then, the sound helping to ground you. 

“A couple of weeks, I think.” She said simply, “I was late this month, and low and behold, this is why.” “Okay.” You said, and then blurted, like an idiot. “Are we keeping it?”

Felicia’s grin morphed into something gleeful and predatory. “We?” She parrotted back. 

You backtracked like your life depended on it. “You!” You corrected, desperately schooling your expression into something smooth and calm - you knew you were failing. “Are you planning to keep it?” Felicia’s smile did not change. “Don’t just dart away from that misstep,” she teased, “you do consider yourself our friend after all!”

It was an old argument. One where you stubbornly refused to admit that the trio had grown on you during your evenings spent here in their presence, and one that Felicia reveled in trying to prove you wrong with your own actions.

Like the time Vander cut his arm open on a broken bottle, and you’d stupidly turned up to the bar an hour later with a freshly stolen bottle of disinfectant from across the bridge. The good kind. The one that would’ve cost anyone their month’s salary to obtain.

Or the time, Felicia had fallen ill for several days, and you’d turned up to her door to ensure she hadn’t keeled over and died. To which she had mocked you viciously, between bouts of coughing under her partner’s exasperated gaze. 

She was grinning even now as you disregarded her claim, and scrambled for an excuse. “I’m asking because I linger around this place too. And if I’m going to continue to exist in this place nine months from now, I have the right to know if little goblins are going to begin popping out of the woodwork.”

Silco huffed into his drink, but neither of you acknowledged him. Felicia only met your gaze with open fondness in her expression.

“Yes, I think I am keeping her.” She said absently, “though I haven’t told Connol yet.” “Ah.” “Yeah.” The silence that momentarily sizzled between you was heavy. “Do you need some to go with you when you tell him?” You offered, like a dumbass. Stupidly showing your hand to her for the second time in one night.

To your surprise, the offer wasn’t met with amusement or ribbing. Felicia’s smile was suddenly small and genuine. “No, I’ll be okay.” She said simply. 

And you nodded, because she would be. She had chosen a good man after all. Connol wouldn’t blow up about something like this. He was the quiet kind. And you knew he genuinely loved Felicia, simply from observing how the pair existed in each other's presence. No, she would be absolutely fine, you knew.

“Okay,” you relented easily, before adding, “but if you need someone to smack him upside the head, you know where to find me.” She shook her head at that. “Uh, no, I don’t actually, because no one can ever pin you down, unless you’re here. And even then, your visits are too infrequent and far between, for me to predict when you’ll actually show up.” It was your turn to grin then. “How else do you think I’ve survived this long?” Vander chose then to duck out of the kitchen, a bowl of something steaming in one hand and a spoon in the other. “I’d like to think my hospitality and good cooking has helped you a little.” He joked, setting the bowl down before you with little flourish.

He must have seen the hunger in your gaze, because he didn’t even make you ask for it or to use your manners tonight. With little fanfare, he pushed the bowl towards you, set the spoon down, and then slid a napkin over.

You thanked him regardless, and eagerly dove in. The soup was warm as it went down, thick and flavourful, with carrot chunks breaking up the thick texture every now and again. The soothed the gnawing of your gut, and the warmth eased some of the pain of your muscles. 

You were still bleeding sluggishly, but it didn’t hurt as bad as it had. 

Vaguely, you could hear the other three falling back into easy conversation. They’d spent enough time in one another's company for it to be familiar. Between working elbow to elbow in the mines, and wasting their evenings away in the bar, you couldn’t exactly blame them. 

Even Silco spoke up every now and again. Chipping in when the conversation lulled to jab playfully at Vander, or correct one of Felicia’s teasing remarks to make it land even a touch more effectively. They had a weird dynamic from an outside perspective, but after being slowly but gradually absorbed into their bubble over the past few months, you could see now how beautifully they worked together.

It kind of made you wonder where you fit into the jigsaw puzzle sometimes. You certainly weren’t around enough to be a reliable friend, which definitely played into Felicia’s stray cat analogy. But when you did turn up, sometimes after days or a week of no contact, they welcomed you back as if you’d never left. As if you just fit. 

They were strange people really. And perhaps that was what had initially intrigued you enough to stick around in the beginning. 

Your spoon scraped the bottom of the bowl, and you realised with a start that you had already eaten all of it. Gods did Vander make a mean soup, you would’ve gladly eaten another two bowls of it without complaint.

Setting your spoon down in the bowl, you quietly pushed both away, before dabbing at your mouth with the napkin. That too was deposited into the waiting bowl. 

The warmth of the food and the calm of the atmosphere was definitely getting to you now. The soothing melody of ‘Our Love’ had trailed off somewhere during your conversation with Felicia, and had morphed into another slow, jazzy number. The combination of the music, the warmth, and the safety of having people you trusted only an arms breadth away, had your eyes dropping and your head slowly but surely dipping lower and lower towards the counter.

The other three were too engrossed in their conversation to pay much mind to you, which worked in your favour. Resting your arm on the counter, you allowed yourself to slowly slump forward, pressing your forehead down into your forearm as a makeshift pillow. Eyes slipping closed, you spared half a thought to tighten your other arm around your belly in a futile attempt to keep more of your blood inside. The pressure from your curled up position should stem the bleeding long enough for you to have a quick power nap, and then you could slip out to patch yourself up and have a proper, long sleep. 

It was just too nice of an atmosphere to leave now. 

Your eyelids slipped closed. You heard your bowl being taken away, heard glasses clink and the trio lower their voices even more. How considerate.

“Silco, give me your jacket.” “Why my jacket? Use your jacket?” A beat of silence.

“Do you see my jacket lying around anywhere?”

Quiet grumbling.

Soft footsteps, the rustling of fabric. 

The sound of a boot stepping into a puddle. 

The quiet conversation in the background abruptly cut off. 

“Did someone spill their beer there earlier?” Vander’s voice filtered in amongst the fuzz of sleep. More rustling, the whisper of a washcloth being picked up.

The sound of boots squelching once more as their owner’s weight shifted. A voice close to your side. “Vander, you didn’t have any orders for cranberry juice tonight, did you?” “Course not. You know we’re waiting for the next shipment.” Movement. Skin-warmed leather being placed carefully over your shoulders. Someone crouching down by the foot of your stool.

“It’s blood.” Silco’s voice was weirdly blank. 

“Shouldn’t be. There were no fights tonight.” Felicia spoke up. 

More silence. And it was so quiet, that you actually heard the sound of a heavy bead of liquid dripping into an existing puddle. 

The arm cinched around your waist was numb from the pressure of having your torso curled tightly over it. 

“Shit.” Silco swore, voice weirdly weak and breathless. And then hands were on your shoulders, trying to rouse you. You groaned as the movement jolted your stomach, and threatened to pull you out of your pleasant drifting state.

“-fuck off…” you tiredly grumbled, shoving your face further into the warmth and pleasant darkness of your forearm.

“Silco.” Vander began to reprimand, “don’t wake them, I’ll clean it up later-”

“It’s their blood, Vander. They’re bleeding.” Silco sharply returned, and then his shaking became more insistent. You grumbled louder. He didn’t let up. And then there was a larger hand gently tapping your fingers splayed on the counter. A presence right in front of you. Boxing you in.

Awareness slammed back into you, and you shot upright, hands shooting out to scramble at the bar counter, when you almost launched yourself completely off of your stool. Vander, who had been standing across from you, startled backwards, whilst Silco suddenly appeared at your elbow to steady you. The latter’s hands were slim but firm on your bicep, his jacket sliding off of your shoulders and thudding heavily to the floor.

Felicia hovered on the verge of your vision. Horror painted plainly on her expression as she stared at the counter. Blinking awareness back into your vision, you followed her gaze to find bruising knuckles, and your bloodied hand leaving smears across the freshly cleaned wood. Your sleeve was entirely soaked through with scarlet, <i>so much</i> scarlet, that it had dripped downwards with gravity to drip off your fingertips. 

“Shit. Fuck.” You blurted, yanking the hand off the wood to try and stem the mess it was making, only for the evidence of its presence to be plainly left behind. “Sorry, I didn’t think I was bleeding that bad.” You sheepishly chuckled, voice strained and stomach throbbing.

Silco’s hand was still wrapped around your bicep, and didn’t seem to be in a hurry to let go as you glanced down to the floor to see a small puddle of blood at the foot of your stool too. Shit, that was embarrassing. What a mess.

The adrenaline of such an abrupt wake up had completely banished all thoughts of rest and sleep from your face, as you turned back to Vander and very evenly asked for the mop. He stared back at you as if you were an enigma, instead of a patron willingly asking for the tools to clean up their own mess. Honestly, what kind of establishment was he even running here? If you had bled all over the counter at the pub down the road, the owner would be using your face to clean up the spill. 

“You’re still fucking bleeding, you idiot!” Felicia barked, promptly shattering whatever weird tension had kept everyone rooted to the spot. 

Her sharp tone had your hackles rising like usual. Your eyebrows drew tightly together, as you snapped your attention to her, as she pushed off of the counter and hurriedly rounded the end to stoop for the cupboard Vander kept the first aid kit in - when had you hung around so often that you seemed to just know that anyway?

“Well, I’m sorry.” You snapped back, “if I had known it was this much, I would’ve left right after finishing the food instead of nodding off.” Reeling back in the bite in your tone, you very seriously turned back to Vander, who was staring at you in disbelief. “Sorry again about all this,” you motioned to the blood everywhere with your less bloody hand, “I’ll clean it up before I go, I swear.”

Your words finally snapped Vander out of his stupor. “I’m not mad about the mess.” He said evenly. 

Your brows furrowed. “You’re-, not?”

“No.” He said evenly. “But I am royally pissed that you didn’t mention you were injured beforehand.” Your expression shuttered at that. “Because it’s none of your business.” Silco sucked in a breath at that. As if you’d said something wrong. 

Vander’s expression mirrored your assumption. His brows drawing together, and his arms beginning to cross, as if he was standing firm. “Under my roof,” he began, tone reminiscent of a dad lecturing his unruly child, “your welfare is my business.”

You squinted back at him. “You’re so fucking strange sometimes.” You mumbled.

Vander just shook his head and motioned to Silco. And like clockwork, the pair worked in unison to hoist you off of your bar stool and onto the counter. You yelped at the change of position, at the ease in which Vander lifted you, and the careful way Silco offered back up support. 

“I could’ve done it!” You protested, feeling like a reprimanded child now that you were sat on the lip of the counter, legs hanging over the edge.

“Best not to move you too much.” Vander replied evenly, “don’t want anything tearing because you can’t swallow your pride.” You glared down at him, as Felicia returned with the first aid kit, her own expression stern as she came to stand on the side of the bar Vander was on.

Behind you, you heard Silco redirecting his attention to his fallen jacket, whilst the duo before you levelled you with a look that had every instinct within you wanting to shrivel up and hide.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Felicia snapped, her expression screaming ‘I’m mad at you’.

“Like what?” You bit back.

“Like you’re going to bolt.” 

You raised your eyebrows challengingly, but Vander set his heavy hand on your knee before you could so much as shift. “Ignore her, she’s just worried.” He soothed, his deep voice level and stern. “Now, show me where you’re bleeding.”

It wasn’t a request. 

Expression set into a scowl, you carefully pulled your jacket open, to display the blood stain gradually spreading across the front of your threadbare shirt. Huh, that was a lot more blood than you’d been expecting. Earlier, it had only been a line of red, and now most of your stomach was sticky from the shirt clinging to your wet skin. 

Felicia sucked in a sharp breath. Vander’s expression didn’t change. 

Shrugging off the jacket entirely, you pulled the shirt up next, and let that flop down with a wet splat on the counter beside you. It was just warm enough in the bar for your skin to not break out in goosebumps from the cold. Although you did feel very uncomfortable, being examined by the bartender and a mouthy woman you might decide to call your friend one day, with a third potential friend lingering behind you somewhere.

Behind you, you could hear Silco puttering around the place. Could hear him stride up to the front door of the establishment and flick the lock, before tugging down the blinds. 

Your attention was wrestled back to the present when Felicia promptly took the reins. It quickly became apparent that she had more medical knowledge between her and Vander as she began examining and then cleaning your stab wound. Leaning back on your hands to give her more space, you glared up at the ceiling as she worked and Vander assisted her.

The ghost of fingertips on your skin was an odd sensation. It wasn’t violent, or predatory, or unkind, but nor was it soothing or nice. It just felt odd. Unless you were in a fight or stuck in the middle of a crowd, you weren’t touched a lot and certainly not like you were something worth being careful with.

“What happened?” Vander spoke up suddenly, snapping you back to the moment at hand. And unfortunately, drawing your attention to the feeling of a needle dipping into and out of your skin. Your teeth ground together at the pinching sensation, but it was by no means the worse pain you've dealt with tonight. 

Resolutely glaring at the ceiling, you kept your response short. “Ran into some blue bellies.” “Oh.” Vander prompted, encouraging you to elaborate.

“I was with Sevika. They wrongly thought we were the right people to fuck with.” The words came out easily, but felt weird being spoken in the setting of the bar. You didn’t talk about yourself here. You rarely mentioned friends or colleagues to these people. Hardly spoke about yourself at all really, besides the fact that you liked Vander’s cooking and loved to have verbal spars with Felicia regardless of how tired you were.

Vander sighed. “You know this will have repercussions right-?” “What did you want me to do?” You snapped back, fixing him with a venomous glare. “Let them threaten me with my own knife, whilst I sat still and looked pretty?” “Of course not-” Vander tried to soothe, only for Silco to reappear out of seemingly nowhere.

He had his jacket back on now, as he strode in from the door that led to the apartment at the back of the establishment. He had a pile of clothes in hand, which he carefully set down on a part of the counter not covered in blood.

“Did you kill them all?” He asked seriously, something sharp entering his voice. If you were delusional, or had lost a little more blood, you might have mistaken the hatred in his tone for protectiveness or concern. But of course you didn’t, because why would anyone feel protective of you? 

You tried to imagine it. Someone like Silco, who was lean and easily snappable, going up against armed and trained enforcers in your defence. It was a comical image.

Instead of dwelling on the thought, you allowed your expression to split into a dangerous grin. “None of them will be leaving that alley in a hurry if they did survive.” Silco nodded once. “Good.” He said, sounding like he meant it. With a final tug of the medical thread and a smooth snip of scissors, Felicia took a step back to examine your neatly stitched up wound. “That should hold if you’re careful.” “Thank you.” You returned easily, “just give me a few days, and I can replace the thread-” “No need.” Vander was quick to reassure. “That’s what it’s there for.” You frowned. “I don’t recall reading on the door, that stitching up patrons is one of your house policies?” “Maybe not, but it’s <i>my</i> policy.” Vander said reasonably, “just like I’m going to insist you change into these,” he pushed the clothes towards you, “and stay the night.” You outright snorted then. “Yeah, no, that’s how people end up dead.”

Vander, like the good man he was, did not take offence to what you were implying. “Somehow, I feel like you’ll be safer staying here for the night, than going back out there like this.” He reasoned sensibly. “You’ll have access to food, and pain medication, and I’ll even upgrade you to the bedroom with the lockable door.” “Oh how generous.” You drooled back. 

“He’s not joking, you know.” Silco spoke up once more from behind you. You glanced back to find he had picked up his notebook and pencil, with the latter now tucked behind his ear. “Until that wound scabs over, you’re not going anywhere.” You scoffed. “You can’t keep me here.” “No.” Silco agreed, “but he’s the kind of man to send people out to keep tabs on you if you do disappear.” You turned back to Vander, expression searching. Unapologetically, he shrugged. “Can’t help that I care about my friends.” He said by way of explanation. 

You liked to pretend it was against your will that you did in fact stay the night. You liked to think that you bargained and bitched enough to almost make them relent, but in reality, you were exhausted. The clothes you changed into were a little big on you, but they were warm and clean. And it turned out that the room you were shown to did in fact have a lock on the back, and a comfortable bed.

It had to be one of their rooms, but you were too tired to pick out any personal effects. If anything, you were more amazed that the little room had a window with <i>closable</i> blinds, rather than who it belonged to. 

>_<

You knew there was a good reason why you never told Vander who you spent your days with when you weren’t free loading off of his business. You knew it was smarter not to mention anyone outside of the bar. It was a shame you hadn’t stuck to your gut whilst bleeding out that one night.

Sevika’s name had slipped out by accident. And had been such a fleeting moment, you’d assumed he hadn’t really clocked it. Let alone recognise it. But no, you just had to fall in with the nosy sort. And even better, the nosy sort with connections.

Otherwise you wouldn’t be in this situation, having just finished a job with Sevika, knuckles freshly bloodied, and your breath sawing in and out of you, only for your comrade to abruptly turn to you and ask how you knew Vander.

Your heart had just about dropped out of your ass.

“Why are you asking?”

“Because he was asking around for you.” She said simply, as if two worlds had not just collided. As if you hadn’t just had the sickening realisation that somehow Sevika and Vander KNEW each other. Or at least orbited similar enough social circles for their paths to cross.

You had to work very hard to keep your expression neutral as your mind raced and tripped over itself, trying to figure out why Vander would be looking for you of all people. 

You hadn’t done anything different. You hadn’t stepped on toes in his area of the neighbourhood. Not to mention, your injury had been weeks ago, the wound neatly scarring. He and Felicia had stopped asking after it a week or so ago. There was no reason for him to be asking after you. 

“Did he mention why he was looking for me?” You asked super calmly. 

Sevika shook her head. “No, just asked for me to send you his way if I came across you.”

“Okay, that’s weird.” You said, more to yourself than Sevika, who hummed in agreement.

“Very.” Sevika agreed, and then she turned serious “But a word to the wise, don’t keep him waiting if you know what’s good for you. Vander may act like a docile little teddy bear, but he’s still got claws.”

And just like that, you were presented with a glimpse of how the rest of the Undercity viewed Vander. Of his reputation of being that dangerous, over protective kind of guy. The kind of guy that had the Enforcers steering clear of his bar and the streets that coiled around it. It matched up well with the image you’d had of him before you’d gotten to know him.

“Well then, we done here?” You prompted, suddenly anxious to get to the bar and tell Vander to stop spreading your name around. That’s how people get noticed. That’s how people end up with targets on their back.

Sevika made a show of counting out the bills in her hand stolen from some Enforcer’s pocket. It had been a quiet day out in the furthest reaches of the Lanes, fucking with Enforcer patrols to make money and occupy yourselves. 

“Yeah, just about.” She agreed, before cleanly splitting the money in two and shoving half of the wad towards you.

“What? Not going to deal me out of a few notes? Take a personal bonus again?” You ribbed before smartly taking the offered cash and promptly tucking it into one of the inner pockets of your jacket. 

She snorted. “No. You did good today, Runt.” Was all she said, before pocketing her own cash, and leaving with a quick ruffle of your hair. 

You watched her go with a fond wrinkle of your nose. What a strange woman. Yet another oddity living amongst the Lanes of Zaun, but could you really be surprised at this point? It almost felt like you were becoming a magnet for the kinder folks of the city. Odd.

Money safely tucked out of sight, you stuffed your hand into your pockets and headed for the heart of the city, towards the glowing, green sign of The Last Drop. It was perhaps an hour or two before the establishment opened for the night in preparation for the miners who would be crawling out of their work sites, and the more criminal side of the city beginning to awaken.

The door was unlocked when you pushed on it, so you let yourself in.

As it often was at this time of afternoon, the bar within was practically deserted. The tables neatly wiped down, condiments lined up in uniform formation, chairs tucked under tables, the carpet recently cleaned. 

A lone figure stood behind the bar, polishing glasses, his back to the door and you, but you knew he’d heard the door open regardless.

“I heard you’re looking for me.” You called, as you strode confidently up to the counter.

Vander turned smoothly on his heel, a grin already tugging at his lip. His five o’clock shadow was beginning to darken his jawline already, which was strange, considering he openly hated the feeling of the tiny bristles beginning to poke through. “Ah good, you’re here.” “That I am.” You agreed, before pulling out a stool and smoothly dropping into it. It was the same one you usually took, thankfully without the blood splatter today. “Although, I wasn’t expecting to be called to heel like some common dog, want to tell me what that was about?”

At the very least, he had the decency to look guilty. “Yeah, sorry about that. I didn’t know how else to get ahold of you.”

Okay, fair enough. You could give him that. You were a difficult individual to pin down after all. “It’s fine, just don’t make it a habit.” You warned. “But it must have been serious, if you felt the need to invite me in instead of allowing me to make my way over on my own time.”

He shook his head at your theatrics. Then seemed to collect himself. Turning fully towards you, he set down his cleaned glass, tossed his rag over his shoulder, and fixed you with a very serious look that had you instinctively straining in your chair. “Look, you know I love our little social calls, but today I need a favour.”

Oh. 

You weren’t entirely sure why that struck a chord in you, but you made sure to cover it up regardless. So today wasn’t going to be fun, that was fine. If Vander finally wanted to make your presence in his establishment useful, who were you to push back.

“I see,” you said evenly, sitting back against the small backrest of the stool before crossing your arms. You tucked the sour feeling in your chest behind an amused smirk. “Oh, please do tell. What exactly could the Hound of the Underground, the Beastly Bartender of The Last Drop, need from little old me.”

Vander huffed quietly and shook his head at you. He stood on his own two feet behind the bar, and yet he still seemed to tower over you. “You’ve done your research.” He commented evenly.

You tipped your head to the side and shrugged noncommittally. “Eh, it’s hard to ignore whispers when they’re directly hissed into your ear.” You dismissed easily, before purposefully catching his gaze. “But seriously, what is it?” Vander huffed again, this time more heavily. More tiredly. He seemed to gather himself. “It’s about Silco.”

Your breath stuttered on its way into your nose. You felt yourself freeze up as your mind violently thrust you into horrifying scenarios of all the ways said man could have horrendously died in the short time since you’d last seen him.

“Is he okay?” You asked carefully, not entirely sure if you managed to keep all of the panic out of your voice. 

Vander’s own expression blanched as he no doubt understood how his phrase had come across. “Yes. Yes! He’s fine! More or less.” He was quick to reassure, almost with a frantic urgency. You found your breath came a little easier with the admission. “A little roughed up from a mine collapsing on us, but he’s okay. I just need someone to watch him.”

You blinked at him.

Vander winced back at you.

You unfolded your arms so that you could rub harshly at the bridge of your nose with a forefinger and thumb. “Vander. Did you cause ripples across town, to get me to come here and babysit your brother?”

Vander smiled shakily. “Uh, friend actually. We’re not blood related.”

“You’re practically family. Even a blind man could see it.” You deadpanned, “now answer my fucking question.” “Yes, okay? Yes. And look, I <i>know</i> he can be a handful, but that’s why I need your help. I need to work the bar tonight, so I can’t be out back to make sure he’s okay. I’ve already tried to bring in Felicia, but she’s given up on him. He’s mean when he’s in pain, and with her pregnancy symptoms she has no patience to spare for him.”

It’s almost laughable how in character that sounded for Silco. 

“Just for tonight?” You checked, and Vander nodded. The crease between his eyebrows had already begun to loosen, as if he already knew your answer. But he didn’t know you that well. Did he?

You pretended to weigh the pros and cons for a few seconds more. Pulling a contemplating and then thoughtful face at random intervals to make Vander snort. To help ease some of the tension out of his shoulders.

Finally, you leant back on your stool once more, and in a very business-like tone you said, “fine, but on one condition.”

Vander played along. With a look of equal intrigue, he leaned on his elbows on the other side of the counter, his head tilting. “I’m listening,” he purred, before adding as an afterthought, “so long as it’s within reason of course.”

You tapped your chin. Once, twice, and then blurted, “I want unmonitored access to the kitchen. Any delicacy you’ve cooked up, I deserve to taste-test it. Understood?”

He almost looked surprised by your ask. As if he had been expecting you to demand something more valuable or difficult to part with. Then a sadder note entered his eyes, and you felt pinned in place. His voice was gentle when he quietly said, “you know you don’t need an excuse for me to feed you right? If you’re hungry, you don’t have to bargain for food, it’s the least I can do.” “Maybe,” you countered, trying to smoothly wipe that expression off his face. Vander’s soft concern should not be aimed at you at all. Not only do you not need it, but you don’t feel like you really deserve it. “But food willingly given, doesn’t taste as good as when it’s stolen.” He sighed tiredly. And straightened up, until he was looking down at you once again. His expression clearly said, ‘I don’t understand you, even though I’m trying to’ but he smartly kept any thoughts like that to himself. 

“This way then, little thief.” He mused, before turning on his heel to emerge from behind the counter and lead you to one of the side doors that would give you access to the private part of the building.

The little nickname sent a pang through you. Not only was it a little too close to your actual job, but it sounded weirdly fond when Vander said it like that. Shoving all those confusing feelings promptly into a mental box, you pushed back your stool and followed. 

Vander led you through the doorway and down a staircase to a set of doors on the level below. One you immediately recognised as the door to the bedroom you’d spent the night in. Whereas the others were unfamiliar. 

With confidence, Vander led the way down the hall to one of the end rooms, which opened out into a living room that sat at the foot of a second set of stairs.

The room was on the smaller side, with enough space for a couple of couches, a coffee table and a chest of drawers. A ratty brown rug covered up the cold flagstones under the foot of the coffee table and stretched out towards both couches. 

A small fire burned low in the grate at the far end of the room, whilst a figure shrouded in a red blanket sat curled up on the couch closest to the flames. Silco sat back against the arm of the chair with his notebook spread out over his knees, and his left hand was strapped up against his chest. His long, black hair was loose around his shoulders, casting his face in shadows, and yet making his blue eyes glow in the low light.

“Ah Vander, it seems you’ve tracked down a fresh nurse for me to torture.” “You’re in a better mood than when I walked Felicia out.” Vander countered.

The blanketed man on the couch merely grinned in response, and motioned with his pencil at the glass of water and non-descript pill bottle on the coffee table by his feet. “They finally decided to kick in.” “Good.” Vander said, and with a searching look over his younger brother, he turned to you, and began listing rapid fire care instruction. “He needs another round of those pills in two hours. You can get water from behind the bar, and I’ll have dinner ready at eight.” “Noted.” You easily agreed.

“Oh, and if he starts giving you a hard time, just ignore him. He’s a glut for attention.” With that last parting nugget of wisdom, Vander patted your shoulder in camaraderie before turning for the stairs.

Silco glared at his back. “Don’t be giving away all my secrets now.” He drawled like a drama queen, to which Vander took his own advice and ignored him. The click of the door closing behind him settled a stiff tension on the little living room.

You shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, suddenly unsure of yourself. You were used to existing on the edge of social groups, and had only ever been alone with Vander, and in pairs with the others of the trio. To suddenly be all alone with Silco, was embarrassingly daunting. 

The man in question, chose then to sigh obnoxiously, and look up from the notebook he was scribbling in. “Are you just going to stand there all evening?” He demanded.

You made a show of looking around at the empty couches, then threw your hands up as you scrambled for a response. “Do you need anything?” You asked, like an idiot. Of course he didn’t need anything. His medication had just kicked in. Silco did not look impressed. “No.” He said flatly. You nodded, “fine,” before turning and perching your ass on the very edge of the opposite sofa, as far from the fire and Silco as physically possible without sitting on the floor or crawling back up the stairs. You had come down here expecting a mouthy, feverish asshole, not a quiet, bitchy Silco. 

Gradually, the sound of pencil scraping across paper and the occasional pop and fizz of the fire allowed your muscles to relax. You found yourself sitting more comfortably on the couch, and taking out one of your knives to sharpen. It was a pretty little thing, with a wickedly sharp blade the length of your forefinger, and a smooth wooden handle, wrapped in medical tape for a stronger grip.

The grinding of the welt stone down the blade didn’t seem to upset Silco, so you kept at it. Sharpening both sides of the blade, before tucking it away in the sheath tucked in the back of your boot, and pulling out its twin to repeat the process. Then when that was done to a satisfying degree, you sat back and pulled your spare out of your overcoat’s inner pocket. 

That finally seemed to get a reaction out of your companion.

“How many of those could one person possibly need?” “More than I have.” You replied without looking up from your task. “There’s nothing worse than being elbow deep in a fight, ready to deal the finishing blow, only to realise you left one knife in the first fucker you stabbed, lost the next down a storm drain, and the last got smacked into the shadows.” Silco scoffed quietly. “True story by any chance.” “Embarrassingly true.” You agreed gravely, chancing a glance up at him through your lashes.

He sat more comfortably on his cushion on the opposite couch. Body lounging in a loose sprawl, rather than the uptight posture from before. His notebook had vacated to one knee instead of resting on both, whilst his pencil had been tucked behind his ear again. Had he been watching you?

Feeling caught, you flicked your gaze back down to your hands and finished sharpening your last knife. You could feel his eyes on you now, studying the way you held both knife hilt and whetstone.  

The silence had somehow morphed into something comfortable now. 

Enough for you to notice another sound entering the atmosphere. Silco’s quiet grumbling as he pushed at his loosely, sprawling hair. It was longer than you were expecting. Coming down to mid-bicep from what you could tell. 

“Need a hair tie?”

Silco paused in his irritated fussing, to glare at you. Then he pointedly glanced down to his strapped up arm. “Why yes, I would love for you to find amusement as I struggle to fix my hair one-handed! What a doll you are? Thank you for suggesting such torture!” He bitched.

You rolled your eyes. “Okay okay, you big baby.” You mused, allowing the barb to fall short. 

Sliding your knife and whetstone away, you rose from your seat with a groan.

Silco watched you with blatant mistrust in his expression, his body subconsciously leaning back into the couch backrest, away from you. 

Ignoring how he shrunk away, you exuded confidence as you strode towards the fireplace and rounded the back of his couch.

“Hairband?” “What are you doing?” He demanded, turning in place to glare up at you. His hair falling across his shoulders like a sweeping black cloak. 

“I’m going to braid it back for you.” You said simply. “Then it’ll be out of your way, and you won’t have to keep redoing it.” Silco’s scepticism seemed to lose its steam. The knot between his brows began to loosen as he relaxed at the explanation. “Oh.” He said lamely. 

You brushed him off by making a grabbing motion. “Hairband?” 

Jerkily, he held up his good hand to you, where his sleeve slid back up his arm to reveal two worn leather hair bands. You slid one off his wrist and slid it over your own hand.

“Great. Now just sit still and do whatever you usually do.”

At first, he was stubbornly still under your touch. Barely breathing. Barely moving. As if he was expecting a knife to the back and had to be prepared to to deflect a blow at any movement. 

When you proceeded not to try and kill him, or cut off his hair out of spite, he slowly began to unwind. 

His long fringe was lengthy enough for you to scrape it back from his face with the rest of his hair, where you neatly separated everything into three even strands, before beginning the braid low on the back of his head. You kept the loops slack so as not to give him a headache, and allow him to sleep on it later.

Silco visibly relaxed under the attention. His head tipped down towards his notebook, his pencil back in hand even though he wasn’t writing anything.

You got so lost in the task at hand, that you didn’t even register the heavenly smell of Vander’s cooking, until the man in question appeared on the other side of the coffee table, carrying two plates of steaming food. Your hands momentarily stalled in their weaving at the sight of beautifully seared meat, what looked like potatoes and some other root vegetable. Just the smell alone was enough to make your mouth begin to water. 

Vander set both plates on the table, before straightening up with his hands planted on his hips. “Well, that was fast.” He commented cheerfully, a shit-eating grin splitting his face.

Silco huffed. “What was fast?” Silco parroted, attempting to turn his head, only for you to pause braiding to firmly steer his attention forward once more.

“You’re going to fuck it up by moving.” You complained under your breath, to which he sighed again but stayed put. 

Vander’s grin somehow grew even wider. “Well for starters, this morning, you were snapping and spitting at Felicia, and now I walk in on you getting your hair braided.” “It was being inconvenient,” Silco eloquently corrected. 

Vander just shook his head. “I can’t believe I didn’t see this happening.” He lamented to himself. 

Silco bristled. “What? What are you on about?” 

“Come on-” You cut in before Vander could get him any more riled up. “Can you tease him after I’m done?” 

Silco seemed to preen, whilst Vander obediently shut his mouth on his bubbling comment. 

Taking it in stride, you confidently added, “you’re just jealous that your hair is too short for braids, Vander.” “Yes, that is exactly it.” The older man agreed sarcastically. Before he fixed Silco with a knowing look, which he promptly glared down. You pretended not to notice as you finally ran out of hair and began to neatly tie the braid off at the tail.

>_<

You stopped by the bar the following day to check up on the brothers, and was pleasantly surprised to find Silco in the main room, with his hair still braided up, whilst Felicia stood beside him and merrily declared them hair twins. 

You tried not to grin too obviously as you strode forward to join in on the conversation.

Part 1 -> Next Part

Masterlist:

[call-sign-shark]

Pairing: The Darkling x Heartrender!You || The Darkling x HeartrenderOC!Reader

Summary: A great healer, a terrifying heartrender, you are both the disease and the cure. With such a reputation, living on the run quickly becomes necessary for survival. When General Kirigan, ruler of the Shadow Fold, sets his eyes on you, he doesn't see just a weapon, but the key to his dark ambitions. And, most importantly, the echo to his shadows.

Words: 2.5k

TW: Mention of prostitution, child SA and murder, reader is physically described.

Part I - Keep Moving, Little Girl

Masterlist || Next

The Little Palace was veiled in an eerie calm, which wasn’t very usual for a place that crowded by both young promising Grishas and renowned, experienced ones. The luxurious wall, bathed in the golden light of dying embers, gave an almost supernatural aesthetic to the place. General Aleksander Kirigan sat at his desk, his fingers steepled and his black eyes fixed on the fragile flicker of a single candle before him. The little flame danced, its body undulating as it struggled to keep the surrounding darkness away from the little bubble of warm light it created. The room was silent, save for the crackle of the hearth a bit further, and yet, despite this silence, the general’s mind was far from quiet.

He had heard the rumors countless times over the past few months – it had started with nothing more than vague accounts of a few people found dead in a mysterious and gruesome way, but the narrative slowly turned into a monstrous witch, her hair as white as frost, leaving death and blood in her wake. At first, he dismissed them. Ravka was rife with tales of rogue Grisha, exaggerated to feed the fears of peasants and nobles alike. A chimera created by children to tell scary stories, or skillfully crafted clichés to create a deep-ingrained fear of Grisha by politics. But the more he ignored them, the more the whispers persisted: they spread like wildfire and grew darker with each retelling. The most recent account had given him a pause though: a Heartrender, they claimed, whose power was unlike anything ever seen. From what has been reported, the creature could control men as if they were marionettes, forcing them to turn on each other in a grotesque display of violence. One so-called survivor claimed that, with only a few movements of her hands, he saw his colleague forced to turn the barrel of his gun to his temples and shoot himself a bullet right through his brain. Aleksander had raised a brow at the statement:

Such abilities should not exist. Not without the cursed used of Jurda Parem.

Aleksander’s jaw tightened as he leaned back in his chair. If the rumors were true, this woman was no ordinary Grisha. She was a weapon – an unrefined, dangerous force that needed to be claimed before it destroyed itself or got destroyed. And if she truly possessed the kind of power described, that little white-haired heartrender could be either a great asset to his cause or an uncontrollable threat that needed to be neutralized. Or rather, a problem that needed to be resolved.

The shadows around him stirred, as if sensing his thoughts, their tendrils coiling in anticipation. He, who was often too absorbed by his own plans, surprised himself when he realized that his mind raced through the topic of that wild sorceress, weighing risks and rewards, battling between curiosity and schemes. However, one thing had become certain: he could no longer ignore the whispers. He had to find her. Kirigan rose from his seat, the folds of his pitch black kefta sweeping behind him as he crossed the room with hastened steps. He opened the door to find Ivan, who was waiting just outside, his stoic expression as adamant as ever.

“I need you to gather a small team,” The general said without preamble nor explanation. His voice was long and commanding, but Ivan could sense that he also seemed lost in his thoughts, “We’re leaving at first light.”

The tall Corporalki tilted his head, his brows furrowing slightly – the only other expression he had in his palette. “May I ask for what purpose, General?”

“There’s a woman,” Kirigan replied, his tone laced with intrigue but also something darker Ivan couldn’t really pinpoint. “A Heartrender whose power surpasses anything we’ve encountered… At least if the stories told are true.” He paused, his lips curling into a faint and slightly calculating smile, “I must say that these latest accounts intrigued me. If she is what they say she is, she could change everything.”

“And if she’s not?” Ivan asked, his skepticism carefully measured. As much as he trusted General Kirigan, the tall Ravkan man with a stern face couldn’t help doubting. He was a man of facts – not of silly rumors.

Aleksander’s eyes darkened, the flicker of the candlelight reflecting in their dizzying depths. Eyes so black that no one could distinguish the pupil from the iris, “Then we’ll ensure the stories end with us.”  He turned back toward his desk without additional explanations, his mind already plotting the route, the approach, and the questions he would ask her.  Hair white as the purest snow, eyes as frozen as the deadliest ice desert…There was a part of him that wondered if she even existed, if this was nothing more than another ghost tale spun by frightened villagers. But another part – the darker, sicker and more desperate part – felt the faint pull of something undeniable. He wanted her to be real.

He needed her to be real.

In the back of his mind, General Aleksander Kirigan thought he could almost hear her, like a faint hum carried on the wind. The monster they spoke of wasn’t just some distant threat. She was out there waiting, somewhere in the Ravkan snow, all alone and vulnerable – and she didn’t even know she already belonged to him.

Your shrill scream resounded in the bedroom, bathed in the soft and muted light of Ravkan mornings. Confused, your chest heaved as though you had run for miles even though you had just woken up. Your body was damp, covered in a thin layer of sweat, some locks of hair sticking to your temples.

If there was one thing that plagued your dreams, turning them into terrific nightmares, it was that smell.

The Menagerie smelled of desperation, as Tante Heleen liked to call it. Or rather the awful combination of fun fair treats, sweat, and a dash of discreet, but still noticeable, fragrances of blood. It clung to the air just like the cheap perfume the girls were forced to wear, a sickly-sweet mask that tried hard to hide the rot that lay beneath. One full year had passed since you had escaped from this hellish place and yet, the impression this foul smell was still clinging to your skin and hair, no matter how roughly you washed or how scorching-hot the showers you took were, remained. You had known it your entire life, ever since you were left at its gate as a child.  As much as you tried, you couldn’t forget the way your tiny and cold hands tightened their grip around Tante Heleen’s skirt as the woman had dragged you inside, her soft voice cooing false kindness. Like a butcher leading a cattle through the death-smelling corridors of a slaughterhouse.

“You’ll grow into something beautiful,” Heleen had said, glancing at your long white hair while your own eyes surveyed the golden bars at the windows, though you were too young to understand why they were there as well as the malice behind the brothel Madam’s words, “A perfect White Tiger, ma petite chérie.” But the cruel truth was that beauty didn’t save anyone in the Menagerie. It only made you more of a prize to be shown off, sold to the highest bidder and then both used and abused. Beauty was nothing but a poison, a weapon Heleen turned against its bearer in this place made of gilded cages and broken spirits.

By your pre-teens, you had made quite a reputation: despite growing up in this foul nightmare, Tante Heleen never managed to break you entirely. Mastering the art of silence and deadly stares, your unyielding demeanor made you a source of fascination. The bruises on your porcelain skin faded away as quickly as the tears you refused to shed, never succumbing to the horrors clients would make you go through. The same clients who were willing to pay obscene sums not just to touch you but to try and tame you. The men who came for you were often the ones who wanted to conquer that defiance. The ones who wanted to make you scream. Still, you never gave them satisfaction. Worse, they often left more bruised than you because you did fight like a tigress. Even if they ended up overcoming you, your ice-cold eyes would bore into them, frozen and sharp, making even the most depraved feel as though they were the ones who were soiled. No, it wasn’t your beauty alone that drew attention; it was the air around you, heavy with something dangerous.

If being honest with yourself, you had to admit that most of the other girls at the Menagerie didn’t like you. Sometimes, you would catch them whispering about you, sometimes in awe, sometimes in jealousy, but most of the time it was in fear. Why? Because you were eerie. Unsettling, the least. Because you were something else with your pale skin – paler than the Fjerda wolf girl – and long white hair. With the slim hourglass figure and small height, which contrasted far too much with the hatred that burned in your void-like pupils. Besides, you never did much to befriend them: you didn’t weep after being summoned, didn’t cling to anyone for comfort and almost never gave yours to soothe the other poor animals’ pain. The only one you tolerated was the Suli Lynx.  

The unsease the others would feel around you only worsened when they discovered that you were a Heartrender. Frightening abilities that manifested themselves one night in an uncontrollable outburst, leading to someone’s brutal death.

The nightmare you had lingered, its remnants jagged and raw. The menagerie’s cages, the laughters, the sensation of hands that burned like brands – they had all dissolved into the room’s silence. “Memories. They are nothing but memories” you told yourself, yet the weight of your not-so-far-away past pressed against your chest like iron shackles.

“Miss, you shall leave the room by eight o’clock.” A voice spoke behind the thick wooden door of the bedroom you rented – a small barren room you had found shelter in for the night. It was no more than a shabby inn, with walls cracked and floorboards uneven. You took off the thin, tattered blanket from you and swung your legs over the side of the bed to sit on the mattress for a moment, your head in your hands. Your fingers trembled slightly, not from the cold but from the residues of the dream.

“Yeah, sure.” You mumbled, staring blankly at your boots sat by the door through your slim fingers, and the satchel rested on the old rocking chair, packed and ready to leave. Never unpacking, that was one of the rules you followed since you fled from the Menagerie. Through the frosted window the snow was falling steadily. Frosty flakes swirled like restless ghosts in the early morning gloom, covering the world outside with a white coat that muffled every little sound. All of them except the relentless thumping of your heart, which threatened to burst your ribcage open.

The floor groaned under your weight as you stood and moved towards the small basin by the windows. Almost mechanically, you splashed your face with icy water, hoping for the chill to chase away the remnants of sleep. When you raised your head to take a look at the cracked mirror, the reflection that stared back at you was a stranger’s — diaphanous, long straight hair as pale as the snow, and eyes frighteningly empty. A doll’s face, your clients said. But no doll could house the kind of fury that simmered in your cursed blood, right?

You turned away, hating what you saw. Minutes later, you were dressed, your boots were laced, and your long dark cloak pulled tightly around you. When you reached for the door, you caught yourself hesitating only briefly… Maybe you could stick around for a while this time… No.

Keep moving.

The cold hit you immediately as you stepped outside. The wind bit you through your cloak like a knife with such virulence that you couldn’t help clenching your jaw. And yet, you welcomed it, let it numb you. Snow crunched beneath the sole of your boots as you walked on a little road, endless and uncertain. With one quick movement, you pulled your hood up and buried your face against the wind, going forward with determined steps. You didn’t know where you were going but you knew one thing for sure: you couldn’t stop moving away from the Menagerie. Not yet. The world might feel vast and empty, but at least there was something usually peaceful in this isolation. Not this morning though.

Even in this desolation, you couldn’t share the unpleasant feeling that you were being watched. It was subtle – a whisper of unease that prickled at the back of your neck, making your hairs rise. As stupid as it sounded, you quickly glanced over your shoulder at the empty snowy forest behind you. Nothing stirred, no sound broke the quiet save for the howl of the wind… And still, the feeling lingered, like a cold thread winding through your thoughts. In a reflex you couldn’t quite control, your hand tightened around your cloak’s collar, not knowing if it was to hide from the cold or from these unseen pair of eyes by shrinking into your coat.

Keep moving.

Above the faraway howl of the wind, a faint whisper seemed to hum at the edges of your senses. It resonated, too soft to be real, but to real to be a hallucination. You frowned as you walked faster, all your senses in alert. It wasn’t words, only a presence, dark and vast, like shadows stretching beyond the horizon. Keep moving!  You clenched your fists and tried your best to shove the thought away. It was certainly some kind of paranoia that had gotten into you, fed by lack of sleep, proper food and shelter. A part of you rationalized, telling itself that no one had ever found you yet, and no one would – despite the little… troubles you created on your way. Crystal eyes fixed on the road ahead, your steps quickened as if you could outrun the unease that was gnawing at your mind.

But far away, very far away in the distance, a man dressed in black was studying a map. His gloved finger, covered in the finest leather, hovered over a region marked in red by himself. His lips curled into the faintest smile, as if doing so wasn’t common to him.

“She’s close”, he murmured to the shadows with a voice soft and filled with a quiet satisfaction.

“Are you sure?” They whispered back

“I can feel her,” He replied, black eyes riveted onto the horizon.

Soon, he thought,

Very soon.

Please reblog and/or comment if you liked it. 🖤

taglist: @augustwookie

[toxicrelief]

Crawling Back to You

Chapter five

Synopsis: You can admit you are not very good at hand-to-hand combat. It has not really been something you needed to be good at until now. However, the worse you appear, the more suspicious your long “training” sessions with Cecil are starting to seem. And with each failure, Rex is getting more and more smug.

Pairing: Rex x F!Reader

Word Count: 3.9k

Chapter: 5/?

Masterlist of all Chapters

TW: Blood, Descriptions of Violence

Note: If you ever see me hating on the "pinned to the ground" troupe, kill me. That's not me. Also shoutout to the several youtube videos I had to watch on how to fight. you guys are life savers.

“I knew I was good, but I didn’t realize I was quite this good.”

Rex was completely destroying you, last you checked this was a “training session”, not a fighting tournament. He obviously did not have that same memo though. As you looked over at him, he was shifting his weight back and forth from leg to leg, his fists clenched in front of him. There is no way this is actually boosting his ego more. The cocky grin on his face told you it definitely was. You cursed Cecil in your head, putting you directly in a metaphorical arena with someone who has enhanced strength and durability. As far as you know you do not have either of those to the extent most people with powers did. And just because your body can heal the bruise forming on your ribs extremely quickly, does not mean you cannot feel it.

When you had walked in earlier you were met with complete silence. Rex was sitting, no, he was lounging, in the training room. Waiting. Cecil must have told him the plan for today, which you were secretly grateful for. You could feel the tantrum that would have come if you had walked up to him and said “Hey! I know you hate my guts, but that old guy with the receding hairline-? What am I saying? That hairline is no longer receding, it’s receded. Yeah, you know the one, he wants us to train together. What was that? You think I don’t deserve to be here? What was that? You think I am making a fool of myself? What was that? Die, die, die? Well, I hear you, Rex! And guess what, I agree full-heartedly! Thank you for blessing me with a fragment of your precious, and I mean precious, time!”

Ugh.

Instead, you had given him a polite smile, opened your mouth to speak, and were immediately interrupted with: “Yeah-Yeah I know, let’s get started.” Which is the most amicable interaction you have ever shared up to this point.

He was wearing a grey tank top, and his hair was pulled back loosely. As much as you disliked him, you had eyes. He was surprisingly toned without the suit on, it almost made you feel self-conscious. But then it made you feel a little panicked. You have supposedly been “training” with Cecil the past few months, or did they not know that? They did not have your records the way you had theirs. So maybe you could get away with saying that you had not been training for as long, and that’s why…you were completely and utterly inexperienced? All of a sudden it was starting to feel like Cecil jumped the gun in introducing you to the Guardians. If you were able to use your other abilities you could completely freeze Rex in place, but then what? You had no idea what you would do that could truly give you the upper hand. Although after keeping him in place for a while, you would eventually heel over and become a personal blood sprinkler.

But you can’t use your other abilities, to these people you were just a healer. And Cecil had reiterated to you last night that you cannot let them even get an inkling that you can do more. So here you are, holding your ribs with one hand, and sweat dripping down your brow.

“You know, I am not sure how effective this is if you’re landing every punch as hard as you can.” You winced standing up straighter.

“I’m not hitting you as hard as I can.”

You glared at him, taking a breath so that you did not immediately snap back. Be the bigger person and all that, nonsense. “Well, how about just not hitting me at all while you’re still showing me the basics. I feel like that should be implied actually.”

“The basics?” He put his hands down. “Do you not know anything about hand-to-hand combat?”

A very telling silence fell between them. You almost wished he would make fun of you, instead he just stared at you.

“Shit, so you really are just a healer huh?”

Basically yeah. “I mean, loose on the ‘just’ okay buddy.”

“So, I’m your babysitter for the day.” There it is, the familiar snark.

“Well usually babysitters are paid, so not even that.” You gave him an almost apologetic look to try and cover your sarcasm. You straightened all the way up, your ribs fully healed from his earlier hit.

“Goddamn it.” Rex ran a hand over the back of his neck looking at the ground in thought. “No chance I can just go fuck off and we tell Cecil we trained anyways is there?”

“Don’t think so, no.”

“Right… yeah no I figured.” The look of sheer disappointment on his face was a very telling sign he in fact, did not figure.

You put your hands on your hips now at a loss for how to progress this forward.

“Basics then?”  A hand ran over his face in surprisingly quiet frustration.

“Basics.” You echoed.

Rex stepped forward then hesitated, “Wait, if I teach you any of this will it even do you any good? Or would you get immediately torn apart or some shit?” Strong vote of confidence. But he had a point. If you were up against the likes of people like the Mauler Twins, were you expected to try hand-to-hand combat? There was no way you would win, even with support. And if the likes of which you were up against did not have human blood there was no controlling them either. At least for now, you still were getting nowhere with the Viltrumite blood and that was only one species.

“Uh, I’m not sure.” You said honestly, straightening up a bit. “At least then I will be dead, and you don’t have to worry about it I suppose.”

“Hey, I wasn’t worried about you I was worried about my own wasted time.”

“Glad for the clarification.”

Rex finally fully made his way over to you, standing at your side. He was quiet for a bit, seemingly in thought about what to start with. Which you had a hard time believing he could deeply think about anything.

“So- uh… I guess always be aware of your surroundings, you can get backed into corners quickly in combat-” There was a much more awkward tension in the room now as he obviously recited what could have been textbook self-defense 101.

“Let’s assume I know that much, how about some actual techniques.”

“God, nothing makes you happy, does it?” You raise your hands at his outburst, trying not to laugh. “Are you left or right-handed?”

“I don’t see how this is-”

“Left or right.” He cut in, gritting his teeth. After telling him, he gestured for you to have the corresponding foot forward. You bit the inside of your lip in irritation but followed.

“Your stance is important, if you don’t do it right-”

“I’ll be unbalanced.”

“You’ll look like a dumbass.” His lip twinged slightly, and he moved behind you. Using his foot, he pushed your feet apart for a wider stance. A little close for your liking. “Your feet should be a little wider than shoulder-length apart, shift your weight to your toes. You’ll be able to move faster.”

You do as he says, testing your weight from side to side with a slight bounce.

“Stop fucking moving.”

“Sorry-”

“You have to hold your arms up like this.” Before you knew it, he was positioning your arms. His fingertips felt oddly warm on your skin. If he wanted to, could he make your entire body explode from this contact? That’s one way to die. You bit back any argument and let him pose you to his liking. You clenched your fists loosely (after he got on you about using up spare energy for nothing, but he did not seem to have a problem with using up spare energy to yell at you, so who really needed training).

“Hold your elbows in, you have to protect your sides, vital organs… blah blah” He quickly slipped back into his indifferent attitude but for a second he seemed to be enjoying this. Maybe it felt good for him to impose his superior knowledge on others, you can’t imagine it happens often. “Anyways, basically this is how I was able to get you earlier.” You subconsciously rubbed your side, and he hesitated for a split second.

“Okay, keep your shoulders somewhat up.” He stepped out from behind you and quickly took his place in front of you. “Hit me.”

“What?”

He sighed, dramatically throwing his head back, “I didn’t say it that quietly, hit me.”

You hesitated, not because you thought you might hurt him, but because you knew he was doing this so you would make a fool of yourself. “Why don’t you just quickly show me-”

“Goddamn it, HIT ME!”

Your dominant hand came crashing into his nose surprisingly hard. So hard you wondered for a moment if you just broke your knuckles. Losing your form, you immediately stepped back, holding your hand in your secondary hand. The pain of your body immediately trying to heal it striking through you. “Fuck!”

“FUCK!” Rex echoed, holding his hand to his nose and tilting his head back. “Why did you go for the face first you dick!”

“You told me to punch you!” God your hand hurt.

“I said to hit me not fucking punch me in the face!”

“Well, I’m sorry! Your face is just too irresistible for me to miss the opportunity!” You hissed back, feeling your middle finger pop back into place. After a few seconds more, the pain subsided, and you stood straight up again, turning to face him.

Rex was glaring at you, blood trickling from his nose down his face. If you were feeling nicer you might have offered to heal it for him, but his dark look was not making you feel generous.

“Back to it then?” You gave a fake smile and returned to your earlier position. He ran his tongue over his teeth and closed his eyes for a moment before sniffling and also returning to his position.

You went to hit him on his chest, and he quickly deflected you, a little harsher than necessary. What a baby.

“Again.” He spat.

You went again, and he deflected it just as easily. “Why weren’t you this good at blocking when I hit you earlier?”

“Shut up. Again.”

You used your non-dominant hand to try faking Rex out, which worked. He went to block it, and you nailed him in the side. Not as hard as before, not that it would matter, since he can definitely take a punch much better with his torso than his face. Rex simply nodded, returning his eyes to your stance.

“You should twist your leg with the punch, it adds much more force.” He walked to your side, his hands brushing over your thigh to your calf. His touch was surprisingly gentle for how bad this entire interaction seemed to be going. After twisting your leg, he stood up straight and gave you a demonstration.

“You have to twist it as you punch, use the brute of your force from your back.”

“Okay.” His nose was still bleeding and now you were starting to feel bad. He was still training you even after you did that to him. It was almost sweet. Or he was just too full of himself to be the first to give in, either could be true. Most likely the latter.

“And I want you to try this after you land that hit.” He demonstrates another move, his arm making a hook-like motion in front of him. “Okay?”

“Okay.” You steadied up your stance again, bouncing back and forth on your toes. He returned in front of you and posed himself. He did not say anything this time. No ‘hit me’, no annoyance at your moving, he just watched and waited. His eyes trailing over you. He must be checking your stance.

You repeated your fake-out move from earlier, then went to hit him with the new move he showed you.

“Keep your arm closer to your body, or you’ll dislocate your elbow.”

You nodded, not having the concentration to come up with a quip to throw at him. You repeated the move again but with a second fake-out. Rex winced slightly as your fist made contact with his elbow. Ideally, this move would probably work better if you were aiming for his face.

“That was fuckin’ good!” He exclaimed with a smile, genuine excitement generating off of him. You did not know he was capable of smiling in a way that did not reflect cynicism and sarcasm. It was almost alarming.

“Thanks?”

“Do that again.” He returns to position, and you follow suit.

__

After several more demonstrations and Rex purposely tripping you to ‘show you that your stance was bad’, you were both working up quite the sweat. And worse you were starting to become aware of his blood. You could feel it beneath his skin with every punch. This was not something you usually experienced, but from all the excretion and fighting it was starting to feel like you were actually needing to win.

Rex was talking about something now, but you were struggling to pay attention, your body willing you to get back into formation.

“With your size, a tackle could be good to know. You’ve got some dick who’s towering over you-”

“Some dick meaning you?”

He ignored you and continued. “You have to be able to bring them down to your level if you are able.”

He stops for a moment to fix his hair, stray pieces had been slowly falling out throughout the session and limiting his visibility. Your eyes trailed down to his face, the blood had dried now, and you were tempted to get him a wet cloth or something. But your body was still screaming at you to fight. So, you stayed put.

He looked at you out of the corner of his eye as he finished putting his hair back up and you found yourself looking forward to where he usually stood. Now you were overthinking it, did you look away too fast? Was he thinking you were weird for staring at him? Weird for looking away outside of the set time for it not to be weird? God, can he please just stand in front of you so you can punch him? You really needed to punch something.

Which felt a little redundant since that was all you had been doing for what must have been nothing short of ages.

Finally, he was back in front of you, and you immediately took a swing.

“Woah, the fuck are you doing?” He gave you a quizzical look, after taking a step back from your attempted hit.

“Practicing.”

“Were you not just listening? I want you to try out tackling.”

“Oh, okay.” You lowered your hands feeling a bit embarrassed. You wiped the sweat off of your brow with the back of your hand, then tunneled your focus on Rex.

He gave you an odd look but continued forward with his demonstration.

“Okay, you have to stand tall up until one of the last moments, or they’ll know what you’re trying to do, and the whole maneuver will be spoiled.” He stood up straight, stretching his back, preparing himself for the inevitable. “I’m going to come at you, you have to go for my knees and try to take me down.”

“Okay.”

“Okay? You sure you got that?”

“Do you think I’m stupid?” That came out a lot harsher than you meant it to, you just really needed to hit something.

He furrowed his brow at you but did not say anything. Almost immediately he headed towards you. You jumped back, somehow a little startled even though he just told you what was going to happen. You missed your window; he was going in for punches now. Trying to deflect the best you could, you got yourself into position to tackle him.

Rex’s fist collided with your shoulder and knocked you off balance. “Fuck!” Without leaving any time to waste you were back on your feet. Sweat was dripping down your brow. And Rex was looking very concentrated. You went in to hit him, he deflected, you went to tackle, he hit. This was not even training anymore; he was trying to wear you out.

Your lip curled slightly with frustration. And you finally took a deep breath, focusing your thoughts. Rex leaned in the way he was going to hit, even with cop-outs. You had started to notice the pattern, if you used it against him, you could break his balance.

He leaned slightly to the left, swung left, left, left, right, right.

You swung left, hitting his ribs. He grimaced, taking a step back. And then you sprung forward, grabbing his legs and pushing him down,

You were both panting.

His face was flushed, and from how hot it was you were sure yours was too. His mouth was slightly agape, and his eyes you were not able to be read. You could feel his chest heaving underneath you. As much as he was trying to wear you out, he must have been wearing himself out too.

“I got you.” You said between breaths, what you needed more than anything right now was some water. Have you ever realized Rex had green eyes? You did not see green eyes much anymore.

He did not immediately respond, the rise and fall of his chest still apparent to you. He was very firm; he probably had a lot of muscle from years of being a professional hero. Your hands were digging into his shoulders. You could feel him tense slightly under you, feel the shift in his blood.

For a millisecond his eyes slid down your face, and you wondered…

“You’re not meant to stay on top of the person once you’ve taken them down.” His voice rang out dryly. His eyes met yours with half-lidded mild annoyance.

“Ugh. Nothing’s good enough.”

“Plenty is good enough. Just do shit right.”

You got off him, offering him a hand up which he briskly refused. He stood for a moment with his hands on his knees, catching his breath. He walked over to the corner of the room and grabbed something; it looked like a belt.

“One more go.”

“Seriously?” You almost whined, you needed a break badly.

“Yes, fucking seriously.” You missed that one moment of actual happiness he portrayed earlier, wondering if you would see that ever again.

“Fine.” For hopefully a final time for the day, you fell into place. Rex immediately went back into action; this time he was keeping his distance. Every time you caught up with him, he quickly got away. “Dude, what is this?” You said unimpressed, and then you saw it fly out of his hand. He was throwing small discs at you. There was no way-

Before you could even finish the thought, it ignited in a small explosion, sending you back.

“Rex, what the fuck are you doing!”

“This is actual combat training Nurse Joy. Catch up.” You grit your teeth, you had already learned a lot for one day, did you really need to have mini-explosives thrown at you too? You did your best to avoid them, a few singed your shirt, and you could definitely smell burnt hair. How many of those did he have? Should you wait him out?

Each explosion left a little cloud of smoke. You just needed to get close enough that it would affect his sight. Slowly you made your way closer, still trying not to get hit. Even with the smoke in front of you, you knew exactly where he was. You already had that neural connection.

After bidding your time on the last one you finally jumped forward through the smoke. His arms immediately came up to shield his face, but you weren’t going for his face. Your fist made direct contact with the left side of his chest. A mild headache immediately irrupts in your head. He should have let you at least have a water break, before pulling all of this.

With a groan, suddenly Rex was backing away, a confused, and angry look on his face. One of his hands was over the place where you punched. You almost wanted to call him a wimp, say something mean, and then you saw the bruise. It was reaching above his tank top.

Fuck. You had manipulated his blood. Not to heal.

You had made it burst in his blood vessels. That’s why your head started to hurt.

You blinked, trying to regulate your breathing at what you had done as you watched him pull his shirt up. Your hand quickly came up to cover your mouth. The immediate impact zone looked horrible; you could practically see the blood pooling under his skin. The wound, although under the skin, was spread out like ripples. The top of it reached up to his collarbone, and the bottom two or three inches above his navel.

“Rex, oh my god.” You took a step towards him. He did not seem to be registering your voice, his hand ghosting over the wound.

He finally looked at you and lowered his tank. “Well, seems like you’ve had enough training to me.” His voice was much more fridged than before. You did not even know you could be doing worse than you were this morning when it came to him.

“Please, just let me heal it, that’s what I am here for right?” You desperately wanted to fix this. Not just because it was unexplainable and was sure to raise more eyebrows about you, but because you wanted to help him. As much of an asshole as he was, you did not want to actually hurt him, he just taught you a lot of valuable things. Hell of a thank you!

“It’s fine Nurse, I’ve got it.” He looked at you with an unclear expression. It felt a lot like disgust.

“It’ll be quick-”

“Just fucking-!”

“I’m so sorry! Please just let me-”

“Just stop!” Rex held his hands out in front of him and backed away, you did not follow this time. Everyone at the hospital whoever refused your help flashed in your mind. It almost made you want to cry, even around other people with powers you were not trusted. It was easy for people to put faith in superheroes when there was nothing they could do about the situation. If they do not see you as a necessity, you’re just a freak. You just did not realize that those of your own kind would see you that way too.

Rex stormed off to the exit of the training area just as Rae was walking in, bumping into her. She exclaimed but he unambiguously gave her a glare and continued out.

“What was all of that about?” Rae glanced over to where Rex had been standing moments ago.

You sighed, rubbing your neck and looking over at her. “I think I’m just going to ask Cecil for a gun or something if I have to fight.”

Author's Note: I might need to slow down soon with releasing chapters, finals are coming up and I don't think my professors will take "I had to write fanfiction" as an excuse for late assignments 💔. But then I will have a lot of time with summer. I want to get this out as fast as possible cause I hate waiting for updates as much as the next person. I hardly plan ahead so were experiencing this at the same time haha

divider credit: @/ saradika

Chapter six

[aimfor-theheart]

delicate

━ ━ ◦ ❖ ◦━ ━ ◦ ❖ ◦━ ━ ◦ ❖ ◦━ ━

pairing: vash x reader

cw: mention of guns/shooting. a touch suggestive….subtly horny.

a/n: here is a drabble. it is haunting me. vash is haunting me. you understand.

━ ━ ◦ ❖ ◦━ ━ ◦ ❖ ◦━ ━ ◦ ❖ ◦━ ━

“will you teach me?”

vash looks up from his gun, spread out across the wooden table in bits of glinting silver, like sharp teeth pulled out of a metal mouth. the evening sun is hot and rosy and burnishes the little bar in russet.

he’s been cleaning his gun methodically for the better part of an hour.

his brows perk up, “how to shoot?” he asks.

“yeah—wanna learn.”

vash makes a face—just a sour twist of his mouth. the falling of his lashes against his cheek.

“do you have to?” he asks.

“well—if i’ll be traveling with you guys—i don’t want to be dead weight.”

vash shakes his head quickly, “there’s no such thing. besides, you’re our healer. that’s far better than a gunmen.”

eyes like stars in the blue sky catch yours. his voice is soft—earnest.

“healer’s the best thing you can be.” he vows gently, “you don’t need a gun for that.”

“vash.” you say, stern and stubborn. “c’mon. don’t give me this.”

he almost looks like he’ll plead with you, “you don’t need it.”

“what if i’m in danger?” you urge.

“i’ll protect you.” vash says firmly.

“what if you’re not around?”

the question hangs in the air. the sun sinks deeper into its red horizon. you swear you can hear the furious brag of your heart, can feel the way vash’s shoulders sink under an invisible weight.

“i don’t—“ he starts, frowning, “i don’t want to.”

“fine. then i’ll ask wolfwood.” you turn to go and he reaches out, snags your wrist.

“don’t go. and don’t ask him. i—“ his fingers, cool and metallic, gently urge you back, “i wish i didn’t have to teach you.”

the confession silences you. you slacken in his hold and look at him. he picks his head up to look back at you. he’s looking at you so sorrowful, so guilty. hangdog look on his face like he’s already done something bad. already committed a sin too great.

you don’t know what to say—any of the snippier remarks about not being naive or weak or some damsel he needs to protect die on your tongue, find a graveyard there and deaden your voice. silence stretches.

vash finally says;

“i wish there was a life for you where you didn’t have to learn how to handle a gun.”

“so you’ll teach me?” you ask.

his fingers, delicately holding your wrist, now slip away. you miss their pressure, their weight immediately.

he nods, slow, with a regretful sort of half smile, sad.

“i’ll teach you,” he says, “but you gotta promise me something.”

“what is it?” you ask.

“remember you’re a healer.” and then he tilts his head, considers you, “and don’t ever aim for the heart.”

“but what if—“

“ah, ah, ah! you have to promise or i won’t teach you! those are my rules.”

you let go of a huff of air, “fine. i promise.”

“atta girl!” vash says now, warm and with a smile. heat burns your face and you don’t think it’s the last dregs of the sun barely clinging to the sky.

he slides over on the bench he’s sitting on, welcoming you on. “now, look close—i’ll teach you how to take a gun apart and then put it back together.”

you sidle in beside him. suddenly you’re shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip. and you can see the bit of stubble on his jaw and can smell—him. he smells like sunlight, musky and warm, a little sweet. he smells like the wind. petrichor and thistle.

“i thought you were gonna teach me how to shoot—“

“patience!” vash says, “we’ll get there. this is an important first step.”

the sun melts away into evening blue and you watch vash, with his nimble, sure fingers, put the gun back together carefully. then skillfully take it apart again. this time he urges you to do it.

and he sits, tucking in close, guiding your hands and helping you along. murmuring soft that this piece goes here. and do you remember this part? just—twist like this—gentle like. that’s it. for such dangerous items, they’re rather delicate, huh?

“yeah,” you breathe, watching the shadow of his pale lashes flutter against his cheek. “delicate.”

he laughs a little, easy and soft. almost husky. “there’s a reason gunmen call them their babies—their lovers.” he eyes you and there’s a strange twinkle in them, “c’mon. you’re close—what’s next?”

something flutters inside you—and suddenly you feel rather delicate yourself. you try to focus on the parts in front of you, attempting to make a whole. they look like scrap metal to you. your mind feels just as scattered as the pieces in front of you.

“um.” you say intelligently.

vash draws his fingers towards another piece, taps it gently and you’re rather stuck on the image. “this one—easy with it.” you move to snap it into another place and you struggle. twisting, metal on metal, grating.

he settles his hands over yours, guiding, “here—should fit, nice and snug, just like that.” his voice is low, by your ear. the piece slides right into place with a satisfying click.

you swallow.

when you’ve finished putting the gun back together, he says, “now—we’ll work on shooting when you can do that without me.”

“what?!” you demand, “that wasn’t apart of the deal!”

he shrugs and you can feel it against you, lopsided smile all boyish. “you want to learn how to shoot—i’m teaching you how to shoot. the right way.”

he pulls the gun from you, fingers brushing yours, and in a matter of seconds and the sound of clinking metal, he’s taken the gun apart and torn it into pieces again. it lays on the table in front of you, glinting cold silver now that the sky is all plum and dark.

you’d hardly seen his fingers move they were so quick, so—

“try again.” he encourages.

you eye the puzzle in front of you, your own fingers dancing towards the first piece.

“good,” vash says, smiling, leaning back a little in his seat. and then soft, “keep going.”

and you spend the night like that, certain that you’re somehow being taken apart, too. and put back together all over again.

kinda like what a healer does—kinda like what you do for him.

[erenjaegerwifee]

Obsession

Survive the Night: Day 7

Paring: Neteyam x Fem!Omatikaya!Reader

Warnings: MDNI 18+, manipulation, yandere behavior, crazy and delusional reader, mentions of killing, stabbing, blood, poisoning, explicit language, praising, sweet hard sex, love making? PLOT TWIST, p in v, mirror sex, virginity loss, choking, orals (f & m receiving), belly bulge, lactation kink, breeding kink, pregnancy kink,

Word Count: 6.9k

Disclaimer: All of my characters are aged-up! If that makes you uncomfortable please feel free to scroll and don’t read or interact with my post or account.

Neteyam’s father and your father are best friends, ever since his first time jake was introduced to the omatikaya clan all those years ago, they developed into close friends, there was nothing Jake did without your father by his side, they passed their rights of passage together, earning their ikran at the same time. They went on every hunt together and introduced their wives who became great friends as well. They even had children at the same time, all kids were both within months of each other, that includes you and Neteyam.  

You have always been a shy small girl, your only imagine to the world was innocence, you wanted no part in the hunting of Eywa’s creatures or just fighting in general. Even though you are the oldest, your siblings and the sully children made it their business to protect you; you don’t even carry a knife on hand just in case, someone is always by your side, sometimes even Tuktirey.  

Now, even though people perceive these things about you from a very young age, doesn’t mean you are unaware of how to use them, one could argue you are the best weapons master in the clan, you wield a bow almost as well as a professional archer, you have seamless movements with a knife of any kind and you even have amazingly good aim on a gun. But if anyone thought you were the kind of girl to pick up a knife and murder someone, well you would be in a lot of trouble.  

I mean how could you not in these situations? Any sane person would. You have had a crush on Neteyam for practically your whole life, well it’s not really a crush now, it’s more like you are in love with him, you truly believe that no other man would come close to satisfying you the way he would. Everyone knows you like him, but no one is aware just how deep that love runs, it’s in your veins, your blood, every cell in your body screams a want for Neteyam Sully and only him.  

It really irritated you the way women throw themselves do foolishly at your man like you're not going to do anything about it, for example the time you walk into the sully kelku to see your siblings and the sully kids sitting in a circle, “Hi everyone” you smile sweetly as they all greet you before your eyes catch an unfamiliar woman. You do not socialize much, the extent of your friends sits in this room and you are content, you see no need to look for more company, these people care for you and well, your man is already included in this circle of friend, so who on Eywa’s planet is this girl? 

You were previously going to sit next to said man but your space is taken, you wipe the little pout of your face and move to sit next to lo’ak who is the only one who seemed to read your mind, “Hey angel! What’s up?” your eyes dart to neteyam and the girl and you pout innocently at Lo’ak, “Oh nothing, just finished my shift at the healers hut, who’s that?” you said gesturing your head to the girl. 

She sat close to him, a little too close, her hand rested on his arm as she laughs obnoxiously at whatever joke he just said. She wants him, Neteyam isn’t that funny, but there he was smiling victoriously at her laughter, it made you sick. How dare he, that should be you laughing at his lame jokes. It should always be you.  

“That’s Akira, she is Neteyam latest escapade, personally I don’t really like her, she’s not that nice to everyone else” you soak in his information plotting how to fix this broken situation, you glance at her throughout the time you sat as you speak to everyone else, always subtly cutting off her sentences with your own sweet voice or purposefully ignoring her and changing the topic, it was clear she was getting a little more than irritated at your actions until she finally snapped and shouted at you to ‘shut the fuck up and stop interrupting her’  

Your heart beat picks up and you look at her startled before the water works form making her look bad for yelling at sweet little you, it surely made everyone dislike her more than they already did, that included Neteyam giving her a mean side eye before he came to sit on the other side of you to wipe your tears. He felt protective of you because of the innocent aura you put out. It is only natural he is a protector, your protector.  

It got worse for her though, after that day a week later Kiri invited her to one of your infamous girl days, you guys usually hang out and braid each other's hair, all that fun stuff. But this time she tried so hard to insert herself and honestly, she is a nice girl, it really was her fault for trying to fuck your man like that. Kiri ran home to get the combs and beads you forgot by accident leaving you alone with her.   

She was the one who brought up talking a walk, you thought it was strange but decided what’s the worst that could happen? She isn’t leaving here with her life anyways. You walk deeper into the forest and made your way next to an incredibly steep cliff, you knew if someone fell down there, no one would be about to find them. It was perfect. You walk over closer to the edge looking down at the rough flowing river beneath you ignoring her cautious words to be careful, she shouldn’t have come out here with you if careful was what she wanted to be.  

You stop a pretty looking flower growing right off the cliff, it wasn’t that far but you could reach it but Akira, she was taller. You called her over in a sweet voice and activated that innocent look you use to get your way and asked her to pick the flower for you. She stretched her neck to see it before getting down on her hands and knees bending down over the cliff to get it. You took a quick glance around before you kicked her off the cliff. 

You stood up watched over the cliff as she fell but caught herself on the same branch the flower was on, she looked up at you begging for you to save her but come on, you weren’t nearly as strong enough to pull her heavy ass up, not that you were going to try, you sat on the edge resting one of your feet on the branch before looking at her terrified expression, listening to her pleads you smile sickly, “You should have thought about what would happen to you before you got all up on my man, in case you aren’t sure which man that is whore, its Neteyam he is my future mate, he is going to love me forever, you well your trash. And now I get to through you out”  

You tilt you head laughing wickedly at her when you strike down the branch with a sharp blow breaking it. You watch her fall to her screaming death; it is only when her body fell into the rocky waves did you step back and walk to the clearing you were previously seated at.  

You made good time too, Kiri came back a couple minutes after you without suspecting a thing and asked about Akira’s whereabouts, you brushed her off changing the subject after saying ‘she wanted to go for a walk’ which wasn’t a lie. The day passed and the clan sent trackers out looking for her, Neteyam was distraught, but why is the question, you got rid of his problem not his life. You rolled your eyes but still sat next to him saying the obvious lie ‘I’m sure she will turn up.’ Her dead body was found 4 days later, broken up and ravaged by animals down the river about 2 miles from the clan. 

In the end that worked out easily for you, all of them were not so easy to make happen, like the time with a different girl Sura, she was a warrior like Neteyam, she trained alongside him every day. It was no secret she didn’t like you, she always thought your innocence was fake, while she was right no one believed her dumb comments because you would always cry, she was a bitch when you had to be the one to patch up her wounds, everyone was under the impression you were scared of her. 

It worked out well for you, since she already didn’t like you, it was easy enough to blame everything on her. It started simply with you playing a little more dumb than usual but not enough for people to get suspicious of you. Just enough to piss her off though. She liked Neteyam so you made it your business to be present whenever you could, bringing him food, refilling his water bottle, even just sitting and watching him train. 

Not that he ever said anything but you know he liked having you around him like that, paying real attention to the person that he was and not his title or his cock, not that you would mind paying attention to that cock, you see the bulge in his loincloth all the time, makes you want to wiggle your ass against his crotch and make him mount you. But you don’t mind waiting for it, I mean he is your future husband, he’ll mount you eventually.  

One day you got to the training grounds a bit earlier than Neteyam on purpose, it was great because you knew Sura was already there, along with a few other warriors in his training unit. You sat on a log spewing some dumb shit and laughing obnoxiously with the group making sure your voice was dumb and pitched just the way she hates it.  

It worked out well when she started making fun of your voice making some admittingly good insults but it wasn’t fun for her when their group leader, Neteyam catch her doing so and scolded the entire unit, making them all run laps after laps while he wraps your crying figure in her arms comforting you for the rest of the session. The look on her face was beautiful jealousy.  

When everyone dispersed and Neteyam trailed after one of his warriors to speak with him, he left you alone with her. Big mistake. You walked up to her and as she was about to tell you off like a big girl, you grab the knife off her hip and stab her in the stomach watching her fall to the ground, “remember bitch he is mine. You did this to yourself when you decided to touch what wasn’t yours” then you stab her again for good measure in the neck watching the blood ooze onto the green grass.  

Afterwards you take the knife and stab yourself in the thigh and then pulling it out and screaming Neteyam name so loud you made the surrounding birds fly away. When he came rushing back to you, you cried some bullshit about how she attacked you saying she was in love with him and you were getting in her way. He wrapped up your wound with a cloth and picked you up in his arms and ran to the healer's tent.  

It was amazing how no one questioned your story but how could they be when you were crying so hysterically you didn’t want to let go of Neteyam, when they did rip you out of his arms and pushed him out of the tent so they could work on healing your wound, you cried murderously in the hut, the entire clan heard the commotion and screaming you caused just wanting Neteyam to be with you. You fought and kicked and screamed not wanting to be anywhere else other than in his strong arm.  

He sat outside that hut listening to your screaming of his name feeling horribly, he thinks it’s all his fault you were hurt and now he can’t even help you. Tears sting his eyes as he heard your pitched voice calling out for him to make them stop hurting you. Lo’ak sat right next to him with a hand on his shoulder knowing it was hard for Neteyam to keep it together.  

After that for the next few weeks, you wouldn’t leave Neteyam’s side. Saying how grateful you were he was there to save your life, how safe you feel with him like no one can hurt you, you even slept over at their house every so offend with the excuse of being without him would put you in danger. Both your parents thought it was cute how stuck up you became on him, how well he took care of you, always making sure to clean and dress your wound, helping you get back on your feet and walking properly. He even went as far as to skip out of hunting trips because you cried about how much you didn’t want him to go. And neteyam never complained, he sat without you through the tough nights and all the crying episodes like a real husband would, you knew he was your perfect one and only, now he has to see that.  

The cycle repeated itself for a few years, girl meets Neteyam, girl wants neteyam, girl tries to make a move, girl dies. The endless cycle is getting a bit tiring honestly, you are ready to be mated now, you saved your virginity just for him while he was out and about sticking his dick in anything that breathes. You aren’t supposed to be mad, but the thought makes you fume. He has you, why would he want anyone else. 

You can’t count how many times you had an interaction with him and ran away to take care of yourself, or when you would go home for the day hot and bothers to stick your fingers into your already wet cunt, not the mention the nights you spent next to him when you would use his hand, grinding on his fingers to get some release while he’s asleep, those are by far the best times. 

The point is you are tired of having to do it on your own, you put so much work into this relationship, why can’t it just go your way for once, but low and below neteyam has other plans, his new girl, Nanti. Shes a fellow healer like you, you don’t really consider her a friend but she is a nice girl, she has done nothing but treat you nicely, until you saw her sitting next to Neteyam on the log about 30 feet away from you.  

You know she is a great healer, but not better than you though. But she is one of the healers that specialize in poison, she works mainly to find cures for the different poisons that have been exposed to the na’vi. Her team makes real head way, they do good work. But she did make it awfully easy to frame her. 

For the past few weeks since she has been hanging out with Neteyam, you started to spend more time with another woman in that unit of healing, your excuse being you wanted to expand your healing horizon, and who would question such a sweet girl? You learned about all kinds of different liquids and powders along with their antidotes that can easily kill people in minutes. You questioned and questioned until you found the perfect one. It was a light blur powder, almost grey that when added to any liquid it immediately melts blending in the drink. It was taste less and odorless, and best off all it had an antidote, it was perfect.

Despite you wanting to use it on her, you decided you killed the last girl, you should take it up a notch so you can really get Neteyam to yourself for good. The poison only takes a few minutes to take effect but you are such the antidote works effectively as soon as you inject it. The poison is meant to thin your blood so you start to bleed internally before you die. It was fast working though, killing fully grown na’vi in just 20 minutes.  

Since tonight was yet another clan celebration, you decided it’s the perfect time to carry out another one of your sick plans. You walk up to the group sitting next to Nanti casually, you slip your drink slowly, that already had the poison mixed in it and paced yourself until you had to pee. When you got up you handed your drink over to Nanti to hold until you returning making sure at least one person saw you do so.  

When you did return after a few minutes you took the drink back from her and took a big gulp then a few more to finish the drink in the next few minutes, then you waited. It was a nerve racking few minutes you almost regretted it but you knew earlier on you had slipped the antidote shot in Nanti bag making her look even more suspicious, why would you have an antidote if you didn’t have the poison? 

When you coughed for the first couple times it caught the attention of Lo’ak and Kiri cutting off their conversation to ask if you are alright, after you said you were just fine, they continued. Then you had a second coughing fit this time Neteyam noticed and it was a good time too because this time you coughed some blood up into your palm. You look up at Neteyam with teary, scared eyes. 

He made quick work pushing Lo’ak to get their dad who was sitting a couple tables away drinking with norm and your father and he rushed to your side. When they arrived, you glanced at Nanti a couple times to make sure someone knew you suspected her, Lo’ak was the only one who noticed, everyone else was caught up on helping you.  

Norm whipped out his tablet and took a blood swap rapidly testing it to find out what was causing you to cough up blood, when the test came back positive with the specific poison Lo’ak was quick to speak up, “Nanti what the fuck? What did you do to her?” 

Neteyam tried to defend that bitch but Lo’ak was quick to cut him off, “You are thinking with the wrong head idiot, she is the only person here that knows this much about poison.” Neteyam was shut up after that and Nanti took her turn to speak up, “What?! I didn’t poison her! She was hanging around my healing unit the pass couple weeks she has just as much knowledge as I do” she really tried to defend herself but Lo’ak wasn’t buying that and truthfully now neither was Neteyam, “And why would she poison herself?” Neteyam spoke up looking up at Nanti that stood next to his crouched figure next to you. 

“You- *cough cough* poisoned me?” you stutter out looking up at her with scared eyes, “Antidote?” you asked to no one in particular ignoring the way she pleaded for everyone to believe she didn’t poison you. “There is an antidote but, it takes about 30 minutes to properly make, you only have about 10 minutes left...” Norm said solemnly as if you didn’t stash and antidote in Nanti’s bag, but to be fair he didn’t know that. 

Luckily for you it clicked in Neteyam’s brain, she wouldn’t bring poison without an antidote, just for good measure. While Lo’ak and your father were arguing with norm to at least to make the antidote, Neteyam stoon up to Nanti, towering over her, “Where is the antidote?” his voice was eerily calm. She stepped back away from his figure telling him the same ‘I don’t know.’ Neteyam didn’t let her get far when he yanked her arm causing her to yelp catching the attention of the other men.  

“I’m not letting her die, where is it?” he ignored the growl of his name coming from his father as they try to make him let her go, “Neteyam I didn’t do this! I do not have the antidote, see?” she emptied the contents of her bag on the floor and the injection fell out. You watch her expression fall to her ass when he picks it up handing it to norm to inject you. He ignored her pleads towards him when he kneeled next to you once more at your side. You were in so much pain but you wanted so badly to laugh at her expression. It was amazing the things you can do when you set your mind to it.  

 After the celebration was over you were laying in the healers’ hut resting until the antidote works its way through your entire body properly, it stopped you from dying but the poison was still in there. Lo’ak and your sister sat next to you making jokes trying to cheer you up when Neteyam walked in. He had been previously discussion forms of punishment with his father about the matter and they settled for death. It wasn’t fair to her since she didn’t do anything but you could not find it in yourself to be mad about it, she did this to herself.  

You turned away from him ignoring him when he walked in and kneeled on the other side of you, you know your sister and Lo’ak saw you do that but didn’t interrupt when Neteyam tried to get your attention. “Angle are you ok? Feeling any better?” he asked in a soft voice as he ran his large hand over your head. “Am I ok? Are you out of your mind Neteyam? I don’t even want to have to explain this to you” you roll your eyes and push his hand off you. “What? What are you-” he started but you cut him off 

“Do you seriously not see this pattern? Every time you bring one of you girls around me i get attacked or insulted and not poisoned. How you counted how much times one of your little girlfriends has called me dumb or stupid? Like the time I got pushed off that high tree, or when that one crazy bitch stabbed me? It was all because I wanted to be your friend, all because I wanted to be around you. I almost lost my life today because another one of your crazy chicks tried to kill me. Just stop dating at this point” you look up to the ceiling pretending to stop the fake tears that begin pouring out your eyes. 

Neteyam feels awful it’s all his fault, he didn’t mean for those things to happen to you, and you are right, you truthfully have been by his side through thick and thin. Anything that has ever happened in his life you were a part of. It wasn’t fair you had to go through all of this just because you wanted to be around him. “Honestly bro, you’d both probably be a lot safe of you dated each other. We would stop having to ward off horny men cause Eywa forbid a woman approached your girl and she would stop dying every month”  

Neteyam rested on the comment for a minute before you spoke up, “Oh please, I’m not his type.” you roll your eyes wiping your tears. Neteyam gestured for Lo’ak and your sister to leave before he responded to your comment. “Who said you aren’t my type? I happen to like crazy girls apparently, although, those other chicks weren’t crazy, were they? You just had fun framing and killing them.” 

His words catch you off guard, before Mo’at busted into the healing tent telling you that you were cleared to leave. His words didn’t stop pondering in your mind as soon as she left you innocently questioned him, “What? What did you say?” you asked confusedly. “Why don’t I get you home then we can talk” he didn’t take you to your home, he took you to his. 

Neteyam had recently built an extension of his family hut for himself. A room equip with everything he needed including privacy because he is of mating age now and when he does bring a woman home, he wants her to be comfortable. He pulled the flap to the main entrance of the family hut for you to enter in and you see Jake and Lo’ak sitting in the common area talking. You both greet them and they ask how you are feeling which you give a sweet, ‘fine’ before following Neteyam into his private quarters.  

Neteyam closes the heavy flap behind you and walk deeper into the room siting on his bed and left you standing next to his desk that he bolted a mirror above. “So back to business? I know you’ve been killing people, that doesn’t sound like you at all” Neteyam’s tone of voice was amusement, if he knew all the horrible things he did, why did he not stop you? Why isn’t he mad? “I don’t know what you’re talking about” your tone is soft like most times you speak to people. “Oh, cut the shit angel, you don’t have to lie anymore. I know all about your little side hobbies” you make eye contact with him now, “And what side hobbies are those?” you grit your teeth slightly. “Well, first of all, I know very well that you like me, but I’m having trouble wrapping my head around just how much. I thought about confessing I liked you but then I caught a glimpse of your twisted little mind and thought I knew how much you liked me but I was so wrong so I decided to wait to see how far you’d take it. I must say angel I commend the dedication.” his words run through your head as you take in everything he says. 

“What glimpse?” you blurted out. Neteyam chuckled and sat back on his bed leaning on the wall. “Sura, I saw you stab her in the neck, I heard you spew those sweet words about how I’m yours, about how she just signed her own death sentence and I saw you stab yourself in the thigh before you screamed out for me, how do you think I got there so quick” your blood ran cold, he saw all that, you thought you were careful. “I- I” he laughed again, “I should have felt angry, scared, you killed my girlfriend but instead I was so fascinated by the way you killed her in cold blood like that, and all for me?” he raised a non-existing eyebrow at you with a sexy smirk on his face.  

“Now tell me baby? You love me that much? You poisoned yourself just for me to stop seeing a girl? You know she got the death sentence for what you did. Do you even feel a little bad? You know if that secret gets out the clan is gonna have your sweet pretty head on a stick” Neteyam got off the bed and walked towards you slowly making you match his pace stepping back until you hit the wall next to his desk. 

Your loincloth was slick, when he rested his huge arm over your head on the wall and dipped his head down closer to yours. His body came closer with a few small steps pressing you more onto the wall behind you. His hair created a curtain hiding you both from the world as he brought his lips closer to yours, “I did it all for you Neteyam, wanted you to love me and other women kept getting in my way, I just wanted to be with you, I don’t feel bad. You aren’t gonna tell on me, right?” your voice was a seductive whisper as you tip toed to bring your lips closer to his. 

You felt his breath on your tongue when he whispered back to you, “Of course not, you’re my girl, always been my sweet girl” before he kissed you for the first time. His lips were warm and wet, and he tasted so sweet like the fruits he had eaten earlier. The hand that wasn’t above your head ran over your waist and hips gripping and pulling your bottom half closer to his body. 

Your hands came up around his neck bending your body upwards on his. Neteyam is much taller than you, by a foot at least, your height ends right around his chest. You whimper into the kiss pulling away for air and look up at him, Neteyam didn’t wait another second after you inhaled and kissed you again, the hand that was on the wall ran down the length of your body squeezing the flesh that was under his fingers. Neteyam held you by both your hips and lifted your body off the floor, you wrapped your legs around his think waist and he seated you on the desk next to him. Your ass touched the cold wood and made your hiss in his mouth before he detached and kissed down your neck. 

Neteyam sucked and kiss down your neck listening to you moan and whimper under his tongue, he pulled away untying your top and tossing it over your shoulder letting your pretty tits bounce freely. He didn’t waste a second kissing down your breast, tugging your nipples with his tongue and one of his hands. Neteyam pulls away and squishes them together looking down at your pretty purple nipples, “Such pretty tits baby, you were hiding these from me all this time?” he went back down to sucking on your nipples. 

“I wasn’t hiding Tey I-I didn’t know if you wanted to see them” your voice was breathy as you spoke taking in the feeling of Neteyam pinching and biting your nipples. “So sensitive” he mumbled into your skin. He didn’t waste much more time before he pulled you off the table catching you when you stumble a bit when you touch the ground. He turned you around and you saw your reflection in his mirror. Your messy hair, naked chest, swollen lips from his intense the kiss was. Then his hand, his big hand rubbing over your nipples and up to your neck choking you slightly. He tilted your head up and he bent down meeting you in the middle for another smearing kiss.  

His body pushed yours up to the desk rocking it slightly as his other hand ran down to your ass squeezing the flesh. He rutted his harden bulge into your ass making you whimper into his kiss. He pulled away untying your loincloth while he keeps eye contact with you, “tey...I have a secret” you said looking up at him, he hummed in response asking you to tell him, “I-I’m still a virgin, wanted you to be the one to take it.”  

Neteyam let out a hearty groan dropping his head on your shoulder as he played with your tail making your face heat up. “Fuck baby- really? for me? You never let anyone in this little cunt?” his voice was strained as he spoke to me. Neteyam always knew you were an innocent girl, even after he found out about your murderous love for him, he had no idea you’ve never lost your virginity to anyone. Of course, you just keep surprising him, killing someone you have experience but you can’t take cock...yet.  

The thought made neteyam excited he felt his dick twitch thinking about what a tight little cunt you must have, you never let anyone in there before it was unmarked territory. He couldn’t wait to tear you open with his big cock, like a kid on his birthday. His grip on your body tightens when you shook your head ‘no’ and he throw your loincloth to the side somewhere forgotten. Neteyam didn’t wait another moment before he dropped to his knees resting both hands on your ass cheeks. Your hands were not placed in front you holding yourself up on the table as you looked back, down at him massaging the fat. He spread your cheeks open catching a glimpse of your wet cunt, he let go and did it again multiple times. 

His chest rumbled from the sight alone, he couldn’t believe he got you so worked you, and to find out you were a virgin he just knew you were touch starved, knowing it was only from his touch made his cock hurt in his loincloth. He watched the slick shine between your folds, he thinks it’s so pretty, your cute cunt shining for him, all slicked up he just wants to taste you. And that’s exactly what he did.  

Neteyam spread your cheeks apart wider and shoved his face in sticking his tongue out and gliding it up your folds collecting the slick in his mouth. He groans vibrating your ass, and you roll your eyes back feeling his tongue flick you clit. “Fuck angel, taste so good for me, smell so fucking good too”  

It caught you off guard when slotted his nose in there but you weren’t complaining, he was going at it. He sucked on your clit flickering it up and down, side to side, he was pushing all your bottoms so perfectly. You heard from other women getting your pussy ate felt good but you had no idea it would have felt like that. “Ah ah Neteyam!” you moan out. 

His tongue slides up to your ass wetting your other tight hold making you clench. He noted the way your body reacted too it but decided he would play with that little whole another day. “Yeah, baby feel good?” his mouth went straight back down to your slit licking and swallowing down your slick, Neteyam was drinking it, fuck the thought sent you wild, you shut your eyes imagining how sexy he must look down there pleasuring you, how fucking good it must be to see his Adam's apple bob when he swallows your juices.  

It made you a little shy but your moans and whimpers over power your feeling of shyness, his tongue feels so good, makes you wonder where he learned to do that. Neteyam sucked harshly on your clit sending you cuming on his tongue and he slurped up every bit of it, he didn’t want any to go to waste but you gushed so much on him, your juices overflowed his mouth running down the length of his neck to his broad chest... 

When the overstimulation kicked in, he pulled away and raised himself to his feet and press up against your back. “Neteyam that was so good” you slumped against him with a weary smile on your face. He chuckled and picked you up bridal style and put you down on the bed gently and untied his own loincloth now letting it join yours on the floor, he walked up to your face stroking his cock right above your nose. Your eyes crossed as you watch his insane size in front of your face as he slowly strokes it. Glowing pre-cum dripped from his tip falling on your lip. Your eyes rolled back when you dart your tongue out and tasted it, he was so sweet. You heard women say their male companions were salty but not Neteyam. He really was perfect for you. 

You stuck your tongue out of your mouth waiting for him to stick his cock in but he smiles and taps his tip on your tongue. Feeling his heavy tip hit your tongue drove you insane, when he slapped your tongue the last time your mouth caught him sucking on the tip.  

You pulled away to change your position so you’d be more comfortable, flipping over onto your stomach on your hands and knees, sticking your ass up in the air and swaying your tail as you turn your head to the side and take him in. “Fuck -fuck baby- suck on it- yea like that” he threw his head back hissing at the feeling of your small mouth around him.  

He talked you through your first time amazingly, praising you, “look so pretty with my cock in your mouth, wanna take a little more?” he pushing in deeper watching your cheeks full out with his cock stuffing you full, “Doing so good babygirl, so good” Neteyam groaned and hissed feeling your tongue circle his tip before he pulls out completely. “Not cuming in there babygirl”  

He turned you effortlessly for you to lay on your back, legs thrown around his slim waist and he crawls on the bed over you, “Are you sure you're ready for this?” he asks you. “Neteyam I've wanted this for years, fuck me...please” you look up at him seductively again making him question how he took so long to mount you. He smiles and leans down for a kiss as he rubs his tip between your folds. 

When he starts pushing in you break the kiss with a sharp gasp but his lips don’t move from yours, he stays right there while he slides his huge head into you. Your eyes screwed shut and your fingers dig into the skin of his muscular back. “Tey- too big...” you whimper out looking at him with glassy eyes, “Taking me so good baby just a little bit more” your tail comes to wrap around his thigh, your legs feel weak and the rest on his back, his tail comes up and wraps around both your ankles as to keep you close. He sings reassurance to you telling you how good you're doing and how amazing you feel clenching around his cock until he’s fully inserted into your snug cunt.  

His head drops down onto your shoulder as he tries not to cum yet and your breathing picks up at the feeling, you have never been so full before. “Nete-” you stutter his name wiggling your hips slights as the pain subsides wanting him to move. When he starts thrusting shallowly, you mewl out scraping down his back. Neteyam brings his head back up to your and kiss you, you don’t kiss back too caught up in the feeling of your pussy stretching out. 

He bites your bottom lip pulling it and when you clench on his cock he moans like a chain reaction, Neteyam raises his body to look down at his cock disappearing into your small hole and reappear, he finds nothing more interesting than watching the way you take him in so flawlessly. “Tey, faster please, fuck me faster, so good” he looks up at you when you plead and watch you prop yourself up on your elbows to watch his cock fuck into you as well. 

You bite your lip when he speeds up his thrust making you tits bounce, it garbs his attention almost immediately and he quickly gets caught up in making them bounce for him. He speeds up his thrust more becoming a bit rougher with you but not enough to hurt you. Neteyam holds back almost everything he has so he won’t hurt you, he wants nothing more than to pound into you and suck on your tits until he’s drawing milk and making you scream.  

The thought sends his mind spiraling, he can’t wait to see you breastfeeding your children, his children. To see you get round and swollen pregnant with his babies. When he knocks you up, he’ll have to bend over your pregnant form just to kiss you when he slots his cock inside, or when he dips his head down to flick your swollen nipples in his mouth tasting the sweet milk that dips out on his tongue. He wants it so bad, he wants to knock you up, make you forever his. 

“Baby I’m gonna cum- cum with me, lemme knock up this sweet cunt. You wanna have my babies, right? Gonna let me give you my babies?” he rambles out of his mind rutting int your tight cunt, “Yes yes please tey! Wanna cum! Want your babies pleaseee!” you cry out for him gushing in his cock. Neteyam is quick to follow pumping his cum deep inside you, he thrust a couple times before he drops his heavy body on top of yours. 

After a few minutes he fixes himself on the pillow dragging you along so he doesn’t have to pull out of you, as early as this relationship was, he wants his seed to take. When you rest your head on his pillow you inhale deeply taking in his scent and bringing yourself closer to his chest. “Hey baby” he grabs your attention making you hum. “Was Akira your doing too? Like what happened there?” he asked softly as he strokes your hair. You mind runs back to the memory and you decide to be honest, “Pushed her off the high cliff into that one rocky river” you wrap your arms around him and snuggle into his chest. “You have to stop killing people now you know” 

“Neteyam if people staying in their lane they wouldn’t have been hurt, or framed, or killed. It’s there out fault when they step in my way.” Neteyam chuckles even though you just admitted to half if the crimes in the clan, you did it for him. Why would be complain. 

✨ I hope you all enjoyed reading! As usually any feedback is amazing! Reblogs, comments and likes are always appreciated!

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[samwitcch]

will byers, the resident sniper and medic - apoc au details under the cut!

---

will's role in the party:

a scouter - stays back to watch over the area during runs w/his rifle and is a backup supply runner if need be. just prefers to scout with dustin and mike

medic - normally takes care of the group regarding injuries and medicine. is very gentle :)

the angel on mike's shoulder -> knows how to placate mike the best if mike's being unreasonable or too harsh

most knowledgable about the infection and how it works -> helps with understanding the patterns of infected people, what attracts infection, etc.

party mediator - rarely ever fights with anyone (mostly with mike haha) and is usually the person people most often go to for a vent or a rant

skills + hobbies:

best with a rifle + second best with guns! -> he practices a lot with lucas but refuses to kill animals

cook of the group along with el (taught her how to cook): rest of the party can make edible food but don't know how to make it taste good

great knowledge of plants and medicine -> jonathan and joyce taught him all they know about it (they are healers)

draws in a sketchbook that mike stole from another group for him: filled with mundane sketches from life and treats it like a daily journal

likes to collect cds and cassettes that he finds around to play in the car (him and max discuss music the most) - fave bands include system of a down, gorillaz, the clash and the cure :) he's an alt rock fan!

quirks / fun facts:

him and lucas have an ongoing competition that started with their aim and is now based on literally anything -> they've been keeping score since they were nine (lucas is currently up by ten and the points are in the thousands)

will shuffles different music in the car and observes who in the party likes what so he can make his own little mental playlists for them!

him and dustin talk a lot about how the infection works. they have some very intense debates about it, especially when it comes to if the infected still have human consciousness or not (will thinks they do, dustin thinks they don't)

--- other notes: canon will, in a short summary, is a very sweet, sensitive, empathetic and capable boy who consistently puts others needs before his own :') of course, i wanted apoc will to share those attributes, with a big emphasis on his empathy, strength, and kindness. first - i wanted him to be a medic to show how he cares about other people and how he helps the people he loves as well. it's shown a lot in the show how much he cares for people and living beings (see: his actions with dart, el, mike, feeling bad for jonathan's hand after he had just woken up, etc.) and him being a healer is very in tune with this behavior. will as a healer is very special to me :') and him learning this skill from his mom and his brother strengthens the theme of family also!

second - him being good with a hunting rifle was to showcase his quiet strength and capability (i'd also like to add that his dexterity on his dnd sheet is extremely high) -> he's a non-confrontational survivor. his strength shines from afar and is put on the backlight, but no one in the party thinks will is weak for his empathy. mike and lucas, in particular, are actually quite jealous of the fact that will is still able to see so much good in humanity and life while being so strong. of course, his connection to the upside down in st is mirrored in this au as well, where he has an innate understanding of how the infection works because of experience, observation and other story spoilers...

looking at the current poll results, it seems im going to be drawing lucas and max next :D see you for that!

[saltyyuuri]

How would valorant agents react to:

"There was a .... Minor mishap in the mission ..."

💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

Brimstone: immediately stressed, texting back multiple times. He would be pacing and calling multiple times.

Once back, you show him Reyna , who is absolutely furious since she somehow got a whole bucket of paint spilled on to her from the janitor's closet they were hiding in.

Phoenix: "what?? What???!" immediately pacing, impatiently waiting for your return

Once back, you gave him back the gun you borrowed from him, now scuffed and scratched. He was just mostly relieved you were fine, not giving two craps that his favorite gun was fucked.

Sage: "where are you?"

Unphazed, already prepared to heal and or resurrect if necessary.

Sova: "And were you following the team? 🤨"

You were not. You decided to ego peak and got hit. Sighs of dissapointelment and just pushing you to med bay

Viper: "not my problem."

She was pretty busy anyways with paperwork and lab work- Sage could take care of it for all she cared.

Cypher: "I know. I saw it."

He watched the entire thing go down on the cameras; and he most definitely saved the video to get a good laugh.

Reyna: "unsurprising."

Despite her annoyance she would still go give a hand if necessary. But you do get scolded pretty bad.

Killjoy: "Shiza, did my bot do something wrong?!"

It did. One of the Bot's malfunctioned and quite literally tore through half the clothing you were wearing. The mishap was more of a wardrobe issue at this point.

Breach: "if you're in jail that's not my problem."

You weren't, but Yoru was. He got sidetracked and went to beat up a civilian for God knows what reason, and of course he ended up in a local jail. Breach just laughed even harder.

Omen: "..."

No answer, but not even a second later he's already teleported directly beside you. The man goes on a whole rampage, then casually escorts you back.

Jett: "wrong person, I told you to tell brimstone!"

She was the reason there was a mishap.

Raze: "good or bad? Cuz if it's good I want in!"

The moment you were back, completely scuffed but holding random scraps from various bots or mechanical stuff for her, her main concern was getting the 'loot'. And then after that she brings you too medbay.

Skye: "🤨 what happened?"

When you dragged back an injured Jett, skye just sighs and reluctantly starts healing. Just a very disappointed look on her face.

Yoru: "don't care."

Yeaaah he really didn't give a shit. But since he decided to be an asshat, you kept the knife you found during the mission, one he didn't have for his collection. Pissed him off even more.

Astra: "oh no, is everyone alright?"

You came back, phoenix was completely drenched since Harbor mistook him for an enemy and nearly drowned Phoenix- and harbor had a massive head wound that looked like it was burnt. Astra was busy laughing so hard and it took some time before a healer came by.

Kay/o: "👍"

That was about it.

Chamber: "If you tell me you broke your custom gun, I'm not making you a new one, chérie."

Even worse, you accidentally took his gun, not yours. The outcome ended you in medbay with Sage having to heal you from a near death.

Neon: "OH GOD WHERE ARE YOU IM COMING I'M COMIIING"

She nearly electrocuted her own teammates on her way there, narrowly avoided hitting you but generally got the sticky situation handled with panic and too much energy.

Fade: "awe :( I will bring nightmare to cheer you up."

While you were in recovery she brought over the little black cat named nightmare to keep you company.

Harbor: "I told you: you should have learned how to swim 😑"

You nearly drowned, on a mission on Lotus you accidentally fell into the lake behind attackers side, barely getting fished out by another teammate.

Gekko: "ARE YOU OKAY?!"

He had all four of his critters running behind him with various things, wingman bringing a boba, thrash had a neatly folded blanket on her back, dizzy had a small plushy and mosh had a single dinosaur bandaid. Gekko brought the snacks for the recovery.

Deadlock: "Are you okay? Are all your limbs intact?"

She was relieved to see the mishap was that a narrowly avoided knife to the head had just sliced your hir very crookedly. She tries her best to make a decent haircut afterwards- definitely not the best but already much better than just having half a chunk gone.

Iso: "who do I have to kill?"

No one, you simply had gotten a copious amount of enemy blood on his white hoodie- which he didn't bat an eye at. He already had all the stuff to get the stains out, fault of wearing white hoodies.

Clove: *was the mishap

She "died", and then scared one of her own teammates shitless when she jumped back up to life, just casually springing back up as if nothing happened. Due to the jump scare, the teammate misfired and hit her again. One hell of a chaotic scene.

Vyse: "Good job."

That was very sarcastic; and honestly she didn't care all that much. But you did find a metal rose on your desk in your room.

Tejo: "And what did I say about rushing in?"

You got a lot of scolding from his part, though it did come from a good place as he was just mostly worried.

Waylay: "Good! Stupid should hurt!"

Of course she would initially just repeat that, but nevertheless she was there to help you through the recovery, not making much more comments about it.

[daylite-writes]

A Healer’s Blunt Teeth - Yan!Capitano x Healer!Reader

(Pt 2 here)

In your homeland, the nation of war, healers are highly valued, highly sought after. This, however, does not grant them autonomy. Traded, won, and bought. That has been your life thus far. Now though, you’ve fallen into the possession of a man you know will never lose a battle.

cw: societal-typical captivity, Yandere-esc behavior, background death, non consensual touching/kissing, sharing a bed (romantic, but not sexual), consensual relationship, brief use of the word ‘master’ until Capitano shuts that down, time skip.

2.8k words

~~~

The sun was relentless, on the battlefield. Glaring down from the horizon, it was blindingly bright. It’s heat was so palpable it warped the rocky terrain around you. Your face, back, legs, all were drenched in sweat. But that wasn’t the worst of it.

The worst part was the smell of the fallen bandits cooking under it.

You choked back a sob as another waft of the scent passed you. Rotting, seared. The battle was over, but didn’t dare to move from the spot behind a jagged rock you’d taken. Quietly, you cursed to yourself, “stupid, fucking—stupid. Gods, archons, fucking, idiotic—”

Idiotic team leader, idiotic fucking team. The scouts were supposed to make sure backup wasn’t within range, the talkers were supposed to intimidate them into to fork over their supplies, and the front liners were supposed to not fucking die should a altercation begin.

Apparently none of them did their job, because the moment swords were drawn, one of them sent a signal to a larger group of Fatui a ways back—the moment their backup arrived marked the start of the bloodshed.

They cut through your group with far too much ease. Trained. You didn’t dare peek out from your hiding place, but you listened to the ‘shirk, shirk, shirk’ as each bandit was double-tapped.

You bit your bottom lip hard, hard enough to draw blood, as footstepped creeped closer.

As a healer, you’d never been afraid of defeat. Even ones that had the entirety of the group you were with dead. But those defeats came at the hands of other Natlan people. Those were people who would spare the healer, finding better uses for you than death. The Fatui? No such promise. Surely they had their own, and in turn, you held no use.

The air was tense, silent, except for your stifled breathing and the click of the rifle as you struggled to load it. You swore internally, fumbling with the damned thing, before you heard a click.

You froze. The click was not from your gun.

“Drop it.” The Fatuus barked. You did so, weapon clattering on the ground, raising your hands in surrender, you kept your head dipped low. Unsteady breaths spilled from your lips.

“Please.” You begged, you weren’t a threat, you prayed they knew that.

One grabbed you, roughly, forcing you to stumble along as you were dragged into the blood smeared slaughter grounds. The sun, glaring in your eyes, made it hard to see. Eventually, the Fatuus shoved you, making you fall to yours knees—which sunk a little into the blood soaked mud under me.

The Fatuus said something, which you didn’t hear between your heavy breathing and rapid heartbeat pounding in your ears. It wasn’t for you—too formal and professional. You lifted your head—

The largest man you’d ever seen. Well, probably a man. Towering, with a helmet that looked like a shark’s metal maw shrouding his face in darkness. The blood pounding in your ears intensified. He was looking at you—he was looking at you—

You dropped your head down immediately, terrified of the man you’d been tossed before. Their leader, undoubtedly. It was a short lived reprice from his fearsome figure, as he soon grabbed your chin, dragging you to your feet and forcing your eyes to meet his void—

“You aren’t a bandit. You’re too scrawny, not toned, and you can’t load a rifle. You are for some sort of utility.” He tilted his head to look down over your body, before his eyes locked onto yours again. “Am I correct?”

“Y-yes—yes sir.” Your chest shook with every heavy breath. “I-I’m their healer.”

“Hm.” He said simply. The hand clasped around your throat and jaw twisted slightly, moving your head and body as he pleased. You let slip a sharp whimper, but didn’t dare say a word. He looked over you, appraising you like one would a horse or a fine good. Trying to determine your value.

“In the Natlan wilds, healers are usually bought, traded around between groups.” He lifted your head a little higher exposing your neck. What was he looking for? “Or taken, when a group died to another. Just one thing from which a victor is entitled to take. Hm. I wonder where you’ve been, healer.”

Too many places. From the moment you showed an innate ability for healing. Traded, won, bought off, defected to. Your knees threatened to buckle beneath you as you met his eyes.

His mask hid all but the slightest trace of blue eyes and a sharp, but you swore you could see the glint of sharp teeth as he dropped out, letting you collapse onto your knees in the dirt.

He turned to his soldiers, with a booming voice yelled; “Kill any left alive, take all supplies of theirs you find.”

Then, he turned back to you, voice quieter, but pleased. You hadn’t moved an inch from where he dropped you.

“What do you think of the cold?”

~~~

Capitano was your new boss. Not the Fatui—Capitano specifically.

You stayed in his tent during the day, and slept in the corner at night. It wasn’t like you were told to sit there, but you’d rather not risk punishment for asking for a bed. You weren’t sure how cruel the Fatui were, how cruel he was.

Besides, it was familiar. Sleeping at the foot of your latest warlord. A decoration when you were not working. Like a fancy vase, or an exotic fur blanket.

He came back to the tent one night, the troops reeling from a small battle. You didn’t know what against, only that he took a seat on the side of his bed, undoing his armor, and turning to you, silently beckoning. You approached, sitting beside him on the bed, beginning to heal his wounds.

You wondered how many had seen under the armor. He was strong, toned, and monstrous. Scars etched out of his back held veiny black scars that had to be from the void, his teeth, at times, seemed shinier than his blades and twice as sharp. His eyes…

Oh his eyes.

There was nothing wrong with them. Not visually, but…

You shuddered as you felt them on you again, your muscles threatening to lock up. Heal, right, you needed to heal him. Don’t disobey, don’t refuse, don’t show fear.

“Calm down.” He commanded, and you suddenly realized how your limbs were shaking.

��Apologies, master.” You took a small breath, forcing your hands to move steadier across his ribs. A gash, probably from some rifthounds. They’d been hunting the abyss deeper into the mountains.

“Hm.” He said simply.

He never showed any pain as you fixed him, despite healing—against most people’s assumptions—being no pleasurable experience. You wondered if he even staggered when the beast cut through flesh. You wondered how many he killed before one landed the lucky shot.

Scars faded, having curled up into themselves until they dissapeared, you pulled your hands back. You were on his bed, on your knees as he sat on the edge, legs planted on the floor. You were practically under his arm, in order to gain access to his ribs, but you didn’t move away, and wouldn’t. Not until he dissmissed you.

“Done?” He asked, voice even. Gods, did he even feel any of it?

“Yes, master.”

“Good.” He inclined his head slightly. A thanks. You, nervously, lips parted slightly, looked up to him, taking a second to glance at his maskless face. Was… was he going to dismiss you, or?

He met your gaze, and this time you could not stop your limbs from locking up. You felt like a rabbit, with the eyes of a wolf locked onto you.

He lifted a hand, his fingertips abyssal, dipped in black ink. Gently, he cupped your cheek. The little gasp you gave was one of fear, but he didn’t seem to mind.

Once again, he considered you, tilting and moving your head as he liked. “You’ve done well.”

If you could speak, you’d thank him. Call him master as the others you’ve served prefer, maybe bow your head. But no. Something in you, needed desperately, to remain very, very, still.

“You’ve served me well, for weeks, now. Not a whisper of what I look like among my men, not a peep of disobeyal from you. You haven’t so much as asked for a bed. I must wonder what has happened for you to be so… tamed.”

You said nothing.

“I think I could take you to the most beautiful place in Teyvat, and you wouldn’t dare ask to step outside my tent, instead awaiting my own permission. Hm.”

He tilted you head to the side, exposing your neck. This time, you began to shake. You’ve seen his teeth at times, they could tear your head free from your body—

“Captain?” You pleaded.

“Shhh. I’m not hurting you.” He whispered, you felt it more than you heard it, his hot breath across your skin. “Remain good and you can sleep in my bed tonight.”

He… kissed you. Your brain almost short circuited when his lips dipped down to your neck. It was gentle, even when sharp canines nicked your skin.

Slowly, your body relaxed, and he pulled you closer, he kissed your neck, like a lover. A reverent one. Before you knew it, you were sitting on his thigh, whimpering as he placed a hickey high on your neck, one not able to be hidden. Between your beating heart and his… affection, he stopped for mere moments, not to breath or take respite, but instead to murmur soft nothings, “good,” “thank you,” “my healer,”, before he planted another kiss somewhere new.

His attention continued on for far too long, you weren’t sure what to do with yourself, or where this was going.

“Master…” you said, panting, it took everything in you to not bury your head in his shoulder and bite your lip. You felt deeply embarrassed. This wasn’t the first time a member of the people you’d been claimed by paid… special attention to you. But it was

“Captain. You will call me captain.”

“Captain.” You forced out, softly. “Can…”

He waited, not kissing your skin as you figured out how to work your tongue. It would better, right? To be with him than against. A healer alone is doomed. You thought for a moment, before quietly speaking.

“Can I kiss you too?”

“Yes.” He growled out, far too fast. A little aggressive, but, okay—you lowered your head, planting your own kiss on his neck, as gently as you could.

He groaned a bit, the vibrations of it tangible against your lips. “Bite down.”

For a moment, your brain short circuited. What?

“Bite.”

Well then. Slowly, nervously, you sank your teeth into his skin.

His hand cupped the back of your head—archons you swore there were claws on them—and pressed your head a bit further down, forcing you to bite down harder.

The sound that forced its way from his throat was guttural, not quite a growl, but deeply animalistic and satisfied.

“Good… healer. Good.” He huffed out. The hand left the back of your head, and you took that as permission to release the crux of his neck from your teeth.

You couldn’t help but be shocked at the sight you left. A perfect set of teeth marks against his neck, little beads of blood dotting it. If you hadn’t seen it yourself a few times, you wouldn’t be sure he could bleed. At least, bleed red. He held himself like a god among men, and his soldiers seemed to put him on a similar pedistool.

Your mind circled back to his previous praise. Good. You did well, he was happy with you. You wondered if you would be allowed to sleep in his bed tonight. You wondered if he’d let you refuse.

Realizing he’d been silent for a time, you glanced at him, cold, icy eyes glittering behind lax eyelids. He was watching you.

Your chest was heaving despite the little effort it took, but his breathing was strangely calm, rhythmic.

You felt a hand run through your hair, you closed your eyes and bit your lip.

“It’s late. Sleep in my bed, should you like.” He said simply, and you opened your eyes. His hand was still in your hair, and you’d never felt so calm in his presence.

“Alright.” You spoke, the sound barely a breath.

You slept in his bed that night, his arm around your midsection. You felt like the woman in a painting with a name you forgot. She lounged within a lion's den, resting her head against one’s chest, sleeping beside an apex predator.

~~~

Capitano’s time in Natlan was coming to a close. And in turn, yours was as well.

You laid lazily on the strategy table, your head and chest slumped forward into your arms. Under you, a map of Teyvat, with various pins and marks. The path home. Capitano had been pouring over it even after his generals left, marking it every once in a while, or muttering to himself. You’d been waiting for him to finish for hours now.

For all his animalisticicity, his libido was strangely low. Even after months of his physical attention—kisses, bites, sharing a bed—it took you initiating for him to grant you anything. You were happy for this, you supposed. But it did make him difficult to manipulate, unlike many other men who’d oblige after you puffed out your cleavage and bit your lip.

So, you had to resort to other methods.

“Captain… I’m tired.”

“Sleep then. I’ll carry you back when I finish.” He didn’t look at you.

“At the table? Darling…”

“You were the one that wanted to come to this meeting.”

“Yes, the meeting. Not the… what is this? Were the plans your generals made not sufficient?”

“I’m merely going over them again.”

“Alright.” You weren’t getting what you wanted. Not yet. “Perhaps I should walk back to the tent.”

His body shifted slightly, an action that on him, was like the moving of glaciers, heavy and lumbering. “You stay by me.”

It was a reminder, a weighty one. You did not have to be his lover, but you were his healer, taken by right of combat. The only right that mattered in Natlan. He held dominion over you either way.

You did not have to be his lover, but god was life easier that way.

“Sorry.” You sunk back into your arms, feigning just enough sadness and remorse to make him uncomfortable, even if he was visibly still as a mountain.

“You know you are not allowed to move through the camp alone.”

“I do. I just forgot, the last few chieftains I served didn’t bother overseeing my location or sleeping arrangements.” You lied. They did. Very closely in fact. You were a goddamn healer by blood, very expensive in the country of war. You slept at their feet or in their beds, sometimes in chains. But such facts did not serve you in that moment. “This… supervision is new to me.”

He sighed, setting down his quill. “I suppose this is done. We can return to the tent.” He moved around the table, coming up behind your chair before sweeping you into his arms. Hook. Line. Sinker.

“My legs function, Capitano. I assure you.”

“They did not seem to this morning.”

“I’m a healer, I can deal with some strained muscles.” You bantered back.

“Oh, so me bringing you breakfast was simply a ploy of yours?”

“Of course it was, surely you realized.” You grinned into his shoulder, taunting. “And healing takes time, imagine what the soldiers would say seeing me struggle to walk, coming out from your tent?”

“Hm.”

“Anyways, I said I could walk.”

“I wonder, do you ever accept the fact you may not get what you want? Or must you claw at me until I indulge you?”

“With walking?” You grinned, finding a stance you could sink your teeth into. “Are you afraid I may run?”

“Do you think you could escape?” Capitano met your question with one of his own.

You hummed, eyes closed with a soft smile, not bothering to indulge him until he answered you first.

Your eyes shot open as the warm metal of his gauntlet tilted your head up by the chin. He looked over your neck, scarred with the symbols of his love, and gave a content, “Hm. No.”

You rolled your eyes, a little insulted. “I could escape if I liked.”

“Of course, my healer.”

You pouted as he let go of you, your face falling down into his shoulder again.

“Fear not though, my healer.” His voice had a rasping, growling edge to it, making your body shiver in the Natlan heat. “There will never be anything to run from.”

~~~~~

Just a little thing! Hope y’all liked it <3