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hyogonokitsune · 3 years

Text

faint -- suna rintarou x reader

here’s a continuation of this, and part 3 is here

back at it again with the suna smut, this time with some slight choking 🥴

the song suna plays in this fic is snow in gothenburg by kasbo, idk I just imagine that’s the type of music he listens to dsdskjfs I actually have a playlist full of suna-vibe songs that I listen to when I write this shit

2000 words

“I can’t believe I actually put in the effort to pirate this.”

“Shush, we’re not even halfway through, give it a chance,” you said, prodding Suna in the side with your elbow.

“Alright, fine, you little optimist,” he replied. He was trying to sound annoyed, but you could hear the faint smile in his voice.

To be fair, the movie was pretty terrible so far. You had been interested in seeing it for a while, so when Suna had told you at practice earlier that day that he had downloaded it you were excited to watch it with him. Disappointment had already set in, but you weren’t one to quit something once you had started. You were determined to suffer through it until the end, even if that meant making Suna suffer alongside you.

Besides, focusing your attention on trying to find a redeeming quality in the movie was distracting you from the fact that this was the first time you had been alone with Suna since you lost your virginity to him. You tried to keep your eyes on the laptop screen in front of you, ignoring how close he was. Understandably, you were a little nervous around him after seeing him, and being seen by him, in such an intimate way. You’d be lying if you said it wasn’t a little frustrating that he seemed completely unfazed by it. He was treating you the same as he always had in class, at practice, and now with just the two of you in his room together, sitting side by side on the floor in the dark. He was the same cool, collected Suna.

He reached up then to scratch at his cheek, the back of his hand brushing up against your arm as he lifted it. The brief contact reminded you of how he had touched you last week, and you could feel your face heating up at the memory; you were grateful that the lights were off in his room.

“I don’t think I’m ever gonna let you pick a movie for us again,” he said when the credits finally rolled, snapping his laptop shut and standing up to return it to his desk.

“That’s fair,” you sighed, stretching your arms out in front of you. “That was two hours I’m never getting back.”

“Every hour of your life is an hour you’re not getting back.”

“Oh, Suna, your wit continues to astound me,” you said, eyes rolling as he sniggered. “It’s getting late, I should probably go.”

“Wait.”

You had been about to stand up, but you paused when he spoke, looking up at him in surprise at his almost forceful tone of voice.

“I heard this song the other day, I thought you might like it,” he explained, scrolling through his phone to find it. It started playing through the speaker on his desk.

“Oh, I do like this.” You shifted to lie flat on your back, looking up at the dark ceiling. Suna said nothing, only smiling at you before moving to mirror your position, his feet pointing in the opposite direction, head coming to rest next to your own.

Your eyes were closed, body relaxed. The only things you were aware of in that moment were the music and the sound of Suna’s soft breathing. It felt nice to just lie there, completely at ease, all of your other senses shut off.

When the song ended you opened your eyes and turned your head to face him, only to find that he was already looking at you. Has he been watching me this whole time? It didn’t even matter if he had been, because the way he was looking at you now made your breath catch in your throat. His gaze held such tenderness that you found yourself leaning towards him before you were aware of what you were doing. You kissed him, and without hesitation he returned it, pressing his mouth against yours earnestly.

“Rintarou,” you breathed, and in an instant you were both sitting up, lips seeking each other out hungrily, hands tearing off clothing with urgency.

It was chilly in the room, but Suna’s hands were hot as they roamed over your body. You wanted to feel him, have him touch you everywhere. It was never enough.

His lips traced a line from your mouth to your ear, teeth nibbling at it lightly and sending a shiver through your body. He shifted, intending to lay you back down on the floor, but you placed your hands on his shoulders to stop him.

“Rin,” you said in a husky voice, “can I try being on top?”

Suna grinned, both at your request and the blush rising up your face. He kissed you once before laying down, his fingers running lazy circles over the top of your thigh. Exhaling shakily, you crawled on top of him, hands on his stomach to steady yourself. You reached down to guide his cock towards your entrance, but your hand was trembling slightly out of nervousness.

“It’s okay, baby, I’ve got you,” he said softly, the smile on his face almost painfully gentle as one of his hands wrapped around your own to help you. He dragged the head of his cock between the folds of your pussy, gathering up the wetness there before pressing it into you. With a sigh, you sank down onto him, taking all of him inside you in one go.

“God,” he groaned, eyes closing and head tipping back. “God, you feel so good…”

It was different with you on top; it felt like his cock was deeper in you than before, reaching a place that was already bringing you close to the edge. You moved your hips back, almost gasping at the sensation against your clit. Your movements were making Suna’s chest rise and fall heavily; the sight of him coming undone emboldened you. You grinded your hips against him, gradually increasing the speed, each moan that you were able to draw out of him tightening the knot in your stomach.

“Rin,” you panted, grasping desperately at his chest.

His hands grabbed your hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh. “What is it, baby?” He bucked his hips up into you, making you gasp. “You gonna cum for me already?”

“Sh-shut up,” you told him. It was embarrassing how close you were after such a short time. Suna was snapping his hips into you harder now, fingertips digging into you insistently; you could feel the bruises starting to form.

“You’re such a needy little girl,” he smirked, “I barely even have to touch you to have you creaming all over my cock.”

Your face was flushed from his words, and you were more than a little frustrated at how right he was. You had been thinking about him all week, and all it took was one kiss for your pussy to be dripping between your legs. “Shut up,” you repeated, breathing hard as you continued to grind against him, trying to focus on the sensation on your clit.

“I can feel how close you are, baby.” That smirk was still on his face. “Is it that easy for me to make you—”

“I said, shut up, Rin.” Without thinking, your hand reached out and wrapped around his neck. His eyes widened in surprise for a brief moment, but then he tilted his head back, exposing his throat for you, silently asking you to apply more pressure. Your fingers pressed into the sides of his neck, where his pulse was beating fast, limiting the blood flow to his head. He groaned, a deep, guttural sound that made your hips work against him even faster.

You were hurtling towards an orgasm quicker than you thought was possible. The friction against your clit, the way his thick cock stretched you out, the sight of him beneath you panting and moaning from what you were doing to him; it was all becoming too much.

“Rin, I’m s-so close,” you breathed, barely above a whisper.

“Me too.” His voice was as low as yours, his face flushed from your hand around his throat and the feeling of you riding him. “Please don’t stop.”

“I want you to cum with me, baby,” you told him. Suna moaned at your words, and the sound of it sent you over the edge.

Your pussy clenched hard around his cock as you kept grinding against him, panting hard and legs trembling. You wanted to shut your eyes against the pleasure, but you kept your gaze trained on Suna’s face.

“Oh god, I’m cumming, I’m cumming, I’m cumming… fuck,” he groaned. You could feel his cock throbbing inside you, feel his warm cum filling your pussy. You released your hold on his neck, but your hips continued to grind into his.

The look on his face was so beautiful. His eyes were shut tight, brows drawn together under a sheen of sweat, his mouth hanging open as a string of curses and moans flew past his lips. His hands were gripping you almost painfully hard, the muscles in his arms and torso tensing as ecstasy washed over him.

“God, baby, stop stop stop, please stop!” he begged as the overstimulation became too much for him. You stilled immediately, leaning down instead to press soft kisses into his neck.

“Was I any good?” you purred into his ear.

“Yes,” he managed weakly, struggling to catch his breath. “You were amazing.”

You pulled away to look at him; his cheeks were glowing, strands of dark hair sticking to his damp forehead. You gently brushed them away, and the soft smile that he gave you made your heart melt. Suna sat up, pressing into your chest as he kissed you. One of his arms wrapped around your waist, and he used the other to push himself off the floor, his cock still inside you as he lifted you up.

“Rintarou!” you cried out, more than a little shocked at how easily he was able to carry you.

“Shh,” he hushed, setting you down on his bed. He laid down beside you and pulled the covers over your bodies. “Just lay with me for a bit.”

You stretched an arm out over him, wiggling closer to rest your cheek on his chest. His heart was pounding against your ear, still pumping hard from his high.

“Kind of embarrassing how fast we both finished, huh?” he asked with a self-deprecating laugh.

“A little bit,” you giggled in turn, tracing tiny patterns into his skin with your fingertip.

The two of you lay in silence in his dark room, the only sound coming from the heater that had finally turned on beneath the window. It was late, and although you didn’t have class the next day, you really should have been home a while ago.

“Rin, I should go,” you said, but you made no move to sit up.

“It’s already so late, you should just stay the night,” he mumbled, careful to keep his tone casual, but the way his arm wrapped around you to hug you closer to his body betrayed him.

You didn’t want to leave, either. It was warm under the covers, Suna’s body heat seeping into you, his scent surrounding you; the darkness of the room and the aftereffects of sex were making you sleepy. Laying on his firm chest with his arm around your body, you realized that there wasn’t any place else you’d rather be in that moment. It would be worth finding an excuse to explain why you were out all night the next day, and dealing with any ramifications then, if it meant you didn’t have to leave him now.

You snuggled closer to him, arm tightening around his side. “You’re lucky I’m tired,” you murmured into his skin.

“Mm hmm,” he hummed. His hand moved up to bury itself in your hair, long fingers winding their way through your locks. If you had lifted your face to look at him then, you would have seen the faint smile on his lips.

➣ masterlist

#suna #suna rintarou #suna smut #suna rintarou smut #suna x reader #suna rintarou x reader #haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader #niakasi writing

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cheekygreenty · 3 years

Text

Little Witch - Part 13

The Darkling x Reader

This is more of a filler chapter, I wanted to write something where reader is in action🤭

As much as you loved to keep your personal and work life separate, the life at the Little Palace rarely allowed for such things. Rumors spread and tensions rose and much to your dismay the privacy of Aleksander's chambers only reached so far. Everywhere you went eyes followed you with a sense of interest, poking and prodding for the details of why the Deputy General had stayed in the Darkling's quarters, but more importantly why you raced out of there in the dead of the night, slamming every door possible with loud echoing thuds.

You ignored it all, you had work to do. Currently, you stood waiting in the courtyard for your horses, your recruited Grisha in tow. You had asked Fedyor for the best soldiers, ones who could be ruthless and loyal. Two Heartrenderers, an Inferni and the Squaller you now knew as Zoya waited behind you, shivering from a sudden gust of freezing wind.

The weather had gotten brutal over the past few days but this mission couldn't wait. You had gotten intel that somehow a Kerch merchant kidnapped Grisha while they traveled between camps and was keeping them in a home not far from the Palace, waiting to transport them across the Fold and use them as indentures. This angered you beyond means of explanation.

Your stableboy brought out your beautiful chestnut brown Arabian, and you quickly hoisted yourself up. You would all be going on horseback despite the weather, for a carriage would slow you down significantly.

'Zoya, I'll need you upfront with me, if it starts to snow heavily we'll clear the way.' You addressed the Squaller, patiently waiting as she got up on her horse and came to rest beside you, giving you a curt nod.

'Ready?'

You brought your horse into a quick gallop, cringing as the cold whipped past you.

******

Riding a horse was only comfortable for so long before your tailbone began to ache. It had been around an hour, but you were almost there as a small village came into view over the hill. You stopped your horse and put up your hand signaling the rest to stop too.

'We leave our horses just there, where the forest fades-' You pointed over to a place just to your right, where tree coverage would protect your horses from the cold. '-we walk the rest of the way. All intel pointed to the house being secluded, most likely right before the village grows more populated.'

The thing with these missions was there was never an exact location, which frustrated you and from the loud sigh Zoya gave, it frustrated everyone else too. You all slid off your horses and walked them to the forest, tying them securely to trees and beginning the walk, making sure to stay hidden behind the trees.

'What's the plan?' Asked the Inferni.

'I go in first, neutralize any threats I can see. Fedyor, keep to my side but be behind me. The rest of you, your main priority is to look for the Grisha. Don't kill anybody unless I tell you to.' You could see the surprised look on their faces and you knew why.

Even though Aleksander was extremely powerful and immortal, he never walked into a fight first, he was always the one to walk into a clear path, never cleared it himself. You did things differently, liked to be in complete control.

'What did the General say about this?' He spoke again.

You stopped and turned to him.

'If you have any issues with how your superior is commanding the missions, I suggest you turn around and learn how to be a soldier.' You snapped. Aleksander had these people wrapped around his finger. He stared at you with wide eyes and almost immediately his composure dropped, succumbing to your intimidation.

'I don't have time for this nonsense.' You scoffed and walked ahead to where Zoya was searching for the hideout.

'Is it that one?' She pointed to a cabin about with a man guarding the front door. Bingo.

'He's too far, I need to get closer.' Fedyor's raised hands dropped down to his sides. The other Corporalnik nodded in agreement.

You turned away from the group and concentrated on the man, feeling for his pulse and once you gathered the understanding, gently stopped The flow of blood, watching as he fell to the snow-covered ground with a thud.

'Don't take offense, I'm much older' You patted the Heartrenders on the shoulders and ran to the cabin. You saw Zoya let out a strong gust of wind to open the door, almost knocking it off its hinges.

Shouts erupted all around and shots were fired. You bled shadows into the hallway, rendering the Kerch men blind, hoping they wouldn't shoot in the dark. Simultaneously, you slowed the heartbeats you could make out, hoping the shouts died down. With luck on your side, the cabin turned silent and you retreated your shadows.

Three men dressed in fine vests lay slumped on the floor, a pistol or rifle in each hand. Fedyor automatically bent down to take the guns out of their hands and looked around for something to detain them with. You could hear the rest of your crew search the cabin, the loud squeak of the cellar latch opening. You too went to look around, opening all the doors that could open and listening for the beating of one's heart. Nothing.

You grew angry at the possibility of the intel being incorrect. You came to the last door on the far end of the home which was slightly ajar. You could feel a faint pulse and as you opened the door, ready to protect yourself when your eyes caught sight of a purple kefta. A Fabrikator? The figure didn't move from where they were standing. Their hands weren't bound and neither were their legs.

'Are you here with the Second-Army?' Her voice was quiet but steady.

'Yes. Come with me' You moved away from the doorframe and into the hallway once again to let the Grisha through.

'Who are you?'

'Deputy General, now come on we must get going' You heard Zoya indicate from the cellar that they had found the Healer.

She moved away from the wall and walked to you with her head down, showing no indication of being thankful for being saved. Doubt pooled in your stomach but you let it go. You returned to the main room and stared at the three men tied up in the chairs but quickly averted your eyes to Zoya who appeared perplexed and for once, you shared her thoughts. The Inferni walked out with the Healer behind him and what looked like a Squaller to his right but nobody said anything. What is going on?

'Is anybody injured?' You spoke first amongst the crippling silence. Nobody responded. Suddenly out of the corner of your eye you saw the Fabrikator take one of the disposed pistols and point it at you, not hesitating to take shots. You deflected as best you could, protecting the others from the bullets but quickly realized the girl was a Durast and wherever she wanted to shoot, she could definitely make the shot.

You looked around and to your surprise, your Inferni was lying on the ground as the Healer battled Zoya. Fedyor was seemingly pushed up against the wall by the Squaller. What in Saint's name is going on. These are not my Grisha. Your falter caused your shadow shield to break and you felt a cold bullet lodge itself in your thigh where your kefta peeked open.

The pain was too strong, clouding your mind and momentarily prohibiting you from accessing your powers. Saints this hurts.

You reclaimed your mind, letting the merciless Cut wander out to her. The Durast screamed in horror as her hand dropped to the ground. You ignored it, letting your eyes wander to the Squaller and knocking her out with a wind so strong it rattled the cabin. Zoya managed to subdue the Healer, tacking to the ground and holding her hands above her head. You shot out a tendril of onyx shadow and restrained her, relieving Zoya of the uncomfortable position.

You were beyond angry, you were fuming. You harshly grabbed at the Durast, slamming her against the wall by the lapel of her kefta, your thigh screaming in pain. You could feel blood pooling in your riding boots.

'What is this?!' You hissed

'You're not taking us back. You will not force us to be part of that army'

'You would give up the Little Palace for the dirty streets of Ketterdam' The venom rolling off your tongue was almost paralyzing.

'If I am to serve your kind then of course. You're probably stealing my power as we speak' The room stilled and your pain was forgotten. Zoya held her breath, even the Healer's stomach dropped.

Something in you snapped, and with nothing more than a flex of your fingers, the girl's neck snapped, her lifeless body tumbling to the ground. You didn't say another word. Zoya took that as a sign to tell the rogue Grisha they will be tried as traitors, and restrained them both, taking over from you.

Your previous words came back into your mind, Don't kill anybody. You shame Aleksander for merciless killing yet you just did the same. You broke your own rule because somebody offended you. You fool.

You wordlessly limped out of the cabin, completely forgetting the bullet wound on your thigh.

***

The ride back to the Little Palace was torturous. The two traitors had been subdued and riding with the heartrenderes. Your thigh was in excruciating pain and upon entering the gates, you had felt completely numb. As far as you knew, nobody knew you were shot. You had left them to deal with the mess in the cabin, too blinded by anger and arrogance to help and act as the leader. But now, the only thing blinding you was tiredness which you knew wasn't good.

Your horse diligently walked to the courtyard doors but you didn't get off, you couldn't. Your eyes had shut on their own accord. The tiredness washed over you again and your head spun.

You could faintly make out the sound of your name being called by Fedyor asking about the traitors, but you paid him no mind, focusing all your attention on trying not to fall off your horse. Your head bopped, but you fought to stay awake and pass the wave of tiredness so you could walk to the healers unit, but it was relentless.

You felt somebody pull the reigns of your horse and lift the cloak covering your leg, you didn't argue. Then the shouts started. You couldn't hear what they said as your head bopped again, once, twice, then you let go.

****

The immense itching sensation on your thigh was overwhelming. If that wasn't the reason for you waking up, it was the loud argument taking place at the foot of the bed.

You managed to open your eyes to see a Healer working on your leg, looking very focused. She spared you a sweet smile then went right back to work. Oh Saint's this is so itchy. It took everything in you not to itch the bloody wound. Thankfully, the raised voices dragged your attention away.

'We didn't know, she just left!' Fedyor.

'If you'd have gotten here 10 minutes later she would have been dead' Aleksander.

'We thought she wa-'

'I don't care. Leave before I do something I regret' The door opened and shut. You suspected the only people left in the room were you, the Healer and a fuming Aleksander. If he knew you were awake, he showed no indication of it. You didn't need to look at him to know he was brooding. Was he mad that I'm injured or that the mission went sideways?

Your hands clenched as the itching sensation got worse. You hated being healed, it was even worse than being injured.

'If you clench that fist any harder you'll break your knuckles' His voice carried no anger anymore, it was soft but had an edge of plea in it.

You didn't respond. You didn't know what to say. You hadn't seen him since the other night when you confronted him about Alina, and he made no moves to approach you since then.

'I'll give you a written report mission once I'm done here.'

'No need. Zoya took care of it already' As much as you had tried to convince yourself you disliked the beautiful Squaller, she had really come in clutch today. You were thankful.

'Alright, that's all I can do for now. You did lose a lot of blood, so take it easy for the next couple of days.' The young girl got up and left after you muttered a quick thank you.

'Are you ok?'

'We just got ambushed by rogue Grisha who had personal vendettas against me, what do you think' You sat up and rested your head against the headboard, reaching for the glass of water on the nightstand.

'I should've cross-examined the intel. If I knew what they were I would've given you more reinforcements.' He leaned against the wall next to the door, sensing your hostility and keeping his distance

'I didn't need reinforcements. I was just caught off guard is all'

'You killed a-'

'Please, don't say it. , it wasn't my proudest moment.'

'Zoya kept it out of the report. Said she got caught in the cross-fire.'

I love you Zoya.

'Do you want me to leave?' His question made you freeze. On one hand, you were still angry about the other night and the comment he made, but on the other Aleksander always made you feel safe and his presence brought you peace.

'You probably have work to do. I do too anyway' You got up to leave the bed, but he quickly walked over to you, pushing you back down. You grabbed his hands out of reflex.

'Take it easy for the next couple of days. Is that not the advice you got?' He cocked a smile and traced a small pattern on your hand. You stared into his eyes and tried to find a reason to not fold into his embrace, you badly needed a hug, and he gives the best ones.

'Alright, but you can leave' Your answer surprised him, it surprised you too. Apparently subconsciously you still held a grudge against him.

'Y/N, Next time you get hit, please tell someone.' He whispered as he swooped down to kiss the top of your head lovingly, letting his lips linger for a moment. Just as you were about to give in and wrap your arms around him, his warmth left you.

'It won't kill you to take a day off.' He teased as he walked out the door.

I never got that hug.

Part 14

Taglist (tell me if u want to be added to the Little Witch taglist !!)

Here’s a masterlist where u can find previous parts of Little Witch 🖤

#shadow and bone #the darkling #grisha #imagine #the darkling x reader #ben barnes #alexander #fanfic #alina starkov #general kirigan x reader #black general #aleksander morozova x reader #alexander morozova #kefta

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kashimos-hajime · 3 years

Text

the pawn (3/8) | r.b.

summary: He smiles. “How could I? You promised to marry me, didn’t you? Wouldn’t miss that for the world.” Or, Reiner makes a promise; you ask if it’s a challenge.

WARNINGS: general mentions of blood and injuries, minor angst, lot of subtext, and if you know where we are in the show/manga, you know whats up next pairing: reiner braun x fem!reader word count: 5.4k

a/n: slow descent into madness type beat ig hehehheh

masterlist

crossposted on ao3 x

“Shit. Bertholdt, my head—“

“Hold on.” A hand grabs yours, warm and rough, and you look up blearily to see your best friend beside you, smiling uneasily. “Give me the reins.” Bertholdt tugs it out of your grasp and you watch as he rides up ahead a few paces, leading you and your horse at the right wing of their party back to Calaneth. “How are you feeling?”

“I feel like I might throw up,” you explain briefly through clenched teeth. Being thrown off your horse and trampled had left you ragged, bloody, and broken, but you know you’re one of the lucky ones. “I shouldn’t be priority. I’ll be okay.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Hey! Are you alright?” Reiner rides up next to you and you glance at him wearily. You cradle your sprained arm and hold your swollen shoulder in place as you nod. Your face cracked with dried tears and blood, you sway with every step back as you nod. Blood drips down your ripped pant leg and you swear the bruise is growing ever more visible but despite it all, Reiner visibly sags at seeing you breathing.

“She’ll live,” Hange calls back at them. “We managed to stop the bleeding and any internal injuries aren’t serious.”

“How do you know that?”

“Managed to scoop her up before any ribs could be stepped on,” the Section Commander explains and you nod again, straining to keep your head up. “She was a real trooper. Managed to knock a few soldiers out of that Female Titan’s way before they got crushed.”

“My horse didn’t make it, though,” you murmur, rubbing at your cheek. The sunset burns your skin and you screw up your face as a swirling sensation fills your stomach. Legs going lax, a numbness begins to crawl up your body. “I—I tried—“

“Hey, you did good,” Hange cuts sharply. “Just stay awake until we get back.”

You don’t remember what happens next. You were sitting up right, and then you pitch sideways and there’s a shout of your name. Hands grab at your shoulders but you slip, the sensation of wind brushing against your cheeks before you crash to the hard ground and black explodes into your vision.

When you awake, a soft groan rips out of your mouth and something inside your throat cracks as a figure jolts up.

“Creampie? Hey, you awake?”

Turning your face away, you let out a noise and your eyes screw shut tighter.

“You don’t have to shout,” you mumble to yourself. Your head is like a thunderstorm, lightning striking in your skull with every pulse of your heart and you wince to yourself when you move too quickly. “Shit.” Trying to move your arm, pain lances up and balls up in your shoulder, and you flinch as a hand stills your efforts. “Where—“

“We’re at headquarters. You should be okay, now that you’re awake.” Head tilting, you catch sight of a broad silhouette as the hand on your arm moves to your uninjured one, resting atop your knuckles.

“How?”

“You passed out. The doc thinks you’ve got a concussion, but we have to wait a few days until you can stay awake longer than few minutes,” Reiner continues quietly, his hand not quite leaving your bruised hand. “Shit. You scared me.”

“What? Why?” Confused, your eyebrows scrunch together as he reaches and his shadow blocks the flames for just a moment. The ache in your head dulls as his palm presses against your brow. You close your eyes. “Reiner, everything’s still fuzzy, you know.“

“You scared the shit out of me. I thought you were going to die.”

“I’m okay,” you whisper, eyes prying open gently. “I’m okay. Give me… the, uh, rundown.” You look down at your still body covered in a blanket, and Reiner follows your gaze, a dark remorse filling his gaze. Tilting your head at him, you try to smile and he accepts the effort with a tug of his own lips.

“Sprained wrist, dislocated shoulder, bruising. Your leg’s in pretty bad shape. Bruised to hell, but the doc said you’ll have a full recovery. The swelling on your shoulder should go down, but take it easy for the next month while you heal.”

“What?” You try to sit up, but he pushes you back down and your teeth clench when agony ripples through your fatigued body. Your muscles barely move, and the pain is sharp in contrast to the gauzy heat spreading under the covers.

“Don’t move. You passed out once already.” Staring into furious golden eyes, you comply and he sits back down beside you. Planting his elbows into the mattress, he buries his face in his hands with a soft groan. “Shit.” You crane your heard curiously. Lifting your uninjured hand, you set it atop his fingers but he only seems to begin to shake. “Shit.”

“Reiner?”

Fingers digging into his scalp, Reiner turns his head into his palms and you’re scalded by his flinch as you stroke a thumb over his scarred knuckles. Raising his head raggedly, golden eyes fix on your face.

Softly, as if breaking a promise: “Fuck it. Let it kill me. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t pretend that you—you—“

Confusion wrinkles your brow before a realization settles in and your hand falls as you look away. Your heart begins to wilt in your chest. “Reiner, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

“Sorry? You’re sorry? God, I want to marry you.”

You open your mouth in pure shock and your eyes fly to his face just as hands cups your cheeks and he lunges forward, lips pressing to your own hungrily. A soft noise keening from your throat, your arm drapes around his neck, pulling him close instinctively.

His hands span across your cheek, your jaw, pinkies brushing the soft skin of your neck, and your head is spinning from the serenity that flows from his palms into your body as he breathes in deeply, holds you tighter.

When he pulls back, you sink into your pillows with a dazed sigh and he brushes his thumb over your mouth, gaze never leaving your face for a moment.

“I really like you,” you breathe. His face slackens at your voice, and his lips part as if he wants to say something, but as his ochre gaze only flits all over your face, a soft scoff-like sound escapes his chest.

“Still?”

Like he’s shocked. Like it could ever fade.

“Yes, and you want to marry me. We’re all full of surprises,” you whisper and for a moment, a smile pulls at the corner of his mouth as he sits back down. “C’mon. Smile for the cripple.”

“You’re not crippled.”

“Not yet, but with my skill? It’ll only be next week until you have to carry me around in your big hunky arms.” You wrinkle your nose as your hand runs down his arm, rubbing his forearm soothingly. “But you’re stuck with me now. Watch out, Braun. You don’t know what you’re in for.” He twists his wrist to grab your fingers and lifts them to his cheek. The strength drained from your arm, you can’t feel any pain anymore, only the rough skin of his hands, the warmth of his lips as he kisses your limp fingers. Maybe it’s the exhaustion or maybe it’s him, but as Reiner meets your eyes, a loopy smile passes over your face. “I’m going to break your heart.”

Lifting his head, he clasps your hand with his other, and rests his chin atop their hands. Squeezing tightly, he swallows and his lips press into a thin line that twitches into a smile that shatters you.

“I think I’ll break yours first.”

In the future, those words would haunt you for years. You’d hear them in your sleep, lingering in the haze between your dreams and reality, and every time you looked over your shoulder, expecting him to be there.

You could never know what he meant until it was too late.

Presently, however, you don’t know any better.

Frowning, you shake your hand out of his grasp and stretch to touch his face, run a knuckle under his eye. He looks like he’s staring at a corpse, and you want to sit up, hold him to you, run your hands through his hair—a million things you’ll do once you get out of this stupid bed.

For now, you settle on, “Is that… a challenge, Reiner?”

Smile. Please, smile. I’m not going anywhere, idiot. I’m alive, I’m laying right here and you want to marry me—

His eyes flicker over your battered body, to your wrist and shoulder wrapped tight as the muscles try to stitch themselves back together. He presses your hand to his cheek and, with a haunting sadness, he whispers, “No. It’s just the truth.”

Your heart drops and you open your mouth to argue but he lets go of your hand at that moment, gently lowering it back to the bed before he stands. Cold wind sweeps in, chasing away the heat of his skin, and a hollowing feeling begins to settle inside your gut as he leans over. A pair of lips press between your eyebrows before a nose rubs against yours and you stare dazedly into warm golden eyes that are infinitely empty. They stare right through you.

“Reiner…”

“Get some sleep. I’ll see you in the morning,” he whispers and your entire body yearns to hug him as his mouth slots against yours. Warmth pulsing from his mouth against yours, you arch off the bed. His hand at your neck tilts your chin to deepen the kiss and it is everything you never dreamed of. Gentle, and warm, and sad, and so full of an emotion you can’t name it seeps into you until your whole body is stuffed full of it.

When he draws back, a tear slides down the corner of your mouth yet when you raise an exhausted hand to your face, you’re scalded with the realization that the skin around your eyes is dry.

Returning to the barracks after another damn meeting, only an hour or so before Tybur’s damn show, Reiner can’t help but glance at the walls, wondering, wondering, wondering.

Are you listening even here, Magath?

Porco carries Pieck to the couch, setting her down gently while Reiner heads for the abandoned pot of tea from earlier. Pouring himself a cup, he sucks it down like he needs to breathe, ignoring how cold it is in his gut. Repeating, he hears Pieck’s gentle laugh as Porco crashes down beside her, leaning back against the couch.

“I’ll see you guys later,” Colt says, grabbing his jacket. “I have to go talk to Zeke about something. We’ll meet you guys there?”

“Sounds good.”

“See you later, Grice,” Galliard calls and Reiner barely manages his own farewell before the blond is slipping out of the room. There’s a beat of silence before: “Is it just me or are parents really insistent on their kids reproducing?” he continues to himself. “I was talking to Mom before the meeting and she said something about continuing on the family line. Ugh, as if I could stand a few ticks running around me.”

“You’d trip on them.”

“Exactly. What about me screams that I want to be a dad to some snotty brats?”

“They’d only be snotty because you’d be their father,” Pieck teases. “I heard someone’s mom was being really insistent on their son having grandkids,” she continues, pushing herself up and Reiner glances over to see her black-haired head poking out behind the cushions to send him a curious look. “It’s endearing. She wants little blond grandbabies.”

“Right, that’s not going to happen,” he says as the last drop of tea leaves the teapot and he is left with half a mug left. “I only have just a bit over a year left before I get eaten. Too cruel of a fate to leave a widow and any kids we might have.” He snorts. “Besides, I’m not interested in anyone.”

“I could help with that. You have a lot of admirers, Reiner.”

Yeah, right. “I’m not looking for anyone either, Pieck. I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

“Yeah,” Porco snorts. “I’m sure that’s the reason.”

“Don’t be mean, Pock.” A sigh and a flop and Pieck disappears from sight. “He’s right. I forgot we’re going to get eaten before we know it, and you’re going to be the only one left standing. You’ve gotta train new blood, you know. It’s so weird to think about.” Porco sits up abruptly to look down where he assumes Pieck is laying. Eyes wide, he seems to struggle for words and it’s clear that the reminder has socked him in the gut. To be honest, Reiner finds himself counting down the days at this point. “Dad’s already having a hard time with it.”

He sips on his cold tea, and it weighs like a gun in his mouth. He still remembers the feeling of it on his tongue, the slightly ashy taste of gunpowder that lingered. He still isn’t sure whether or not that part had been his imagination, but it wouldn’t have mattered.

“Pieck, c’mon. Don’t talk like that.”

“Why? It’s just how it is for us Eldians. It makes sense—we get tossed out when our bodies give up on us.”

Porco falls silent. Reiner empties his mug and walks over to set it down in the sink, bracing himself against the countertop and staring down the drain as a heavy silence fills their room.

His time is running out. He’s always been aware of that—painfully scrambling to gather the motivation to even wake up without going through with taking the Armoured Titan from Marley permanently. But... he can’t. He won’t.

He doesn’t know why he never expected you wouldn’t be there when he left. Did he think you would come quietly to Marley? A nation that set up your life the way it is now—a line of dominos one catastrophe after another? That you would come with him easily? The very man who toppled life as you knew it, forced you to join a military you didn’t want to join just to protect people?

Did he think you would still care for the man who left you, left someone who would cling to the pieces of her family left until she was bloody?

He knows that answer.

Wood creaking, he pushes himself off the countertop and heads towards the door. Two pairs of eyes burn into his side but he doesn’t care. Not even when Galliard crows at him.

“Where are you going? We have to go to the show, remember.”

“I’m taking a walk,” he replies shortly, yanking open the door and stepping through. “I’ll be back in time.”

He needs to get out of here.

Reiner helps you ease your arm back into the sling. Although you’re going insane staying in the infirmary while the others are off fighting in Stohess, his patience staves off the edge of fear at the idea of trying to stand up on your horse again. The last time—

Blonde hair. Pale eyes. She saw right through me and stopped.

Annie. It’d been Annie this entire time. Why? Why couldn’t you see it? Could you have prevented two Titans boxing it out in Stohess right now? Shit.

I should’ve known. I’m such an idiot. Why did it take for Armin to tell me?

“Hey,” Reiner murmurs, kissing your fingers. You blink, staring down at him again and he smiles faintly, straightening up. A soft pair of lips press against your forehead and you lift your head to slot your mouth against his briefly before he pulls back, stroking your cheek and sitting down beside you. “What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing.” Your arm presses against his and you flash him a smile. “We’re on another day of absolutely nothing, aren’t we?”

“Yeah,” he affirms. You sigh. The entire morning had been spent with him by your side—breakfast in bed, him bringing you some books to pass the time—but as noon nears, you can’t help but want to get out of here. You can’t even do that.

“I’m sorry.”

He frowns. “About what?”

“I feel so useless right now. The Commander’s in Stohess, and we’re just here. We should be with him.” Trying to figure out how to capture Annie. Or doing something. “I hate that I got myself hurt. It’s just so frustrating. I should’ve been better. Moved out of the way sooner, or—”

“No. Don’t do that. Don’t shoulder blame that isn’t yours.” Reiner wraps an arm around you, hand pressing the side of your head into his chest and you turn to loop your uninjured arm around his waist. “Hey.” A soft kiss against the crown of your head. “We’re going to be okay. I promise. You’ll heal up, and it’ll be okay.”

“Promise?” you echo weakly, eyes closing. Your heart pounding, you listen to his own and wonder if the same bliss fills his entire body as it does for you whenever you’re around him. Simply holding him close, you close your eyes. I think I love you, you tell him silently. Do you love me, too?

“No matter what. I’ll even put a ring on your finger when this is all over.”

“You remember,” you whisper, and he chuckles quietly, nosing at your hairline. It does nothing for the ache in your heart at the thought of your friend somewhere in Stohess locked like an animal. Is she an animal? A monster? She can’t be, you tell yourself. She’s just Annie.

Reiner’s finger brushes against your cheek, wiping something away and your eyes open when you realize it’s wet. You’re crying? How hadn’t you noticed? Squeezing him closer, you can’t help your voice from cracking: “Distract me, please. Just… tell me where we’d live. Anything.”

“Where we’d live?” he repeats, strangled, and you nod. “You’d want to come live with me? What about finding your life by the water? Raising kids—“

“Fuck all of that. I just… I just want some peace.” Throat tightening, you close your eyes again. “I want to sleep in on the weekends and I want to kiss you when I wake up, and I—“ Every thought that’s haunted you for the past few months comes back in full force as your voice clots. “I want to stop waking up feeling so heavy. I don’t want any more secrets. I don’t want to fight. I never want to see blood again.”

“Then, how about we go back to my hometown?” he suggests tightly, thumb brushing your cheek before tilting your head up. You look up at him and he smiles faintly. “There’s the biggest lake you’ve ever seen nearby. We can go to the water in the afternoons, eat all this food you’ve never had before.”

“Never had? What is it?”

He sighs, kissing your lips as his index fingers curls underneath your chin. “That’ll ruin the surprise.” Raising his hand to brush over your brow, he studies your face before cupping your jaw and cocking his head, pressing a brief kiss against the corner of your mouth. Your heart lurches. “But the weather is nice, and there are good people, and we’ll never have to worry about the war again. Sound like a plan?”

You can only nod, trying to imagine the lake he’s talking about—the shape, the shade of water, how the sunlight looks when it hits the surface. Is it cold? Does a river lead into it? All you know is that you want to see it.

“It sounds like a good plan,” you finally whisper, and something in his face softens.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he continues in low tones, swiping his thumb over your lips and cheek. “I’m sorry if I ever hurt you.”

“You were scared.” You give a one-shouldered shrug, pain spreading through your chest. “Maybe it would’ve been the right choice. You would’ve been rational to just let it go and I would’ve understood if you didn’t feel the same way.”

“No, I would be insane,” he corrects. Your eyebrows knit together. “How could I not feel the same way about someone like you?”

His words sink into your skin so deeply that the smile that pulls at your face makes you forget, for a moment, about all that’s wrong in the world. Exhaling a soft laugh, you fling your arm around his neck and pull him closer, their noses clashing as your lips find his in a soft kiss and he chuckles, reciprocating tenderly.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

It echoes in your chest like a song that ends too soon.

The infirmary doors open.

Springing away from one another, you look up as Bertholdt, Connie and Sasha come in, none the wiser, although Bertholdt’s eyes narrow at the lingering way your eyes stay on Reiner’s red cheeks. Wiping at your mouth inconspicuously, you adjust your sling with your uninjured hand.

“How are you feeling?” Sasha asks, approaching first and you wiggle your bruised leg gingerly. Dull pain, but manageable.

“Okay. Sleep really took the edge off.” Taking Reiner’s hand, you ease off the bed and get up as the brunette wraps an arm around your shoulder gingerly. Shuffling closer, you rest your head against hers and lean against her, trying to shake the feeling tingling at your cheeks. Sasha’s infectious heat soothes your nerves either way.

“C’mon. Let’s get you something to eat,” she continues. You glance over your shoulder at the boys who all house similar grins, and you dip your head. “You must be starving. I know I am.”

“Sasha—“ You’re cut off by your own laugh as she grabs your hand, pulling you towards the doors.

“What the—“

“Sasha!”

“Slow down, Sasha!” Bertholdt calls as Sasha tries to hide her snickers. Wincing, you still can’t help your smile as you meet her nefarious gaze and you give her a subtle nod. The boys call after them as their fingers interlaced, and Sasha lets out a sharp laugh as she speeds up, tugging you along. “Hey, wait! She’s still hurt!”

“Sasha!”

“Sasha! Lunch isn’t for another hour!”

Breaking into a full sprint, the two girls barrel through headquarters, letting out peals and shrieks of laughter as the boys chase after them, screaming for them to slow down. Despite the thrumming pain in your leg, you can’t help but breathe in the way the wind whizzes past your face as they reach the stairs, jogging down and slipping out of the boys’ view.

Giggling, Sasha whispers about a shortcut and you let her lead you down a hall as the boys’ footsteps patter behind them.

Indeed, when three boys burst into the mess hall, panting and two of them even sweating, they find you two already sitting at a bench across from one another, playing a game of flicking paper at one another, and Sasha, who faces the door, can only maintain a serious face for so long before she bursts into a loud laugh and you hide your smile behind your hand as you glance over your shoulder.

You only last a couple more seconds before you’re breaking down, too.

“Your face! You should see the look on their faces!” Sasha wheezes, slapping a hand over her mouth and trying to silence herself as they come closer, but Bertholdt only looks at them with barely enough anger to scare a baby that it only makes them fall apart even more.

Connie shoots Sasha a look, wedging himself in beside her with purposeful elbow action while Bertholdt and Reiner sandwich you between them and you send them both look but Bertholdt only rolls his eyes as you clutch your stomach, gasping for breath.

“The cripple can run… faster… than you,” you manage to say achingly, poking him in the arm and you swallow, your stomach cramping up as you cover your face with your hand. “What’s the Survey Corps come to?” Your leg seems to pulse at your words, and you hide a wince as your lungs hitch. A hand settles on your thigh gently, and you look at Reiner. He raises his eyebrows and you clear your throat, voice needly. “I’m okay. Really. It’s just my leg, and even that’s not that bad, I promise.”

A firm squeeze before he lets go. Sasha wipes the last tears from her eyes, sniffing a bit.

“If you say so.”

“At least you have something to do, all injured and stuff. If lunch isn’t going to come any sooner, I think I might die of boredom,” Connie points out. “We’ve been here for like, two days, and we haven’t even gotten any updates.” Bertholdt and Reiner share a look behind you as you grab the last paper ball Sasha had flicked at you and throw it back at Connie. He winces, batting it down to the floor.

Grumbling to himself, the guy ducks under the table to grab it as Reiner gets up. Looking up, you watch as he heads for the corner of the room and you excuse yourself, following after him, still recovering from your laughing high.

Sidling beside the blond, you watch as he crouches beside some cabinets.

“I think there’s a chess set somewhere here,” he explains, opening them up and searching. “Do you know how to play?”

“No.”

“Bertholdt and I do. I can teach you.” You nod, surprised. You know chess has always been a game more suited to the higher ups. You wonder how he knows how to play—who must’ve taught him.

Reiner lets out a noise of triumph and pulls something out. Extracting some books, he ducks his head and manages to pull out a wooden box, something rattling inside. The checkered pattern is a bit faded, but he kicks the cabinet doors shut gently and turns to you, surprised to see you standing so close.

“Hey.”

“Hi.” You smile softly, leaning towards him, and he cocks an eyebrow. “You’re full of surprises. Who taught you how to play chess?” The only thing blocking them from touching is the chess box between their bodies as he huffs a laugh.

“I had a friend who was older than I was. He was like our leader—knew all this kind of stuff.”

“Really?”

“His father was a doctor, I think,” he explains vaguely and you smile in amusement. “It’s really easy once you get the hang of it. Don’t worry.”

“Alright. You’re on.” You lean up just as Reiner turns his face away, and you reel back, eyes widening. The soft expression melts away and you exhale sharply, following his gaze to see Ymir glancing over her shoulder at them. Krista speaks to one of the other Scouts sitting across from them, leaving the freckled brunette to study them freely, and Reiner clears his throat, stepping back.

You duck your head, stepping back so Reiner can go ahead first and head towards the table, you following moments later.

It is easy once you learn the basic moves of each piece. Bishops diagonally, rooks horizontally and vertically, pawns one step at a time. When you don’t understand, Bertholdt explains as Reiner tries to get out of a tight spot he’s been shoved into. You really can’t tell who’s going to win as you study the board, trying to guess what they’ll do next.

Sasha and Connie look out the window, bored out of their minds, waiting for lunch as you point at a piece before Reiner can move it.

“That’ll put you in checkmate for Bertl’s next turn, I think,” you tell him, and Reiner pauses, staring at the board. Bertholdt shoots you a glare and you smile sheepishly as Reiner moves his hand.

“You’re right.” He moves his knight instead and Bertholdt scowls, moving his rook quickly as Reiner crosses his arms again. “You’re good at this.”

“I’ve got a good teacher,” you reply, smiling at him. Leaning forward on your uninjured elbow, you keep watching as Reiner turns the tides of the battle, your eyes dragging from the squares to his face. An unsettling feeling growing in your stomach, you glance at the chess pieces that’ve been taken out of action from the game just as he points out how strange everything is.

Why are we unarmed?

It wasn’t standard for them to be—that, and the lack of new orders is troubling. If anything, they should be out there with their gear on, scanning the walls just to make sure there isn’t another breach. Or even in Stohess. Why weren’t the healthy Scouts there? Wouldn’t it be more ideal for there to be more forces just in case?

Your heart drops. Unless…

Reiner stands and you look at Bertholdt who looks paler than usual.

You didn’t think much of it at first with everyone in their plainclothes, but as Reiner returns to his seat next to you from the window, you look into your lap.

What’s happening? Your eyes flit to the carved chess pieces, the one still standing as Bertholdt takes a pawn from Reiner’s side. What aren’t they telling us?

It’s not until Tomas bursts into the mess hall, demanding you directly to get ready to ride to Stohess do you understand.

“Wall Rose has been breached. You and I are riding back to Stohess to alert Commander Erwin and get you to safety.” You shoot up to your feet as Bertholdt’s and Reiner’s mouths drop open.

“I can fight.”

“There are Titans heading this way now. Without ODM gear, you might as well be dead weight.” It’s harsh, and you flinch as Reiner grabs your hand but you jerk it out of his grasp. “Saddle up, now. That’s an order from Section Commander Miche himself.” You step over the bench as Tomas turns to head out and worried murmurs break out amongst them. Your desperate gaze swings from the door to your friends who all stare at you.

“Guys—“

“Go. We’ll be okay,” Connie says, standing just as a Nanaba lands at the window and you rush out of the mess hall, ignoring the pain in your shin as you run out of the building and towards the stables. Entering, you spot Tomas already guiding out two horses and you take the reins with your hand, shrugging your injured shoulder testily out of its sling. It smarts, sharp pain shooting through you, but you shake your head.

You’d have to put it back in later. For now, tacking up a horse is your priority.

What the hell is going on? Bertholdt, Reiner, do you know what’s happening? You guys have to know what to do.

Gritting your teeth and head pulsing with pain, you manage to only be a minute behind Tomas and he helps you with the final fastenings before boosting your step up into the saddle. You take the reins gingerly, determined not to let the pain slowly growing in intensity slow you down as he leads the way out to the road.

The doors burst open as soon as they hit sunlight, and you watch as the other Scouts run for the stables. Moving out of the way, your eyes scan for one blond head in particular as Tomas calls for you to get going.

“Wait, give me a second!” Wretchedly, your ears begin to pound. “I’ll catch up to you!”

Tomas does not wait. He shakes his head, snaps his reins, and gallops out of base without another second to lose.

“Creampie!” The name makes your head swivel and you see him at last near the rear, probably to make sure no one detoured, and you wait for him to run up to you as your mare tosses her mane impatiently, pawing at the ground.

Reining her back in, you feel Reiner’s hand on your thigh before he stops beside you and you wish you could say a million things, but the most you can muster is, “Don’t do anything stupid.”

He smiles. “How could I? You promised to marry me, didn’t you? Wouldn’t miss that for the world.” Winking, he runs into the stable without another word, and your heart lurches as Bertholdt passes, squeezing your knee comfortingly and sending you a determined nod.

You give him a nod in return before grabbing the reins and taking off towards Wall Rose, following the path of dust Tomas had kicked up in his wake.

200 notes · View notes

lenle-g · 3 years

Photo

Oh absolutely! <3333

Scott, making his way up to their Father's desk ready to slide his completed mission report into the holo-records, has no idea that his astronaut brother is even home until he discovers a pale, John-shaped lump sprawled limply in the middle of their circle of sofas.

“What the…?” Scott’s breath catches, his eyes blow wide. His heart does a funny, sharp twisting thing in the middle of his chest that it's probably really not supposed to, and there's a beat or two of pure, unacceptable shock in which Scott's world just tunnels in on the presence of what is clearly blood smeared across John's lax, waxy face.

Big brother's chest attempts a hitched, stunted thing that can only be called breathing in the barest sense before Scott is sprinting across their living space and bellowing into the Comm watch at his wrist for help.

“virGIL?!?” Scott trips down the step and into the circle and, in an action his patella will regret later, crashes hard to his knees at his unconscious brother's side, yelling his head off for the most experienced medic in the family as he does so. “VIRGIL! GET IN HERE, NOW!"

The ‘on my way’ is instantaneous - Scott’s tone had clearly sparked a need for speed. No time to do anything but pull up the GPS location and run because there's a messy line of blood leaking from the astronaut’s nose, similar splotches of red pooling in his ears and an awful jagged slash scabbing across his forehead. John's breathing is light and shallow, his skin tone verging on grey and, perhaps most worryingly, he hasn’t responded at all to all the shouting Scott’s been doing and that’s just strikingly wrong. John's always first awake, first to respond - the young man has to be up and about in an instant if any of Thunderbird Five's alarms sound and so he’s trained to spring awake and into action at the slightest thing. They have to be careful not to walk past his room at night, for goodness sake, in case the sound of feet in the corridor wakes him.

This is not right.

Scott takes a sharp breath, the air like glass and his heart racing with terror as he reaches a fearful hand toward his sibling.

"John?" He tries, his fingers bumping against a hard chest. He lays his palm flat over his brother's heart and gives him a shake. "Hey Johnny, come on, wake up." John’s head lolls limply with the motion, and Scott feels a little sick at it, but gets no other obvious results.

"Ok.” He says aloud to himself, trying to think past the rising gorge of panic in his throat. He feels like a deer in headlights in a way he never would on a rescue. "Think Scott!" He slaps a palm against his own forehead, starting to get angry with himself now. "Patient non-responsive. What do you do?" Try and wake them up seems like the obvious answer, though that's failing so far.

Should he roll him into the recovery position, or should he not move him at all? Should he pinch his nose shut or might he choke? Should he...

"Come on John." Scott taps his brother's cheek softly, then a little harder, getting desperate to stir some kind of response now. Scott has to make a conscious effort to avoid getting blood on his fingers from the sheer amount of it that’s smeared across his brother’s face, still leaking sluggishly from John’s nose and spotted on the cushion that's supporting his head from where it's dripped from his ears. There's blood on the astronaut’s fingertips like he'd been trying to stem the flow before he'd passed out.

Hell. That’s not a sign of anything good.

A hundred horrifying scenarios come to mind. There’s so much that can go wrong living in space, and it can go wrong so quickly that you don’t even know you’re in danger until you’re dead. John could be dying right now in front of him and Scott doesn’t know what to...

"Scott! What's going…?" Virgil, skidding into the room with slippery socks against polished wood, trails off as he goes through a similar process of discovery shock to Scott’s, his eyes wide as saucers. “Jesus.” He says before he can stop himself. “What happened?”

“I don’t know.” Scott can barely breathe around the anxiety. His whole mouth tastes like it's crammed full of fizzy static terror. He scoots around the back of the sofa, leaning over it to give Virgil, who's had the sense to grab a medkit from the wall, more room to work. “I just found him like this.” Scott explains, “How can I help?” He's kept his palm against his brother’s chest the whole time - the feeling of John's heart fluttering beneath his fingertips is the only thing keeping him from freaking out right now.

Virgil’s knelt at John’s side, his fingers pressed to the pulse at his brother’s wrist. There's a deep, worried furrow between his thick eyebrow.

"Oxygen?" Scott suggests, loitering nervously, but Virgil shakes his head.

"Wait till the bleed stops. His BMP is a little fast. Help me roll him on his side so he's less likely to choke." Scott, complying, nearly kicks himself for not doing that earlier. It's hard to ignore how limp and silent their brother is as they do so - there's something incredibly unsettling about just how floppy he is - like a dead thing washed up on the beach.

Virgil distracts Scott by handing him a pair of latex gloves, snapping a pair on over his own fingers to match. He guides his brother's hand to pinch John's nose hard around the cartilage, clearly hoping it'll stem the bleed. Scott grimaces like he's just been asked to chop the man's leg off, but, to his credit, he holds on tight.

"What's brought this on then, hmm John?" Virgil asks, busy wrapping a pressure cuff around a limp forearm. "Some kind of sudden onset space-related injury?" He muses, inflating the cuff, honey brown eyes glued to the numbers, "Something must have gone wrong with re-entry.”

He guesses, “A change in pressure in his head from being back on the planet could have ruptured something."

And John's just been up here bleeding, alone, for who knows how long.

“Ah, his blood pressure is sky high.” Virgil reports the result grimly, noting them and his other readings down holographically at his wrist. "Barotrauma makes sense." It also means that this isn’t going to be a quick fix, John could be out of action for weeks. But what’s happened has happened and all they can do now is treat the symptoms.

“Right. Let’s get him patched up. Astronauts typically lose ten to fourteen percent of their blood volume while up in space,” Virgil explains, ripping open a packet of steri-stips with his teeth and fumbling to peel one from its backing with his big fingers. “It usually takes a day or two home to regain it, so keep holding his nose while I patch up this cut. John can’t afford to lose much extra right now.”

Virgil pinches the gash together and works on sticking a neat, clean line of steri strips along it to try and keep it from bleeding.

"He's had long enough to get changed out of his spacesuit." Scott points out, he's been thinking about this while he watches his brother work. "But he didn’t flag anything up with us. It must have happened pretty suddenly." Only that doesn't quite add up because the angry red scrape at his temple that Virgil’s precautionarily sticking back together suggests some kind of earlier accident that they should have known about. “The way he’s hit his head looks like he collapsed, but there’s nothing hard to hit it on here.” There's anxious sweat, sticky around Scott's collar at the puzzle of it all. “Why wouldn’t he have called us?” His fingers ball into tight fists, his nails digging hard into his palms. Both rows of perfect teeth press hard against each other, grinding on his rising anger.

"I don't kn…" Virgil starts, but then stops, abruptly. Scott nearly drowns in a wave of terror that John's just died or something, but then he notices the same flutter of ginger lashes that his brother clearly has.

John’s coming round.

"John?" Scott prompts carefully, leaning further over the back of the sofa in a way that has Virgil worried that he's going to end up on top of them. "Hey, can you hear me, bro?" There's a pinched, pained scrunch appearing on their sibling’s forehead, tugging at the new plastic stitches. Slowly, the fluttering turns into blinking, but it takes a minute or two for hazy blue-green eyes to work out what focus is.

“John.” The relief in Virgil’s voice is almost palpable. “Do you know where you are? Do you remember what happened?”

It seems a bit early for interrogation. John is blinking glassily at Virgil, his breathing a little hitched. He’s clearly just as confused to be there as the rest of them are. Scott lets up on pinching his nose and both hovering brothers are relieved to find the bleeding seems to have stopped.

“H-Happened?” John eventually asks, blearily. He’s... not sure. All John knows for sure is that he hurts very badly, all over. His head is pounding and the world seems distant and fuzzy like he’s viewing it through a veil of gauze. His brother’s voice sounds muffled and warped, like he’s listening from underwater. "I... I don’t know…" John's mouth shapes the words, though they taste coppery and strange and the vowels sound wet. One of his brother’s presses the hard plastic of an oxygen mask over his mouth and throbbing nose and that doesn't much help his comprehensibility either.

"It’s ok, I should have expected you’d be confused." Virgil smoothes a calming hand the size of a dinner plate gently over his brother's hair, the fine ginger strands slippery between his fingers. "Give it a minute or two, ok? It looks like you hit your head.”

While he waits, Virgil finds a sterile wipe and begins ever so gently cleaning rusty red from John’s skin. A horrific amount of colour leeches out into the fabric as he does so, the stain spreading through the wet fibres and creeping up toward his fingers. John sinks into silence again - staring blankly to the side, blinking lots like he's dizzy even though he’s lying down.

Last thing John really remembers clearly he’d been in the Space Elevator, making his way down from Thunderbird Five. It’d been a rougher ride than usual, but nothing that had screamed imminent danger. Though… if he thinks harder about it, he realises his head had started feeling floaty around halfway down, and there’d been that warning bleep on the 02 readings that he couldn’t explain. He remembers a brief, strange spill of red pressure readings onto his holoscreens, a warning error message, or several, but he would swear they hadn’t felt significant at the time. He’d just felt… floaty and distant. Which should have been a warning sign all of its own.

From the way his head is pounding now, John realises that the craft must have been depressuring around him without him even noticing. It’s a lucky thing that the Elevator is so fast from orbit to Earth. A cold, horrible realisation slithers up John’s spine that, had it been any slower at it, he probably would have died.

"I… the readings were wrong." John manages, though as he does so Virgil notices flecks of blood on his lips and teeth from where it's trickled down the back of his throat. “I think the Elevator was venting atmosphere and I didn’t…” He blinks again, slow and sluggish. “It felt off, but not… I didn’t think anything of it.” He adds. “I… My head hurts.” He squeezes both eyes shut again, his face noticeably growing paler.

“Hang in there J, I’ll give you something for the pain and to lower that BP in a sec,” Virgil promises, his voice considerately much quieter. He lays a palm against his brother’s forehead to feel the heat of it, and is relieved to find it warm but dry. No fever. “We’ll get Brains to check the Elevator over before anyone goes near it again,” Virgil promises, from somewhere above him. “Do you remember hitting your head?”

“I think… uh, I think I fell down the stairs.” The astronaut decides promptly without even opening his eyes, surprising neither of them. “I remember being at the top after getting changed in my room... but I’ve got no memory of anything after that…”

Scott’s got an awful mental image of his brother dragging himself semi-consciously to the sofa before he passed out and feels sick about it.

“Jesus John...” Big brother echoes Virgil’s sentiment from earlier, then trails off, not knowing what else to say. Virgil clearly sees right through him, recognising Scott’s indecision and wallowing fear as something that really won’t help John right now, and shifts into his all-business-get-things-done-mode.

“Right.” The bigger man says, clear cut, “I want to get a brain scan to check everything’s all right in there.” He imagines there’ll be some cerebral swelling and he’ll have to go through all the cognitive and hearing tests, but John seems much more lucid now than he’d anticipated and that’s a good sign. “And we’re having a talk about your platelet count when you're conscious enough to process it." Virgil promises, narrowing his eyes at John, who, to his credit, at least has the decency to look sheepish about it. “If you’re feeling ill from re-entry… more ill than usual,” He corrects himself, “You need to let us know.” There’s a sigh and then Virgil’s voice goes a lot softer. “You shouldn’t feel like the world has to end before you stop working, John. You shouldn’t be working like this at all. If you’re going to live up in space for such long stints you need to…”

“Take the proper precautions. I know, I know.” John rubs a weak hand over his throbbing eyes. He clearly thinks now isn’t the time for a lecture either. “NASA trained, remember?”

“Oh, I remember.” Virgil isn’t letting this one go. “Sometimes you need to remember it too.” He adds, pointedly. “Right, let's get you to bed for now. I'll have to do some scans and a blood test and monitor your pulse and breathing, but I don't see any reason that can't happen in your own room - clean sheets, blackout blinds, the works." He knows the signs that John’s got a space-induced headache from a mile off, and this must be a particular cracker of one, no pun intended. “I'll have to get some saline and glucose in you to bring your levels up to something acceptable." He adds, apologetically, because that means an IV, which John hates, but really it can't be helped. “We'll have to sit with him in shifts.” His focus shifts to Scott. “If he throws up, check for blood and let me know.”

“I’m not gonna throw up.” John tells him, but he doesn’t sound convinced. “Let’s go...” He shifts his bodyweight, his head wobbly and weak and, with both his brother’s diving to provide support, he makes to sit up. The world shutters abruptly into black and white static but, somehow, John remains sitting, waiting for it to pass.

“Hey Virg…” After a few moments, a weak hand curls its long fingers around his wrist, and Virgil finds his bloodied brother looking guiltily up at him. “I… Sorry about this.” There’re flecks of paint at his brother’s cuffs like he’d been interrupted while painting. He turns to his older brother and makes a note of the fear still there. “Scott, I… thankyou.” John breathes, in a rare, awkward moment of vulnerability. “I don’t…” He can’t actually imagine what might have happened if they’d not been there - if he’d been alone like he usually is.

“I’m just glad you’re ok.” Scott presses a warm hand to the back of his brother’s neck, “You sure scared me there, little bro, I thought...” He trails off, leaving Virgil to hum something agreeable in his place as he scoops a thick arm around John’s back.

“Right.” Virgil says again, focusing himself and his brother’s firmly away from the what-ifs, “Time to get you to bed.”

#Thunderbirds #TAG #Thunderbirds Are Go #Thunderbirds 2015 #John Tracy #Virgil Tracy #Scott Tracy #yeaHHHH this is my JAM #thanks for the ask omg XDDD #here's... a thing????#yes it's reMARablY similar to the christmas john i did #which is bc i used the line art bc ive been wanting to add blood to it for months XDDDD #yEET I GUESS #tw:blood #tw: injury #just in case <333 #hope this is ok AAAA

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yoonsshadow · 3 years

Text

ETERNAL - iv

➳ summary ; They have died so often that death has lost its meaning; hurt so regularly that pain has become inconsequential; lost so much that they hold each other to the light of the stars. They have nothing yet they have everything, as long as they have each other. And, after centuries, they now have her.

➳ pairing ; bts!ot7 x fem!reader

➳ genres ; The Old Guard au; fantasy, historical, action, romance, alternate universe

➳ themes ; angst, fluff, death

➳ warnings ; talk of death, ptsd/flashbacks, war zone, heavy violence, course language, panic attack

➳ word count ; 2k

➳ note ; Hello! I know that this chapter took a little longer to get out, and it is a little shorter than usual, but it’s because it takes a lot of time and research to make sure that I’m doing this story justice. That being said, I hope that you enjoy!! The journey for these eight have truly begun now, and boy, do they have a lot coming. :3

masterlist

For a while now, your life has been slipping between your fingers. Like a shadow passing through the night, every moment has melted through you, pooling at your feet until you’re slipping, falling, thrown to the ground. From the moment the first bullet was delivered through your skull, you have lost grip of your control; of the things you hold dearest to you.

Sitting here, surrounded by these seven men, that empty cavern in your chest aches just a little less. It hasn’t started to fill up yet⎯⎯might not for a very long while⎯⎯but the silence no longer echoes.

“It still feels weird to think about,” you say, soft voice carrying through the room with ease. They are all listening so carefully that you cannot meet any of their eyes. “That I died, I mean. I’ve had time to rationalise it, but my whole life has been spent thinking one way⎯⎯believing in life and death, mortality, the fragility and preciousness of living⎯⎯but now I’ve been killed multiple times, died naturally a handful more, and so it feels as though the whole world has been skewed and I’m yet to find my balance.”

Your fingers fiddle together in your lap, eyes downcast to the empty soup bowl on the coffee table.

“The story of how I died the first time is kind of a long one. I can’t tell you about the final moments without explaining everything that led up to it, but there are a few years of history to go through. So, if you want me to condense it…”

“We have all the time in the world,” Namjoon assures, and it could be a joke, a satirical remark regarding your current situations, but instead he speaks with the utmost care, as if he is afraid of any wrong word, any misstep. He is telling you that they are patient, that they don’t mind waiting, that they will listen to every word you say. For you.

And it warms that hole in your chest enough for you to meet his eyes⎯⎯all of their eyes⎯⎯and offer a small smile. Then you nod to yourself. This is a story you need to tell, no matter how painful the memories are.

“Two-and-a-half years ago,” you begin, “the Special Warfare Command uncovered the elaborate smuggling operation of North Korean forces. Untraceable men⎯⎯assumed Black-Ops⎯⎯would enter South Korea through other countries using fake documentation. It’s unclear how long they stayed, months or years, but they would eventually kidnap vulnerable children and smuggle them to North Korea via Mongolia and China.

“Unfortunately, it took years to trace the movements of these men to a point where we knew what they were doing and how they were doing it. The SWC eventually concluded that North Korea were kidnapping and training future sleeper agents and spies, and avoiding suspicion by hiding in the Gobi Desert. They had an entire base of operations on a grey-zone of the border between Mongolia and China, and managed to leave no traces of their movements.”

You need to take a deep gulp of air at this point. Up until now, you have merely stated facts; regurgitated information as you have been told. However, you know that everything from this point on will become personal. You try to think back on your years of conditioning in the army.

“It was at this point that my team was requested for the operation. The 707th Special Mission Group has hundreds of personnel, all within two assault companies, one support company, and one all-female company. There are many missions in which female operators are a better fit, this one included, and out of the female company, my team was chosen.

“When I was promoted to Captain, and at such a young age... All I felt was excitement. Excitement for such an honour, for the experiences ahead, for being able to lead my very own team. The women on my team worked so well, too. We had many successful missions, small and big, and we were ready for this operation. We were ready for Operation Fawn.”

The air in your lungs stutters as you exhale, and you try to swallow the lump in your throat. You’ve avoided thoughts of the thirteen women who had become your friends, your family, but now you are submerged in the memories. Both joyous and tragic.

A few of the men around you look as if they want to move forward, to comfort you, but they also know that it isn’t their place to do so. Not yet.

“The plan was relatively straight-forward. We had found the location of the children, and so it was our job to silently infiltrate the site. Remove all hostiles, retrieve the missing kids, bring them back safely. It wasn’t unlike other missions we had completed before, so we were confident that we could execute it without fail.”

Pulse pumping loudly in your ears, heart beating violently in your chest, you begin to see flashes of that night, playing before your eyes without your permission.

“Get down!” A bullet whirs through the air where your lieutenant’s head had just been, close enough to be able to hear it cutting through the air. “Shit,” you mumble to yourself, peeking around the corner of the collapsed wall for the rest of your team, “how the fuck are there so many of them?”

“Captain.” A voice cuts through the chaos, the intercom in your ear crackling to life. “They’re still pouring in - West entrance - all armed. There shouldn’t be this many men.”

You land shots on three oncoming men, their bodies falling to the ground, but they are quickly replaced by more on their way. You have to do something; you can’t allow your team⎯⎯or the children⎯⎯to die tonight.

While your lieutenant watches your back, you fiddle with the dial of your radio, changing to a different channel.

“Command, this is Dragon, do you copy?”

No response comes through, and you’re forced to move from the wall with your gun poised, firing shots at any unfamiliar figure you see.

“Command, this is Dragon, do you copy?!”

A grenade explodes a short distance away, shaking the ground and sending you stumbling.

“Command, this is Dragon, Operation Fawn has been compromised! I repeat, Operation Fawn has been compromised! Delta Team needs immediate backup, over a hundred hostiles, and counting!”

Either the commotion around you drowns out the voice in your ear, or you’ve yet again received no response. You are starting to get desperate.

“Jesus fuc⎯ we’re completely overwhelmed, Command! My team can only hold out for a little while longer, but these fuckers just keep pouring in! Something is wrong, there shouldn’t be this many of them, we can’t fucking⎯”

Somebody tackles you to the ground. Gunshots, shouts, dirt in your face, a hand on your throat. The man on top of you is heavy, but you’re able to roll him off of you and shoot him between the eyes.

The blood splatters across your goggles.

It’s all too much. There are men everywhere, and you can’t see any of your team members throughout the chaos. You can’t get through to your command centre. Everything that was supposed to be easy tonight has gone wrong. Something heavy, and dark⎯⎯something that feels a lot like doom and panic and we’re going to die⎯⎯lurks in your guts, but you can’t think about that right now. You have to find your girls, have to save these children, have to stay alive⎯

Your fist aches nearly as much as your thudding chest.

Images of death and violence fade away as you blink violently, flexing your fingers individually and then all together, mind still scrambled, still alert.

There are hands on your shoulders, solid and heavy and grounding, and a pair of soft eyes searching for yours. All eyes in the room are on you, but all you can focus on is Yoongi, who looks as if he knows, as if he understands.

And there is a fist-sized patch of red on his left cheekbone. God, your fist, his face, what have you done, oh god I’ve hurt him⎯

Cool air blows on the silent tears that stream down your cheeks, your bones trembling with adrenaline and fear and sorrow. He’s saying something, lips moving slowly, but the clouds in your head are muffling everything. His hands move to hold yours.

You recognise the movement of his lips as the words breathe, it’s okay, and you try your best to obey, but your throat has closed up, tight like the grip of that enemy soldier who had held you to the ground⎯

Yoongi brings one of your hands to his chest, pressing your fingers into him, and you faintly feel the thudding of a heartbeat against your palm. Then, he breathes in, slow and deep, and you follow.

In and out, one by one, Yoongi slowly guides you to breathe steadily once again, your chest growing less tight with each shaky gasp. The tears have stopped flowing, and your limbs have calmed into only a slight tremor, and the darkness in his eyes are captivating. You want to lean forward, let them swallow you whole, but you instead squeeze his hands in silent thanks.

“Let’s get you to bed,” he whispers, and you realise that your head has calmed down enough to take in your surroundings. All seven are watching you with a careful and guarded eye, but you find no pity. It brings you a sliver of relief.

Rather than replying, you merely nod your head and allow Yoongi to pull you up onto shaky legs. Exhaustion is already weighing you down, and all you want to do is escape your own mind.

They have been once before. You, asleep in the spare room, and them, huddled together on the lounges. They are worried about you, but they are also much more; the fear in your voice, the heartache in each memory, was familiar to them. As they watched you relive your trauma, they relived theirs as well.

“I’m sorry, I-” Namjoon’s words stutter out, unsure, unplanned, unlike the way he usually speaks. “This is my fault. I should’ve known- it was too early to- and maybe you wouldn’t have gotten hurt...”

“Hey, no.” Seokjin’s hands on Namjoon’s shoulders are as firm as his words, kind eyes seeking regretful ones. “Don’t blame yourself; this is nobody’s fault. She made her decision to tell us. Don’t take that away from her. And we all know that she couldn’t help that reflex. Yoongi’s been hit harder.”

“We didn’t even hear the rest of the story,” Jimin pouts, nibbling his lower lip between his teeth. “Like, how she died, how her team died, what happened to the mission.”

“We’ll have to be patient,” Yoongi sighs. His cheek is already blue and purple, and will probably be fully healed in an hour. “We know the fundamentals, anyway. A mission that was supposed to be clear-cut somehow got turned on its head. It cost her team’s lives.”

“How does something like that even happen?” Next to Jimin, Taehyung’s pout is not quite as full, but still full of the emotions he is trying to keep in. “It isn’t just her team that got hit, but the entire Special Warfare Command. This was a big operation, guys, so something like this should’ve been prevented.”

“Do you think…” Jeongguk is clutching a pillow close to his chest. “Do you think somebody from the inside betrayed them?” Six faces turn to look at him, shocked at the implication, shocked that it makes sense. “I mean, the information about the operation would have been top secret. North Korea has resources, sure, but they shouldn’t have known the when, where, and how of the mission. Somebody had to have turned.”

“Who would’ve done it?” Jimin’s question is not asking for an answer. He feels sick at the thought.

It is at this moment that Hoseok chooses to emerge from his deep silence. When he speaks, his voice is regretful. Knowing. “I think she knows exactly who did it.”

< prev - next >

tags: @leafyturtle, @loveyoongles, @paint-music-with-me, @barbikatherine, @itsmorgo1604, @calling-dips-on-j-hope, @veronawrites, @applepie1000, @yoonchrisgullwrites, @ally22042000, @ireallylikefoodandyoutube, @blglmgk01, @basicgukk, @softescapism, @sinceritythatcouldntbedelivered, @m1nt-3lla, @hunnayesblog, @rosycheekb, @hemmofluke, @the-bisaster

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solohux · 3 years

Note

For the Hurt/Comfort prompts

Alpha Kylo/Omega Hux

'Just listen to my heartbeat, okay?'

It’s hard for Hux to think of his alpha as mortal. Kylo exudes such power and prowess that seeing him bleed is enough to break Hux’s heart a thousand times over. Every scar on the alpha’s body is a harsh reminder of his vulnerability, of his imperilled quest to rid the galaxy of its chaos.

“I won’t stop until you’re king of everything,” Kylo had said the previous night whilst his omega ran his fingers over his scars. “Everything.”

Hux’s chest had welled up with honour, and with fear.

The panicked word of the Supreme Leader’s grievous injuries reaches the bridge of the Finalizer quickly as the Knights of Ren rush their master back for desperate treatment, cutting off the frequency before the Grand Marshal can say anything else.

General Mitaka is by Hux’s side in a flash, asking if he’s alright but Hux feels as though he’s underwater, everything drowned out but the feeling of Kylo’s immense pain through their bond. Everywhere hurts.

“He’ll be okay, sir,” Mitaka is saying, ushering Hux away from the edge of the comm trenches of the bridge with a hand upon his lower back. “He always is.”

He always is. Hux’s Grand Marshal persona is slipping away, becoming nothing more than an omega terrified for his mate’s life and thinking of nothing else, letting everything else leave his mind except for things that will help his mate get through this.

“A-alert medical,” Hux commands, staring blindly at the floor. “Tell them to ready a bacta tank.”

A chorus of loyal ‘yes, sir!’ sings from around the bridge as every officer sets to work on doing what they can for their Supreme Leader’s return. A path is cleared from the hangar bay to the medical wing, ensuring that no officer, droid or stormtrooper will be in the way whilst Kylo is whisked from his ship to the tank, giving them as much time as they can against the Supreme Leader’s deteriorating state.

The walk to medical is a blur for Hux; if it weren’t for the guiding beeps and whistles of BB-9E, he doubts whether he would have made it there on time to meet the Knights of Ren and their precious cargo but Kylo is nowhere to be seen as the dirt-and-blood covered Knights stand in the corridor of medbay, fussing in a semi-circle with each other. Despite all being alphas, none of them seem ferocious now.

“Where is he?” Hux asks, face pale. “Where’s my Ren? I have to see him—”

“They’re prepping him for the tank, Grand Marshal,” Vicrul says, putting her hand up to stop Hux from entering the treatment room behind them. “He…he’s in a bad way.”

Hux stands on his tip-toes for a moment, trying to see into the room but with the doors closed, he shrinks back down in disappointment, “What happened?”

The Knights all share a glance. Vicrul and Ap’lek take each other’s hands before they bow their heads.

“Wait,” Hux takes a step back, taking in each of the Knights individually before a coldness overtakes him. “There are only five of you.”

Ap’lek raises her head, “Kuruk fell.”

“No,” Hux says. “What—”

But crashed and startled yells interrupt them, chaos sounding out from behind the doors.

“Ren!” Hux dashes into the treatment room, finding that his alpha is in the tank already but he’s thrashing. Wearing nothing but tight, black shorts and a breathing apparatus over his mouth and nose, the alpha’s wounds are heart stopping. His body is covered in slashes that could have only been made by a lightsaber, cutting through his skin in massive lacerations that there’s no doubt that they’ll scar. A starburst-shaped blaster wound sits in the middle of his chest, one that continues to weep blood as he twists and turns against the liquid’s flow as though fighting an invisible enemy.

“Ren, stop!” But he’s thrashing in the tank, clearly confused and afraid and hurt. The medics and droids alike are at a loss of what to do, all yelling for the alpha to remain calm or else they’ll have to tranquilise him; Hux knows that Kylo’s powers and drugs do not interact well. Already, the glass of the tank looks as though it’s about to crack as the alpha presses his palms against the sides, wanting to break free.

“I know you can hear me,” Hux says, trying to keep his panic at bay as he steps up to the glass of the tank, staring up at his mate’s pained expression. “You have to calm down, Ren. You’re only going to make things worse. Please, just relax.”

The omega expects Kylo’s voice to fill his mind like it usually does when words won’t suffice but all he can sense is his mate’s fear. The pain of his wounds and the grief of losing to the Jedi and witnessing the death of one of his Knights is all too much for the wounded alpha, his amber-coloured eyes wide and terrified.

“Kylo? Kylo, listen to me,” Hux takes his right glove off and presses it to the tank, taking calming and cleansing breaths to focus on the feeling of the claim mark on his neck; the source of their bond. “Just listen to my heartbeat, okay? Nothing else. Just me.”

Their bond thrums with energy, pulsing now with each beat of Hux’s heart, the focal point of Kylo’s life. Hux sighs. Regardless of the situation, it’s the only way the omega knows how to bring calmness back to Kylo’s tumultuous and tormented mind; after nightmares, during fits of blinding rage, before the darkest nights creep up on him. The comforting sound of Hux’s beating heart soothes Kylo to no end; now should be no different.

Hux watches as his alpha’s breathing begins to steady and his movements stop, his darting gaze coming to rest upon Hux on the other side of the glass.

“That’s it,” Hux whispers. “I’m here.”

Kylo swallows hard, lifting one of his bloodied palms to mirror where Hux’s rests on the tank’s surface. Composure returned, the medics and droids continue their work around the mated pair, careful not to disturb them.

‘Hux,’ Kylo projects, his voice weak and hoarse inside of the omega’s mind. ‘I lost…’

“There’ll be time to grieve, Ren, time for all of you.” Hux replies softly, looking back over his shoulder to see the Knights standing at the door, all leaning on or touching each other in some form. The omega pouts sadly, wishing he could find words to aid them but he can’t fathom their loss so he turns back to his mate, wiping away his falling tears. “But you must heal first, yes? I…we can’t have you hurting yourself like this.”

Kylo rolls his eyes. ‘Yes, my love.’

“Do not take that tone with me, Kylo Ren,” Hux pulls his hand away from the glass to point at the alpha on the other side. “I could have lost you today.”

‘You didn’t. Your heartbeat saved me.’

Hux bites his lip, unable to take any more. “Yes. Well. You promised me that you wouldn’t stop until I’m king, remember? And am I king yet? No, I’m not. So rest up and get back out there, hm? You’ve got a galaxy to conquer.”

An echo of a chuckle rings in Hux’s mind, making him smile in return, but Kylo’s presence is fading as unconsciousness lurks and Hux can only watch as his eyes slowly close and the sound of the respirator fills the room.

No one comments when the Grand Marshal begins to nest in the treatment room, creating a snug nook beside Kylo’s bacta tank where he spends his free time whilst his alpha is healing. The remaining Knights lock the door at night and find comfort in Hux’s presence, joining him in his nest next to the tank until they’re all sleeping in a pile beside their alpha, waiting for him to wake.

A pack always takes care of their own.

#kylux #omega hux #alpha kylo #kor #kylo's knights #m:writing #abo #tw blood #tw minor character death #also all of the Knights of Ren are girls fight me

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forsakenoathkeeper · 3 years

Text

I Am Alive (chapter 18/?)

Chapter 18: Heartbeat

Deviant!Connor[RK800] x (fem!)Reader Rated M(18+) for canon-typical violence and gore, medical procedures, and graphic sexual content

Chapters: 1 • 2 • 3 • 4 • 5 • 6 • 7 • 8 • 9 • 10 • 11 • 12 • 13 • 14 • 15 • 16 • 17 • 18 • more coming soon

Author's Notes: This chapter was inspired by this amazing mechanical heartbeat created by androidsacutemess on tumblr.

You can also read on AO3 & thank you for supporting me ♥

In engineering school, the very first thing you learned, and the most important part of your studies, was about thirium. Androids had very advanced AI; but, you didn't go to school to be a programmer. While their AI was as important as their components, it was no secret that the discovery of thirium is what allowed androids to be so highly functioning and blend in almost seamlessly with humans.

'Blue blood', as it was often referred to, did behave very similarly to human blood. While blood carried oxygen through the body, thirium carried electricity throughout the android's biocomponents. This allowed for movement and computing capacity to be higher than the average human body.

Thirium behaved very differently than electrical currents did in any other computer component. Not only did this make androids far more efficient than any computer, it allowed them to maintain their internal temperatures and withstand harsher environments far more efficiently. It also made them waterproof and far more shock absorbent.

Of course, for thirium to flow, there needed to be components to accomplish that.

The thirium pump was essentially a heart when compared to human anatomy. It didn't expand and shrink like a human heart, but it moved thirium throughout an android's body, suctioning through and pushing along, like the name implied. It was located in the dead center of the chest.

The thirium pump required a thirium pump regulator to function. Again, the purpose could be taken literally. Since the pump didn't shrink and expand to move thirium, it needed another part to regulate the eb and flow. The regulator was in the abdomen, typically right above the belly button.

Androids, too, had a heartbeat.

It wasn't loud enough to be heard by the human ear. It wasn't technically even a heartbeat, nor could it be classified as a sound. It was a vibration generated as the result of the thirium pump syncing with the regulator.

It was a mechanical thrum that echoed in their chassis, so long as one had the proper tools to listen.

You had heard it when going through school, only once or twice; back then, it was typical to just replace pumps and regulators instead of actively trying to troubleshoot any issues that arose with those parts.

These days, they were too scarce to be wasteful. You and your coworkers had worked feverishly to get the higher ups to approve thirium pump stethoscopes.

Finally, after months of insistent whining to the higher ups, the approval came in, and your first batch of thirium pump monitors arrived. The excitement in the office that day was comparable to Christmas at an orphanage.

You were on thirium transplants for the day, and didn't get the chance to use one. That didn't stop you from snatching one to bring home, seeing as you had a gorgeous guinea pig waiting to be tested on.

Connor was sitting at the couch, staring blindly ahead when you came scurrying in from the elevator. He didn't get a chance to elaborate to whether he was reading, watching a movie, going over a case, or browsing the internet, before you dashed over to him.

"Check this out," you cheered, dropping your bag on the floor and plopping down next to him. You held the device up excitedly.

"We've been asking for these since the clinic opened," you explained, not bothering to mask how excited you were. "The sound can help diagnose a lot of issues with the heart. We can repair them instead of having to replace them."

"It can translate the vibration, resulted by the pump and regulator syncing, into sound," Connor stated, clearly reading off search results.

"You've never seen one before?" you asked, surprised that he hadn't immediately known what it was.

He shook his head a little. "You were the first outside of Cyberlife's facilities to repair me."

"Oh. That's right - they use those chambers," you stated, recalling seeing them briefly in school. Of course, you never worked for Cyberlife, and never got to operate one. They were state of the art and incredibly expensive. You only ever worked for places that did it the old-fashioned way.

"Can I test it on you?" you asked Connor, beaming with excitement.

Connor tilted his head a little, sincerely intrigued by how much this interested you.

"Yes," he answered with a small smile, rotating towards you, eager to please.

With an excited grin, you lifted the earbuds and tucked them into your ears. You lifted the opposite end. It was rounded and metallic, like any ordinary stethoscope; however, seeing as it was designed by Cyberlife, it had their distinctive color pattern: a ring around the edge that would light up when met with android skin, much like factory issued uniforms.

You pressed it against Connor's chest and frowned at the silence you were met with. Then, you remembered, you needed direct skin contact.

You let go of the drum, letting it droop between you and Connor's chests as you undid the top two buttons on his shirt. He had already discarded his tie before your arrival. He was still, looking down at you curiously. You gently pressed the metallic circle over his chest, on his bare skin, right where his pump was tucked into his chassis.

Connor's android skin responded to the device, the human skin tone fading away to expose the pale white shell beneath. The ring around the edge of the stethoscope responded to the interface and lit up in Cyberlife's standard, bright blue LED.

Then, you heard it, the sound immediately feeding through the earbuds.

It sounded much like a regular heartbeat in the way that it thumped. But, it was so unmistakably android in nature. The pulse was metallic and the following echo was like tossing a ring into an empty, steel room. The thrum was soft and drawled out in a hypnotic echo.

It was beautiful.

You closed your eyes and focused on the sound. Connor stared at your face, at the peaceful expression you were making, baffled as to why you found this so interesting. It was just a vibration resulting in two of his biocomponents syncing properly. It meant he was functioning.

It meant he was-

-alive.

Oh.

You felt Connor shift slightly and felt his lips fall onto your forehead. A small sound escaped you at the touch. You tilted your head up, lips parting, beckoning, pleading. It didn't take him long to notice and he leaned down to capture your mouth carefully.

You kissed softly while you continued to listen to the sound. Your fingers slid past the grip on the edge of the drum and touched his bare skin. The contrast between the cold ring and your warm fingers startled him a little. The temperature readings on his skin used to be impervious. After so many nights nuzzled against your warm body, he began to slowly understand what cold felt like.

Connor leaned back a little, parting from the kiss, and lifted one of his hands. He showed it to you, his eyes questioning. With a smile, you took it with your free hand and brought it in, placing it on your chest.

He couldn't quite feel it through your shirt and carefully, slowly, pushed back the hem of your collar to settle his palm over the skin that covered where your heart rested. His hand was large, palm heavy over your chest and fingers extending across our clavicle.

But, of course, as always, Connor's touch was gentle. He kept his eyes locked on yours; but, as he focused on the feeling beneath his palm, his gaze glossed over.

Your heart was thumping against his palm, barely protected by your skin and bones. He pressed a little harder and could feel it thundering away inside you, as if it was threatening to break free.

You breathed a content sigh before seeking out his mouth once more. You intentionally pressed a kiss against his chin to stir him, enjoying the prickly feel of fine facial hair. He tilted his head down and captured your mouth properly and you couldn't resist briefly smirking against his mouth triumphantly.

He kissed you a little more hungrily than he did a moment ago. His thirium pump maintained the same pace because it was a perfectly functioning piece of mechanical equipment; your heart, however, flawed and soft, started to beat faster and faster the more and more he kissed you.

He liked to analyze you when you shared moments like this. It was as close as he could get to interfacing with you. He always felt your heartbeat, monitored the rhythm with fascination. This, however, was different: rather than monitoring it, he felt it physically, so closely against his skin, almost close enough to wrap his palm around it.

With that thought, Connor carefully pulled his hand back and shifted away from the kiss. You didn't miss the expression he was wearing, like he had done something wrong. You slid the drum away from Connor's chest and removed the earbuds out of your ears.

"Are you okay?" you asked him quietly.

"I like the way your heartbeat feels," he admitted quietly.

"Okay," you breathed, clearly pleased with this information.

"I was afraid I might... hurt you," he continued in a whisper, as if he didn't want you to hear him.

"You've never hurt me," you retorted gently.

"I'm so much stronger than you," Connor said lowly, a warning.

"I know," you replied immediately, as if it was hardly a thing to be concerned about. It was unspoken, but the android could hear the implication that you liked it that way.

Connor found his lip twitching, despite himself. He was so much more powerful than you; yet, he felt so helpless against you. You, who was enamored with a sound produced by his biocomponents, something so simple and unimportant to anyone else. You, who never questioned the feelings of an android, of any android for that matter.

"I love you," he uttered, a bold smile gracing his lips, like he had found some secret treasure and was finally able to flaunt it about.

"I love you, too," you replied, leaning over so you could set the thirium pump monitoring device on the side table perched at the couch's armrest.

The android didn't bother hesitating to make his intentions known, taking hold of your waist and pulling you into his lap. You followed reluctantly, slotting into the space above him. Your scrubs were not designed to move this way and pinched at your skin in protest.

With a grumble, you pushed off of Connor and rose to your feet, grinning at the adorable pout he gave you.

"You're insatiable," you teased, feeling beautiful, powerful in the smoldering gaze of his brown eyes, normally so kind, so innocent, now shiny with lust. "I just did a full shift. I've gotta be smelling terrible," you challenged. "Like sweat and thirium."

"It doesn't bother me," Connor retorted sincerely.

"You sure you don't want me to shower first?" you offered softly. However, despite that weak protest, you started undressing.

"I'm just going to get you dirty again," the android replied in a manner that was illegally innocent, considering his polite tone and soft gaze. You wanted to smack it off his perfect, freckled face.

Your scrubs gathered in a pile, and your undershirt followed. You briefly debated if your underwear should remain on as something for him to aspire to remove. However, Connor looked tense where he was seated. His gaze was smoldering and his hands were clenched tightly at his lap, rousing his pants a little.

You couldn't help but flush at that look. This was hardly your first rodeo together; yet, Connor stared at you as if he had not mapped out every inch of you with his tongue, as if your body was some unexplored territory. You almost couldn't believe he had yet to grow bored of you, even a little bit. The tent he was pitching against his zipper looked almost painful; yet, he seemed too focused on you to notice.

-and so, your bra and underwear joined the pile of clothes on the floor and you sauntered over to the android.

When you were in reach, his arms extended and he gripped your waist, pulling you onto him. Your thighs slid onto the couch, on either side of his lap, and your chest fell against his. You giggled like a schoolgirl and received a proud grin from the android.

"Are you certain you are not sore from the other night?" Connor uttered, his prideful expression morphing into sincere concern.

Again, he looked far too innocent asking that question, especially considering any damage would have been entirely of his own making.

You started fumbling with his belt buckle, wanting to ease the tension he was clearly ignoring. "No," you replied sweetly, more focused on the task at hand, trying to pull his belt through the loops.

Connor lifted his hips to aid you, and you dropped his belt unceremoniously onto the floor. He busied his hands with his shirt and had the rest of the buttons undone before you could free his cock from his boxers. The expansion of his torso came into view and, as always, you were infatuated with the sight.

He visibly shuddered when you stroked him, as if he hasn't just been inside you a little over a day ago. You ducked your head down to nip kisses along his freckled neck, sliding your free hand along the newly exposed skin of his chest and tummy. He hummed approvingly, the sound breaking off into a hiss when you bit down on his throat. It didn't hurt, of course; but, the sensation set off unique touch receptors.

You intended to shimmy to the ground and take him in your mouth; however, he seemed to forego asking for permission, which seemed fitting seeing as you had, and reached behind you. You gasped when one of his fingers dipped into your folds and immediately found your entrance.

He nudged teasingly, gathering moisture. He liked the way you puffed out weak noises in response to his touches. Your hand was still wrapped around his cock, but had stopped moving. The android didn't mind, rather pleased with himself that he could distract you so thoroughly.

You were locked in his inquisitive gaze. He seemed to be enjoying the way your face would contort in pleasure or frustration, depending on the way he touched your sex. You seemed to like when he circled your entrance, and expressed annoyance when he barely breached the muscle.

"Damn it, Connor," you hissed out after, perhaps, the fourth time he had done it.

You caught the sight of a diabolical grin before he finally buried his middle finger in your heat and drove it into you at an unhurried pace, his knuckles brushing your folds with each movement. Revitalized, you began stroking him again.

He dipped his head down to take your mouth, surprising you when he did so with his teeth. It was downright improper; yet, his creativity was definitely doing something to you. As if he read your mind, he touched you in new place. You felt his thumb brush against... well... your other hole, and flinched dramatically.

Connor froze up as if he had something wrong. The expression he wore, like he was caught stealing from a cookie jar, sobered you.

"You're naughty, Connor," you teased, giving him a faint smirk. He seemed to calm him down by the sound of your light tone, and his panicked eyes relaxed.

"I'm... sorry?" he suggested. "I thought you might like that."

"I didn't say I didn't," you retorted. He blinked slowly, brown eyes curious. Even if his LED wasn't swirling bright yellow, you could have easily seen he was contemplating. Somehow, you doubted that was the entirety of it. He likely touched you there to soothe his curiosity, as well.

Before he could do it again, you reached behind yourself and pushed against his wrist until he let you go and reluctantly placed that hand on your outer thigh. "It distracted me," you explained teasingly. "Can't you see I'm busy?"

The corner of his mouth twitched, and you had the suspicion that Connor liked being in charge and wanted to protest; but, he didn't. You started stroking him again, with more fervor than before, and earned a startled, throaty moan from the android.

You were stroking him with enough vigor to be pleasurable, and you weren't necessarily being teasing or cruel; but, it wasn't good enough. He wanted more. He wanted to be within the apex of your thighs, to claim the tight heat of your core. Nothing could compare to what it was like, being inside you.

Connor huffed and let his head fall back. He was tall enough that his head drooped over the back of the couch. "No more," he argued softly, though he put up no effort to stop you.

You continued without pause, sincerely enjoying this. He looked gorgeous, neck muscles and shoulders tense, LED a brilliant shade of red, eyes half-lidded with pleasure and teeth occasionally poking out to bite his bottom lip.

"Stop... that..." he uttered, once again making no effort to stop you. His hands were digging into your thighs, fingers twitching in sync with the obscene movement of your hand.

His tip startled to dribble lubricant, a clear indication that he had had it with your touching and wanted something more feral. It aided in your gesture and created obscene, fleshy sounds that echoed around the living room.

Then, suddenly, Connor's head snapped up and his eyes focused on you. The ravenous look he was making sparked a brilliant flame inside you. He dared to settle a glare on you, moving in so close that his exhaust huffed out of his mouth and warmed the skin of your lips.

"I want to be inside you," he declared lowly, almost growling. It wasn't a question or a request. Connor was polite most of the time; but, this sounded quite like a demand, or a warning, that shouldn't go without answer.

Your hand stopped moving and you melted against him, practically purring, "f-fuck."

He didn't have to move you himself. You braced your hands on his shoulders and maneuvered forward, folds sliding along his length. You shifted your hips until his tip breached your entrance and you sank down, impaling yourself on him with abandon.

You took him in just a little too quickly and whined at the pressure. You hoped, prayed, that would never change - that you would never grow so accustomed to him that you didn't burn for just a moment when he breached you again. You wanted to always feel that ache, that brief moment of blossoming pain that reminded you he was inside you.

"Are you okay?" Connor huffed out, lips parted and eyes taking you in with concern.

"That was so hot," you uttered dumbly, seeking out his mouth immediately upon uttering that confession. He moaned against your kiss, pleased to know that something selfish that rolled off his tongue in a moment of desperation aroused you so much.

Your hands lifted from his shoulders and caressed his jaw. You pulled back from his mouth with a wet sound, but remained close, panting onto his cheeks. You began rolling your hips, seeking out friction. It buried him deep and touched places that you knew no one else would ever reach.

"Ohh," you whined, head lulling back and arms wrapping around his shoulders. Connor was still, staring at you in awe and wonder as you humped him more so than any other action that could possibly describe what was occurring.

This didn't give him the friction that he wanted; but, he was shamelessly proud of how pleased you looked, rolling your hips above him in such a way, using him for your own pleasure. For now, he let you.

Your head fell forward, eyes still closed, and your forehead knocked against his, whimpering pathetically as you tried to seek completion on your own. It became clear by your furrowed brown and tight lips that you needed more.

The android endured as long as he could, feeling you tremble helplessly against him, moving your hips desperately, before he decided to take over. His hands planted themselves on your waist and lifted you up just enough that he could lift his hips and fuck up into you. He willed himself to have at least the faintest bit of self-control and not spear you senselessly, settling on a steady rhythm.

You gasped, hands rising to drag through his hair. Connor moaned approvingly, leaning in to kiss you again. Blissed out, you barely reciprocated; he gave up after a few seconds and leaned back to look at you. Your eyes fluttered open and you looked at him with a debauched expression, lips parted and cheeks stained red.

He bent you back carefully, slowly, judging the expression on your face to ensure he didn't hurt you, until you were arched enough that he could dip his head down and press his cheek against your chest. Your hands were still tangled in his hair, one lowering to the back of his neck to hug him against you.

Your heart was thundering away inside you, delicate, yet fierce. He swelled with pride at the knowledge that he had done that. One of his hands dragged up your back to grip the back of your head, holding it gently to compensate for the awkward position he put you in. His pace quickened slightly, fucking up into you eagerly.

"W-wait," you whined, hands releasing Connor's head to push at his shoulders. He obeyed, leaning back with a huff, hands releasing you. He watched intensely as your trembling hands grabbed at the side table and returned the stethoscope's buds to your ears.

As it did before, his skin that touched the drum faded away to expose the pale white beneath, interfacing with the device. Connor's pace quickened when he saw the blissed out face you made when you heard it: his heartbeat. The intervals were faster now and the humming was louder. It was almost deafening. The pulse-like rhythm was vibrating, rattling, mechanical and yet so human-like at the same time.

He didn't intend to; but, when your eyes landed on his, you looked so pleased by this sound, like nothing in the world was ever as beautiful. It was mundane to him, until he considered the beauty he found in your heartbeat, and understood what you desired in the sound produced by his biocomponents.

Your tantalizing gaze struck a match inside him.

Connor arched his back against the couch, eyes fluttering shut. "Ah-" was how his moan started, fading away into a low rumble in his chest, faint static bleeding through. He continued thrusting up into you until the pressure died down and his orgasm subsided.

You didn't seem at all perturbed when his fluttered open and looked up at you; Connor, however, looked regrettable. You removed the earbuds and set the device aside again, leaning into him until your chests were smooshed together. You were so warm against his cold skin.

"You didn't..." he uttered lowly, ashamed.

"So?" you huffed, sounding breathless and content. You were wearing a blissful expression, seemingly pleased, despite his obvious failure.

He looked like a wounded puppy. "Connor, seriously, you're overthinking this," you scolded him softly, trying to ease the troubled look he was wearing. "I don't have to cum to enjoy sex."

"I should have been more attentative," he argued gently.

"You are," you breathed, leaning down to place a gentle bite on his nose. When you leaned back, you couldn't hold back a laugh at the perturbed look he gave you.

"Perhaps, it's the couch," the android suggested quietly, as if he was talking to himself. "May we continue this in the bedroom?"

-and, just like that, he was talking like that again.

"Connor-" you scolded, his name breaking off into a squeal when his hands gripped you beneath your thighs, hoisted your legs up higher on his waist, and rose to his feet, effortlessly carrying you through the house.

Your back hit the bed and he followed, carefully landing on top of you. You huffed out a weak breath, head falling back to smack against the sheets. He managed to stay inside you during that tread through the house, and you were blatantly aware of the fact that he was still hard.

"I've created a monster," you uttered, digging the meat of your palms into your eyes with a groan. The android planted his elbows on the sheets beside you, looming over you possessively.

"We can stop?" he offered, sounding sincere.

You removed your hands from your face and looked up at him. His hair was an absolute mess and his cheeks and the tops of his ears were tinted red. The halo on his temple was stuttering between blue and yellow. His eyes were taking you in as if nothing else in the world mattered in that moment.

You were quiet, counting the freckles on his face.

One... two... nine... wait, did you count that one already? ...fourteen...

"Not yet," you uttered softly, arms winding above his shoulders.

His cock throbbed inside you, and you hissed in response. "You can... move," you uttered softly, forced to pause halfway through when the android dipped his head down to capture your lips momentarily, parting when you with a wet smack.

Despite your request, the android peeled himself off of you to quickly discard of the rest of his clothes. You watched without shame and he maintained eye contact, seemingly pleased that you were watching.

Before slotting himself back into the space above you, he tugged you closer to the center of the bed, moving you around like you weighed nothing. Connor rolled his hips slowly, thrusting into you at a leisurely pace. You hummed approvingly, keeping your eyes locked on his.

His freckles were beautiful, giving something much softer to an otherwise masculine face. They were, easily, one of your favorite features on his physical form. But, there existed some part of him that you had longed to see, something beneath the surface that you had seen glimpses of when the moment allowed: his hand, his tummy... You wanted to see it all.

It was typically performed by the android themselves; however, you knew a trick that could force an android's system response externally.

"Please... tell me if you don't like this," you softly uttered as a warning.

You reached up with one hand and cupped his jaw, finger curling behind his ear to prod at his access release. Your other hand reached for his temple. You waited for a moment, staring up into Connor's beautiful, brown eyes.

He knew damn well what you were doing; but, he made no motion to stop you, no protest on his lips. You pressed one finger on the release behind his ear, while the other traced a seemingly harmless pattern around his LED.

Connor's brow furrowed and his lip tightened, confused as to why you wanted this.

You smiled as his artificial human skin slowly deactivated, starting at his temple and spreading across every inch of his body. The beautiful brown color in his synthetic hairs faded away, creamy skin and freckles all disappeared, exposing pale white plastic from head to toe.

The lines between the panels of his skin were exposed, each shell outlines neatly, showing the arrangement of his physical shape. The android had stopped moving and was staring down at you with nervous eyes, sincerely confused as to why you would deactivate his skin .

"I love your human skin, Connor," you said softly. "But, right now, I want to see the android."

He looked down at you uneasily, as if he wasn't allowed to. His brown eyes remained ever the same, expressive and lovely.

"You're beautiful like this, too," you breathed, hands cupping either side of his face, touching the smooth, plastic plains that made up his skin - his real skin.

He seemed perplexed for a moment, that you would want to see him like this. When your expression of pure delight didn't falter, he leaned in to press a kiss against your cheek before slotting over your mouth. He was unmoving for a bit longer, kissing you gently, perhaps to ease his own anxiety. Eventually, he leaned back and starting rolling his hips again.

You pulled back after a few sloppy kisses and took in the sight of him. He was still undeniably RK800: defined jaw, cute nose, high cheek bones, indent in his chin. His lips were still very kissable, even without his human skin. His brown eyes were ever vibrant, full of life, staring at you so helplessly enamored.

"You're so beautiful, Connor," you continued, voice faltering a little when he picked up the pace.

His arms swept beneath you to wrap around your back and bring you in close, cradling you against him. His biceps came down on either side of you, caging you in pale white plastic. Perhaps, that shouldn't have been alluring in the slightest; but, this was what was real, what he was made of: of plastic and metal and thirium and computer chips.

But, of course, he was more than that: he was this magnificent being that surpassed all expectations of what he was made to be, constantly questioned and challenged what he was capable of. He was more alive than any other man you had been with before.

The android leaned in and pressed his forehead against yours. This close, you could feel his thirium regulator humming through his shell and against your tummy. The look in his eyes was desperate, pleading for more, for you to continue singing praise.

"You make me feel so good," you continued in harsh whispers.

His eyes fluttered shut and he let out a weak moan. You hiked your legs up higher on his waist, heels digging into his lower back. Perhaps unaware, Connor set a brutal pace. You could have slapped yourself for not realizing sooner that he liked to be praised.

"No one - had ever m-made me feel this - this good before," you panted out, struggling to speak properly when he was moving like that. His LED was spinning, alternating gold and crimson. "-n-no man-" you added on with a harsh stutter, breaking off into a cry when he landed a particularly harsh thrust.

"-t-think about you all - the - the time," you continued, stammering away breathlessly, huffing out air between each shift of his hips. "-a-always want you. W-with me... i-inside me-" you cut yourself off when Connor groaned into your throat, the sound mingled with the output of his vocal unit and become distorted faintly.

"-love you s-so-" you whimpered, nails biting into the plains of his back. Your legs tightened around his waist, heels digging into his lower back and thighs squeezing his waist. Connor's arms were practically crushing you against his torso, not that you could bring yourself to mind in that moment.

That tightness in your abdomen was blossoming again, coming on so strong that it was making you dizzy. Maybe, it wasn't just Connor that liked praise. But, you liked to sing it for him.

"You're so-" you breathed, trailing off as you pondered what to tell him. "-perfect," and meant it.

You felt Connor's teeth latch onto your throat. He was being too rough and was likely going to leave behind a hickey, though you doubted it was on purpose. He seemed lost in the moment, rocking into you at a pace that made the bed tremble beneath you.

In that moment, you couldn't bring yourself to care of what blemishes might taint your skin. Part of you wanted it, that his eyes may fall on it and swell with pride at the knowledge that you were his beyond sense and reason.

"I don't d-deserv-" you panted out.

Connor silenced that claim, his mouth hastily letting go of the skin of your neck and rising to your ear. "-you do," he uttered harshly, breathing hot exhaust all over your skin. As always, he managed to maintain a smooth rhythm with hips while sounding so utterly debauched. "-m yours, and you’re mine. Please," he added on, hands gripping you tightly, practically yanking your body against his hips to spear you on his cock.

He didn't have to say please.

You were already lost.

"-'m cumming!" you cried out, body trembling from head to toe and eyes fluttering shut. "Connor!" With that scream, pleasure blossomed in your core, sending delicious tingles all across your body.

You felt more so than heard him reach his own apex. His hips began to stutter, his flawless rhythm finally faltering. You felt his thirium pump regulator whirling, buzzing where it touched your skin with the barrier of his own skin. His moans faded into static and then drawled out into silence.

You were panting pitifully, skin sweaty, legs sore, and core tired but so deliciously satiated. Connor felt warm above you, stiff and otherwise quiet if not for the soft way air puffed out of his mouth, the heat from his processors draining steadily.

He carefully detached himself from you, looking over your thoroughly debauched form with pride. Your sweat was sticking to his skin and his cock and sack was thoroughly soaked with your essence. Yet, he had no desire to immediately clean himself up. It could wait.

Connor hadn't immediately realized he was still hovering above you, trapping you against the bed, until he saw the way you looked up at him with a silent plea. He rolled over and let you shimmy over to the bathroom to clean up.

When you returned, you were surprised to see Connor had not activated his skin yet. He was sitting patiently, completely nude, in both meanings of the word, and was watching you carefully, as if he was waiting for you to return, his calves tangled in the sheets.

You couldn't resist a smile, wondering if he was doing that for you.

Even like this, factory white, one of the most obvious human features wiped away, you could easily spot him a crowd. His posture was enough of a giveaway: so polite, yet tall, proud, and commanding. But, then, there was his eyes. No one wore brown eyes as beautifully as Connor did. They were expressive, even when he wasn't trying.

His frame was lean, designed to be agile, but had a weight to it that warned you of the great power he could exert if he chose to do so. His fingers were long and flexible, now resting patiently on his lap.

"Thank you for letting me see," you uttered, taking a seat beside him.

"I... didn't realize you wanted to see," he replied softly.

"You can reactivate your skin if you don't like it like this?" you offered, letting your hand wander along the planes of his chest, fingertips trailing the lines where the segments of his skin plates separated.

His design was clearly in anticipation for many damages. He had more segments than any other android you had seen before: multiple pieces along the chest, a handful on the shoulder alone, and a unique assortment along the neck and throat.

He could likely endure more than most androids, could carry on until he was in literal pieces. The thought was almost frightening, what would have become if he had not deviated.

"I'm sorry," you uttered shamefully, ripping your hand away from him. "I'm ogling you like-... like I own you."

Connor quickly reached for that hand, grasped it, and returned it to the place you had just been touching. "I don't see it that way," he retorted. "I know what I was made for. I'm happy that you find my design attractive."

"Am I even allowed to, Connor?" you asked, avoiding his gaze.

"Is it shameful to appreciate a human who is aesthetically pleasing?" he offered, tilting his head a little. Before you could answer, he continued. "Does it make you uncomfortable that I stare at you?"

You whipped your head up to look at him. His soft expression was loud and his hand was still holding yours against his chest. You? Aesthetically pleasing? The suggestion sounded absurd to your ears. But, to Connor, you were the most beautiful human he had ever laid his eyes on.

"I don't - that's not the same thing," you argued.

"Why?" he challenged. You flapped your mouth uselessly. "Because I was made?" he continued. "-and you were born?" Even though he was speaking softly, his words shot through you like a bullet.

"I suppose so," you replied helplessly.

Connor didn't seem bothered by your words. "I don't care," he proclaimed proudly, letting a smirk fall on his pale lips. "If I am allowed to look at you, then I want you to look at me, too." He lifted the hand he was still holding and placed it against his temple. "Especially when you like the way I look. Please, don't stop looking at me."

There was something unspoken in his words: don't look at anyone else.

You huffed out a weak breath. "As long as you want me to."

"I do," he replied, bringing his own hands to your waist to tug you into the bed. He maneuvered you over so that your head rested on your pillow and you were laying flat on your back.

"I still need to brush my teeth, Connor," you protested weakly.

"In a moment," he stated in more of a requesting tone than a demanding one.

When you didn't protest, he carefully laid his cheek on your chest. The rest of his body followed, halfway on top of you, legs tangled, carefully slotting over you in a manner that would be comfortable. You brushed his hair aside with one hand and caressed his shoulder with the other, mindlessly tracing the outlines of his android skin.

Your chest rose and fell with each breath, moving his head along with it. The expansion and deflation of your lungs was autonomous; yet, the strength in that function still amazed him. Your heart hummed softly in your chest, and he could feel it, so close to his own skin and hear it thundering away, separated by mere inches of flesh.

He understood why you enjoyed the sound produced by his thirium pump.

A heartbeat was a truly beautiful thing.

#connor x reader #deviant connor x reader #dbh fanfic #rk800 x reader #rk800 smut #connor smut

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sharkfish · 3 years

Text

for @generaldeliciousness

content note: vampire-typical blood drinking

[all my ficlets]

The vampire and the woman writhe together, shirtless and panting, and then he sinks his teeth into her neck. She moans, her eyelashes fluttering, and then shudders like she’s —

Cas turns the tv off. He’s disgusted that there’s not a single depiction of feeding on screen — or anywhere, really — that doesn’t make it seem like an inherently sexual act, like both parties are getting off on what should be nothing but a good meal. He’s even more disgusted that it made him hungrier, even while the idea of being skin-to-skin in the throes of ecstasy makes him feel sick.

With a sigh, Cas picks up his phone and opens the Bloodlink app to see if there’s someone available for a feeding. Most of the donors are fetishists, but he can’t hold out forever.

Before he can start browsing donors, his phone lights up with a call from his neighbor-slash-maybe-best-friend. A smile breaks out on Cas’s face as he answers. “Hello, Dean.”

“Hey there. How’re you doing?”

“I’m good. How are you?”

“You hungry?” Dean says, and for a moment, Cas’s heart stops, but then he continues, “I made burgers.”

“I’m not sure I should,” Cas says, because he’s started imagining the pounding of Dean’s heart, how his blood would feel thick on his tongue, as soon as he heard Dean’s voice.

“Can I ask why?”

Cas has never said no to spending time with Dean before — can’t get enough of him, actually — so it’s a fair question. Cas isn’t sure how to lie, so he says, “I’m experiencing a different kind of hunger.”

“Yeah, I kinda thought so. You got a donor?”

“Not yet. I was about to start looking.”

“Hmm.” After a moment’s pause, Dean continues, “I’m happy to help.”

Cas flinches. He’d been afraid of this from the moment Dean found out he’s a vampire: Dean revealing himself to be some sort of vamp chaser, the kind of person who gets off on being bitten.

“I’ve never done it before or anything, but we’re friends, right?”

“I’m not interested in being your sexual experiment, Dean.”

“What?” Dean says, sounding taken aback. “You think I’m that big of an asshole? Aren’t you ace?”

It’s Cas’s turn to be a little taken aback, because he’s never said that to Dean, not outright. “No and yes.”

“Then let me help you out.”

“Ok,” Cas says, because he’s run out of good reasons to deny it, and his hunger is growing by the minute.

There’s a rap on the door and Dean says, “Let me in.”

Cas laughs and hangs up the phone.

Sure enough, as soon as Dean’s nearby, Cas can barely concentrate on anything but the steady beating of his heart, all that blood sitting just under his skin, ripe for Cas to sink his teeth into. Still, he grabs them both beers and they sit on the couch talking idly about nothing in particular for awhile, until Dean says, “Dude, you’re starving. What are you waiting for?”

“I’m told it’s rude to just bite someone without at least buying them a drink first.”

Dean grins. “Aww, I thought you said this wasn’t going to be a sexy feeding.” He tilts his head a bit, baring his neck. Cas’s eyes immediately drop to where he can hear his pulse thrumming. “Come on, stud.”

Cas rolls his eyes but can’t tamp down an answering grin. He moves close to Dean a little slowly, like he might spook, and brushes his fingertips down the side of Dean’s neck.

Quietly, like he thinks Cas is the one that will spook, Dean asks, “Is it going to hurt?”

“No,” Cas says. “A mild numbing agent is released prior to the bite.”

“So if you kissed someone, their lips would go numb?”

“It’s only during feeding.”

“Oh,” Dean says. “Ok. Good to know.”

Cas raises an eyebrow. “Is it?”

Dean shrugs and, oddly, flushes a little. “Get on with it before you keel over.”

Cas had been momentarily distracted by the thought of kissing Dean — it’s a thought he’s had before, but never let himself seriously contemplate — but he focuses again on the task at hand. He leans in, brushing his lips over Dean’s neck to find the perfect spot. He gives a quick lick as his teeth lower to needle-sharp points, then bites.

It takes a moment for the blood to well, before the rush of copper-sweet fills Cas’s mouth. Dean reaches out to grip Cas’s shoulder and murmurs meaningless comfort, like Cas is the one vulnerable with punctures in his neck. Cas hums in response even as he continues to greedily lap away the blood, flowing steadily now.

Dean’s hand moves to Cas’s hair, hesitant and gentle, and it makes Cas shiver, something other than the meal warming inside him. Dean is so gentle, always, even when teasing or arguing, and Cas is thinking again about a kiss, how easy it would be to nuzzle along Dean’s jaw to his lips. But Cas’s are probably stained red with blood, and that’s probably not the kind of thing Dean would find attractive, even if he did want a kiss.

Cas reminds himself that he doesn’t want a kiss anyway, not with all the implications kisses usually come with.

“Hey,” Dean whispers. “You ok?”

“Yes,” Cas says, licking a few final times as the blood slows.

“You got kind of —” Cas can hear the wince in Dean’s voice as he cuts himself off. “I gotta tell you something.”

“Ok,” Cas says, sitting back. Dean doesn’t meet his eyes.

“Cuz I was going to ask if I could kiss you. But you should probably know first that I’m an empath.”

Cas licks his lips, catching the last lingering taste of blood. “You are?”

“Yeah.” When Cas doesn’t say anything right away, Dean says, “I know a lot of people think it’s like — an invasion of privacy, I guess, but it’s not like I have a choice, you know? I can’t turn it off.”

Cas tilts his head, thinking back to all the times Dean has called or knocked when he was feeling lonely. All the times he’s dropped off things he knows will make Cas smile when he has a bad day, even if he doesn’t want to hang out. How they met, when Cas was so excited to share his promotion with someone, and then his new neighbor was at his door with a smile and a listening ear. Dean knowing Cas is ace, Dean knowing Cas was hungry. Dean giving Cas a small, relieved smile now, because he knows Cas’s next words won’t be a rejection.

“I understand why you don’t tell people,” Cas says. “I can’t imagine how exhausting that must be.”

“Not with you. Even when you’re bummed out, all I see is… colors. You kinda drown out everyone else.”

Cas smiles.

“And I think you might want to kiss me, too.”

“I should brush my teeth first.”

Grinning, Dean says, “I can wait.”

#blood #sharkwrites #ficlets #destiel #vampires

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athenadione · 3 years

Note

Prompt #88 with Jayrae, with Raven as the person who got hurt. Pretty please?

Muahaha *cracks knuckles* don’t mind if I do. Thanks for the prompt anon! It fed my angsty soul. (Also, sorry all for the hiatus in updates. Life is... hard).

‘Toxic Vengeance’

Pairing: JayRae Words: 2,296 Rated: M - Warnings for cuss words, graphic scenes of violence, and major angst.

When the knife slashes her thigh, it instantly feels like it’s on fire.

With a hiss, she draws back.

It’s as if someone pressed a red-hot branding iron to her leg, then twisted it deeper into the marred flesh for good measure—but instead of dulling, the burning sensation is growing at an alarming rate, spiraling up her entire leg.

Another hooded figure dashes from her right, and with a wave of power she forces them back with a glittery black claw. They hit the nearest brick building with a thud. Another jumps from above to replace them, and she throws up a shield with her other hand, halting the strike of their sword in mid-air. More are filling the alley, coming from the shadows. The burning in her leg is now more of an afterthought as her adrenaline spikes.

I need to end this now. “Azarath. Metrion. Zinthos.”

Her power flares, and strikes through the figure, sending it back, along with the others in one large surge. There’s a series of grunts, followed by the clattering of weapons, before all she can hear is her own harsh breathing and blood from her heartbeat rushing in her ears.

Amethyst orbs search the alley with skepticism, expecting another cohort to flood the street. Another minute of scouring, then she releases a breath when she’s certain it’s over.

The attack had happened the second she turned the corner to investigate the stain of dark magic covering the adjacent building. She had been following whispered rumors of a rising national occult for weeks, eventually leading her to Crime Alley of all places.

A groan escapes one of the men. Her attention shifts to see him lying slumped against the wall, hood fallen. His face is covered in old ancient markings, confirming both the reasons for her suspicion and dread.

The marks of Scath. It appears her father’s followers are growing in power. Now, she needs to find out why—and who is behind it. They know who I am and purposefully drew me out here. This is more than I anticipated.

Is their leader someone I know? Maybe Blood?

As the adrenaline begins to flow out of her body, she becomes keenly aware of the burning pain that’s replacing it. When the burning in her thigh flows down to her toes and up the side of her body, she realizes that her heart rate hasn’t slowed and neither has her breathing.

Glancing down at her leg, she curses at the blood flowing freely from the wound. It’s deep, and is now starting to bubble. A bright red streak grows across her leg—a clear sign of inflammation.

Poison. It’s not one that she recognizes—nor is it one that her demon-half can expel.

Not good.

Once the severity of her situation sets in, so does her panic, and she stumbles when another flare of pain sends her head spinning. She staggers over to the brick wall, laying one arm against her forehead. It’s covered in a thin sheen of sweat.

It’s too late to call Nightwing or Batman; They wouldn’t be able to make it in time, and she doesn’t know if she has the capacity to transport herself to the cave.

There’s only a handful of other people she trusts that knows more than just the basics of toxicology.

Black specks dance along her vision and she tries to blink them back, shaking her head with considerable effort.

There’s only one other option.

With the last of her failing strength, her eyes blind an iridescent white, and inky black tendrils snake around her, enveloping her into its depths.

A moment later they release her and she stumbles across the threshold into a musty apartment. It doesn’t help that it’s completely dark, and the pound of her heart now seems louder than before.

Somewhere within the confines someone curses loud.

Her thoughts are becoming more clouded, and it’s getting harder to breathe. There’s a growing fervency to keep walking, and she does, intent to find him.

A heat sizzles over her skin, heightening at her thigh.

She whimpers, and her knees buckle—legs no longer able to support her weight. She’s so out of it she doesn’t even brace for the ground.

He catches her before she hits.

“Jesus Christ, Raven. What happened to you?” His breath tickles her ear, and she shivers—though from his voice or her wound she’s not sure.

“Ambush. Poison.” She gasps through another wave of burning pain that shoots all the way up to her chest.

Another curse and she’s being lowered against his door as fingers begin to ghost over her body.

“Where? What kind?” He finds the wound and bright emerald eyes flare as they meet her. They swirl and morph into one before her eyes, and she blinks, swallowing back a sudden wave of nausea.

“Alley…knife…I don’t know. I’ve never… ” she trails off, barely getting the words out as her shortness of breath increases.

“Fuck. Fuck,” an arm presses her shoulder back when she begins to slump over. “You cannot pass out on me princess. I need you to stay awake.”

“Sorry,” she says, slurring her words. She’s growing exceedingly dizzy and her vision is blurring faster. She can’t get enough air to breathe.

Something jars her. “Raven, stay with me.”

Her heart feels like it’s going to tear and claw its way out of her chest, and for a moment she thinks it is.

It beats faster, and faster, and faster.

“Rae, open your eyes. Look at me.”

But then it stops.

“Raven.”

And all she knows is darkness.

“Stand by. Preparing to shock.”

There’s a loud, involuntary gasp, and a charging whine.

“Shit. I swear to God you better not fucking die on me Rae.”

“Evaluating heart rhythm… no shock advised. Continue CPR.”

The sound of pumping compressions fills the air. Green eyes glow as they glare at her prone figure.

“Breathe Goddammit!”

When he bites his lip, it’s hard enough to draw blood, but at least he managed to blink back the sudden, unbidden tears that had formed at the corners of his eyes.

He tries not to shake his hands when he hears her sternum crack underneath the heel of his palm.

“What are you doing on this com-line Hood?” The growl in his ear is laced with caution, and he can’t blame him. At least he answered.

He gets to the point fast. “It’s Raven, she was poisoned. I don’t know what it is, but I think it’s systemic,” he pauses as the voice in his ear curses. “She’s coding Nightwing, get someone to my apartment now.”

There’s another tense pause as Dick listens to Jason’s sharp exhales coinciding with his compressions.

“Where?”

“The one closest to the Alley, on 3rd.”

“Z will come teleport us. AED?”

Jason stops and sits back on his haunches as the defilibrator analyzes again. The machine’s response only heightens his fear.

“No shock. Continuing CPR, it’s been a few minutes,” he swallows thick as he checks her carotid pulse again. Nothing. “I’m losing her godammit, hurry the fuck up.”

“On our way.”

He immediately cuts the transmission to focus on his task.

One, two, three, four, five...

He doesn’t know how much longer he’s been counting to thirty, just that he’s done it over and over.

A cacophony of motion behind him almost interrupts his concentration. Someone places a gloved hand on his shoulder with urgency.

“She needs to be transported to the Watchtower as soon as possible.”

Lips press together firmly, then he nods. Allowing Zatanna to intervene, she envelopes the empath in her magic. They leave the AED pads attached.

In seconds, they’re gone. Then the others turn to follow.

“I’m going with her.”

Nightwing stills, eyes flicking to Batman.

The resounding silence is near palpable. Nightwing takes a tentative step forward, breaking it.

“Little wing… I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

Fluorescent eyes shine with stone-cold defiance.

“You can’t stop me.”

Batman grunts—the closest thing he’ll ever get to an affirmation. It’s a sizable achievement, but he doesn’t feel victorious at all.

She’s still in cardiac arrest, but if anyone can help her it’s Zatanna.

And if there’s anyone that can overcome something like this it’d be her.

Come on princess, come back to me.

She codes three more times in the medbay. The crash team hovers as everyone else tirelessly searches for the right antidote.

He doesn’t know what to do with himself.

While he watches her Nightwing briefs him on her mission. He listens. It’s a distraction. Then white hot anger licks and gnashes up his chest to his throat with each word until he’s fisting his hands tight to hide the tremors.

“... I thought it might be Blood but assassins and poison isn’t really his style. Do you think the League could have something to do with this?” Nightwing asks beside him.

His response is slow and level, revealing no hint of the turbulence of emotion that lies underneath, “I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.”

Nightwing gives him a pensive stare, but says nothing.

Jason narrows his eyes.

Dead. They’re all fucking dead.

They’re able to create one an hour later. He doesn’t think he’s ever been so relieved to see someone breathe.

He waits until she’s stable before slipping away. The teleporter still recognizes him as Robin, and he’s not sure what to think about that when he steps onto the platform.

Batman gives him a look that he acknowledges as both a warning and a threat; But why should he care? He lost respect for that man a long time ago, and doesn’t give two shits what he thinks.

Unlike Bruce, he’s not afraid to avenge those he cares about most through whatever means necessary.

A piercing cry follows the crack of snapping bone. Another finger, broken. That leaves seven more, and I’ve got all fucking night.

“I won’t ask again,” comes a growl, “I want answers.”

The man’s panting is interrupted by a swift kick to the gut. He bends over with a groan, before he glares up at the Red Hood through one eye. The other is swollen shut.

“Why would I tell you? You’re just going to kill me anyway.”

Hood hums, cocking his gun. “True, but it’ll hurt wayyy less if you do.”

The man spits at his boots, a mixture of saliva and blood. “Good luck. I won’t talk.”

A malicious grin grows from underneath Hood’s mask.

“Unfortunately for you, I don’t need it.”

The hallway is empty, save for him and Nightwing.

Really it’s just a perfect place for a one-on-one scolding—and his brother clearly decides to take advantage of it.

“You shouldn’t have done that. He will retaliate. This is Ra’s we’re talking about.”

Jason’s jaw clenches tight.

“Who knows how many supporters he’s managed to convince that Trigon can fix all of their worldly problems? He could call on all of them at any given moment.”

He bares his teeth.

“You’ve made a mess, Hood. It’s going to take months to clean up what you did.”

He can’t stand it anymore. “Are you shitting me? I did you all a fucking favor,” he points a finger in Richard’s chest. “I found out more information in an hour investigating my way than you all did in weeks. If you’re not happy with my methods then do a better goddamned job covering your teammates.” He nearly chokes on that last word, attention drifting to the unmoving woman in the room across from them.

Dick’s eyes follow and widen, then narrow just as fast, and he crosses his arms.

“You love her.”

He should have known Richard would figure it out. Why even try to fucking deny it anymore?

“Yeah,” he winces when his voice comes out raw. “I do.”

Dick raises a brow, unapologetic. “She’s not going to like what you did either.”

Jason doesn’t have the decency to look ashamed.

“I know.”

He wonders if she would have done the same.

“The antidote stopped any further damage, but she remains comatose. We’ve deduced that her body’s gone into a healing trance to mend herself internally. There’s nothing else we can do but wait and continue to monitor.”

He stares at her porcelain face, no longer resisting the urge to tuck a stray lock of indigo behind her ear. Even at rest her brows are furrowed—like she knows what’s coming.

He waits until he can no longer hear Zatanna’s echoing steps to draw closer to her, breathing in her familiar scent of incense and old books. It’s a welcome change from the sterile smell of antiseptic.

“You’re really taking your time huh, sunshine? How rude of you, leaving me with these assholes,” he fingers another strand of hair before releasing it with a sigh.

“You scared the shit out of me. Don’t do that again.” He gives her a mock glare, half-expecting her to glower back. When she doesn’t he swallows, and takes another breath.

“There’s one more thing I need to do… and I know you’re going to hate it, but I’m going to do it anyway.” He imagines pools of lavender, ablaze with fire, and a mouth already poised to argue with a vehemence that makes him smile in the present.

“I won’t be able to come back here after I finish, and I’m sorry I won’t be there when you wake up,” he takes her hand and squeezes. “But I’m not sorry for what I’m about to do.”

The incessant beeping of the machines she’s hooked up to is his only response.

He lowers his face, and brushes his lips against the crown of her head.

“I love you.”

Walking away from her is hard, and he almost turns back.

But he doesn’t.

#jayrae #robrae #one shot prompts #it’s angsty like my soul #jason todd

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dwead-piwate-meggers · 3 years

Text

Someone Else’s Shoes

In which Farah starts planning for Pride, and Charlotte and Tina have a not-versation about how sometimes things just don’t fit. For @wayhavensummer festival Day 5 - Pride Festivals, bonus challenge: belonging.

Charlotte Langford & Tina Poname & Farah Hauville; Tina/Farah (background) Approx. wc: 1089 Rating: t, for mild swearing Warnings: biphobia/bi erasure, internalized biphobia, aphobia, internalized aphobia

Common Room, Agency Facility in the Big City

“You’re not coming!?” Charlotte flinches as Farah’s voice and disappointment ring through the windowless room. “But you’re not, you know, a” she pauses, looking around at the no one else around to make sure that they aren’t listening in, before dropping her voice to stage whisper the word, “cop” as if it was a piece of classified information, “anymore. You can totally come now!”

Resignation from the Wayhaven PD had been a requirement of their turning, hers and Tina’s - too hard to keep their agelessness a secret if they were always out and about in such a small town - so Farah had taken it upon herself to make PLANS for their first opportunity to join Pride in over a decade.

It’s very kind of her.

She had also decided to regale them with the details of said plans while they were trying to finish the absolute reams of documents the Agency required the newly turned to read through.

Charlotte assumes that, at least, is more for Tina’s benefit than hers.

In any case, she runs a hand through her hair, (it’s a strange sensation, somehow lighter and more substantial at the same time, like she can feel every single strand, but they weigh less than they should), “I...wasn’t really planning on it.”

“But I thought…” the young vampire pulls a fang over her bottom lip. “Oh.”

There’s a half-beat in which Charlotte considers how, exactly, she’s going to talk her way around this one, before Tina jumps in, “She was bad at parties before. Now? With the whole,” she circles her hands around her ears, hypersenses, still adjusting, “Migraine central, right?”

Farah takes it in, nodding (Morgan rarely goes either, for similar reasons) before brightening up again, the lightbulb moment so clear it’s almost an audible ding. “Oooooh, I have to check on something!”

She leans down to kiss Tina on the cheek before launching herself over the back of the couch and out of the door, a shouted, “Catch you later, babe! You too Charlotte!” thrown over her shoulder.

Charlotte waits until the sound of footsteps has died away. “Thanks,” she mutters.

“For what?”

The look she gives Tina - head tilted back, eyebrows raised - says, ‘For covering for me.’

Tina’s response is a slight frown and stuck-out tongue, Nothing to thank me for. “I’m not nailing your panties to the flagpole, Char,” she says.

Charlotte turns back to the papers in front of her with a snort. “There’s an image,” she says, dodging the swat aimed at her arm.

Dodging the first swat anyway. Tina throws a second, with just a little too much power behind it, and they both hiss when it connects, rubbing arm and knuckles respectively. “You know what I mean.”

Silence, again. Charlotte knows the question is coming. That it will come in three heartbeats.

One. T- “You want to talk about it?” Tina asks. Their hearts beat slower now; she’ll have to learn to account for that.

“Not really.” Charlotte shrugs.

Lub-, the mitral and tricuspid valves go first. If she concentrates, she can feel them move, and... Oh. Eugh. Dub- She can feel her pulse. As in, the blood flowing through her veins. All of her veins. That’s... deeply unsettling. Has that always felt like that? Lub-

“You know you’ve got as much right to be there as I do,” Tina says quietly. One-and-a-half beats, then. It’s one-and-a-half beats now.

She doesn’t reply. It doesn’t matter. Her silence speaks for her. Do I?

“I mean, they’re bi. Obviously they’ve been with both.”

They’re a stranger’s words. They shouldn’t matter. But, still... Lub-dub, lub-

“That’s some bullshit.”

“I didn’t say anything!” She gives up pretending to fill in the form, leans back on the couch and rests her head against the backrest.

“You didn’t need to.” Tina has her arms crossed, a small smile playing over her pink-painted lips. (It was the first thing she forced herself to re-adjust to, lipstick. Charlotte had personally considered clothes of slightly more importance, but to each their own.) “I can hear you just fine.”

Charlotte just rolls her eyes.“Vampires can’t read minds, Tee.”

“Best friends can, stupid. I knew what you were thinking before the superpowers!” There’s a pause, while Tina twirls her pen between her fingers, before she adds, “You know you belong, Char.”

“Any girl who’s into girls...”

Not a stranger, this time. And it was just the heat of the moment, but...

“Oh my god, help. I’m so bi…”

It’s not like it’s rare.

She just hums in response.

“It’s not like there’s some kind of agency that checks.” Tina reiterates, putting on a mock-official voice “You must be at least this queer to join.”

Charlotte snorts at that. “What, queer passports?”

“Get a stamp for every time you get laid?”

Ah. It must show on her face.

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine, Tee,” she says with a sigh, it’s nothing I haven’t heard before, “I’m just being oversensitive.”

“You’re being the normal amount of sensitive. Which just feels like oversensitive for you because your baseline is super undersensitive.”

“That’s not a word.”

“That’s not important. You’d feel better if you would just talk about things,” she emphasises each word with a poke to the leg, “with your best friend.”

Lub-dub, there won’t be a follow-up question. Lub-dub. Tina’s done her prodding (literal and figurative), it’s just a matter of who gives in first. Lub-dub.

Charlotte toys with the ends of her hair, looking for the right words, (she can never find them when she needs them). How can she explain the way the words eat and eat until the scraps fall away in her hands? How the definitions twist and turn until they don’t seem to work, don’t seem to apply anymore? The way it’s impossible to feel like she belongs - she's only ever reminded of all of the ways that she doesn't.

She sighs. Lub-dub. (It’s always her that gives in first.) “It’s like… you remember that summer when we had the same shoes?”

They’d been the same size, then, before Tina’s growth spurt had hit, and Charlotte’s hadn’t. (Vampirism had just made it worse, Tina gaining four inches to Charlotte’s one.)

Tina laughs, “Matching wardrobes you mean. And we were always putting the wrong ones on?”

In spite of herself, Charlotte chuckles along. “But we always knew right away. Because they just felt kind of...”

“Off?”

Off. Yes. That. “Exactly.” She tips her head back to look up at the ceiling. “They just feel… off.”

#wayhavensummer #twc #charlotte langford #tina poname #farah hauville #biphobia #bi erasure #aphobia #internalized biphobia #internalized aphobia #in which your author gets uncomfortably personal #wsf challenge

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cheekygreenty · 3 years

Text

Little Witch - Part 26.

The Darkling x Reader

You didn't speak a word, didn't move a muscle. The anger raged inside of you like a storm, tearing every rational thought down on its path. it didn't help that even though he lied to you, your love for him never dwindled. You might as well have been back at Kribirsk, for you were so in your head you didn't pay attention to anything going on around you. The only thing that broke your trance was the unmistakable sound of volcra closing in. You listened to their shrill cries, the wails reverberating across the Fold.

'I should just tear this down' You heard Alina urge, desperation seeping into her words. She was powerless, only her words had any effect. You longed to help them too, to end the volcra's suffering but that couldn't happen without you sacrificing yourself in the process. Alina had her heart set in the right place, but you wouldn't ever let the Fold fall.

'And what can you really do on your own?.....besides, it would be a monumental waste of power.' Aleksander was quick to shut her down, his own reasons for keeping the Fold standing up against hers.

They swopped lower and lower, their black wings visible from beneath the shadows. You peered closer to the edge of the skiff, looking out for more of the poor creatures and spotting one right above the skiff.

Reaching your hands out in an attempt to move the volcra, a bright flash of light beat you to it, the rays burning your skin like nothing you'd ever felt in your life. Your knees hit the deck before you could register what was happening as your hands gripped the edge of the skiff. It hurts. A silent groan left your lips, too quiet for anyone to notice. The burning continued, this time in your mind. It left a buzzing sound behind so loud it echoed along the walls of your mind, deafening you in the process. The pounding was paralyzing.

Nobody on the deck noticed the Deputy General kneeling in pain, they were all too fixated on the Sun-Summoner and the Darkling to glance an eye in your direction. Alina's light had hurt you, hurt the child of Merzost as if you were a volcra.

Even in the depths of the Fold and in your home, you were too weak to spare a look at what was going on at the front of the deck. The skiff was approaching Novokribirsk now, the natural light from the other side filtering through Alina's tunnel. You had been bent over in pain for majority of the trip and still, nobody noticed.

You felt a lull in the skiff's movement, but the pain in your head was still too much. It stung and pulsed, dulling every single sense in your body. There was nothing else you could concentrate on but the pain, this horrid debilitating pain. You grasped at your power, trying to calm your spiraling heart rate, trying to stop the blood from rushing so quickly but you were stumped; helpless. Your eyes had long shut tightly, seeing only a pure white sight. Not even your mind spared you the safety blanket of darkness.

A hand on your shoulder suddenly snapped you out of it, grounding you back to the deck of the skiff but its touch disappeared almost as soon as you'd felt it. The buzzing was still deep within your skull, playing like an out-of-tune violin. You snapped your head up, meeting the eyes of none other than Ivan. His expression read one of fear and utter terror and you didn't understand why.

You stood up wearily, coming face to face with the heartrenderer, and watched as he took measured steps away from you before coming to Aleksander's right hand yet again. You looked to Aleksander, though your eyes were still squinted in pain, you could make out his unforgettable stature.

'And I shall do mine.' His arms were outstretched- ready to pounce

You turned your attention to the skyline and watched as the light from Novokribirsk mellowed and the view of the port diminished. In horror, you watched as the Fold expanded, as directed by Aleksander, and destroyed the lives of many in the process. You could hear their screams and shouts; the pain.

But you also felt a surge of strength and of power. It fought the buzzing sound idly as you watched the shadows bleed into the air.

'WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!' You ran up to the front of the deck, shoving him aside and watching with wide eyes the damage that had been done. His hand came to entangle around your arm but you shoved him away, both with your strength and a gust of wind.

You turned your head to look at him but instead found your eyes looking to Alina, who took it as her queue to further project the tunnel of light into the docks. A volcra flew by, disintegrating into the wrecked town and its surroundings. Novokribirsk was gone. Zoya looked at it with pure terror and dread and an earlier conversation came back to you, one where she spoke of her family. Oh Saints.

'No you don't' He took hold of Alina's hands and brought back the shadows already pooling at light's edge. The screams ripped through the air once more, the volcra cries stabbing at your heart again. You turned your head to look back to Zoya when a strand of your hair caught your attention. It no longer contrasted the black kefta at all. You ran to the small mirror on the deck and stilled at the reflection.

The person staring back at you in the plane was not you. The girl in the mirror donned black hair. Hair so dark it left no traces of other pigments. Her eyes were a glittering onyx with small black capillaries shooting through the whites of her eyes. Black veins poked out from under her kefta collar, and upon further inspection, the same black veins traveled down to her hands, curling around her wrists like a bracelet. The running of the veins was like a design, it flowed like a pen on paper drawn by an artist. They were Merzost.

You stared at yourself in shock. This was not you; it couldn't be. But the girl in the mirror said otherwise.

A scream broke you out of your trance, the familiar name snapping your neck to its origin. Mal.

Mal lay splayed out on the ground with blood pooling out of his mouth and Alina perched next to him, reaching for his hand. The foreign dignitaries stood frozen as they watched the scene play out, their fear filling the atmosphere pungently. The skiff abruptly moved, its sails once again filling with air. Zoya stood at the top, hands outstretched and eager.

'General Kirigan, this will only turn the world against you and all Grisha. You’ll be seen not as a savior, but a heretic.' The irony.

In a swift motion, Ivan takes control of all their hearts and one by one they drop dead-like lifeless dolls. A gasp escaped your lips as your position is once again known and Aleksander's eyes land on you, all of you. His brows raise at your appearance.

'I’ll have to give that speech again now, Y/N, won't I? Or will you have the decency to join me next time?' He directs your way.

'Me? Are you insane?' Your anger could no longer contain itself as you launch the Cut his way knowing well he would dodge it. He moved to the side, launching one your way too. Instead of dodging it, you split it right down the middle, sending it over the rails. The skiff picked up its speed, making you slightly lose your footing and Aleksander noticed too.

'ZOYA' He roared up to her in warning, but you willed her not to listen. Instead, she egged the skiff forward.

'You promised me!' Two slivers of shadows crept up your legs and wrapped themselves around your wrists, pulling your hands away from each other and rendering you useless.

'That was before you murdered a whole town!' You strained your arms, trying your hardest to loosen the grip of his shadows. 'You took her light, General. If you wanted to be like me you could have just asked' Even in the face of his betrayal, you still couldn't bring yourself to say his name in public. His name was sacred, it was your secret.

'I don't want to hurt you Y/N' He took calculated steps toward you, eyes flooded with despair. His hand came up to your hair, taking a piece and inspecting it carefully 'What happened?'

'I came onto this skiff, that's what happened.' you spit. 'How are you alright with what you've just done?' Your own previous experience haunts your mind for a brief second, the occurrence still a trauma. He on the other hand looks unbothered. Another day at work.

'I did what I had to -' His words get interrupted by the sound of gunshots, ones you can feel zip by your ear and head his way. He sends the cut flying behind you and the shadows at your wrists let up just as a knife embeds itself in his chest. You watch as the same veins on your body crawl up his neck. His are more abundant, nothing like yours in appearance, but they are there.

'It will take more than THIS' he rips the knife out and folds his hands in front of him and the shadows race forward 'You stay in the dark' The back of the skiff now settled itself into the Fold, the volcra flying above like the predators they are.

Zoya. You take a look at Aleksander whose eyes are closely watching you along with Ivan's.

'Don't.' His words are clear but you don't care. Zoya is back there. You listen to his steady heartbeat and feel the air in his lungs. The Fold's nothingness swims in his lungs, swirling from each breath he takes. Without thinking, you knock the air out of him and slam his body against the rail of the skiff, running to the back of the skiff to help Zoya. Just as you clamber up the stairs, you see her blue kefta dropping to the ground and a volcra swarming toward her.

'NO' You knock it out of the way and cushion her fall with a gust. A Suli girl runs over, checking on Zoya briefly but turns to you. The volcra circle over the skiff.

'Ready?' You nod. The young girl nods back and clutches knives to her chest. You count the number of pulses on this side of the skiff, too many to risk.

You start by sending out your flames and then the shadows, filling the volcra's lungs with the tendrils while she attacks it with her knives. Its shrills are pitiful but you block them out. It doesn't seem to give up as it flies closer to her, completely ignoring you. The wind blows it away briefly before a man with a cane goes toward the volcra mercilessly. You curse out loudly, knowing that the noise attracts others, you can feel them coming.

'Alina, for Saints sake!' You shout as you watch her from your position laying on the ground, not even trying. You run back down to the deck, only one thing on your mind. If she can't light it up then I will, but as you run, his strong hands come to lock yours behind your back and one comes to your throat.

'Was this the plan all along? He says in your ear and his hold tightens, slowly blocking off your air. His voice is strained and you could swear he sounds hurt.

'I came back for you, it's always been you.' you plead. You still love him, you do. But my morals and my love are two different things.

'I really thought I could trust you again. But you only ever want what is mine.' Your vision turns blurry as you feel your chest contract. Ivan. 'If you love something let it go, isn't that the saying?' Your head bops forward slightly which seems to be enough for him to let your drop to your knees in front of him, right next to a dying Mal.

As you try to regain your awareness, the sounds of volcra in your head become too much to bear. They drown out everything as they approach the skiff, silently letting you know they will kill everything on the other side of the light. You struggle to get up, hands clawing at your throat as air enters your lungs again. As if that wasn't enough for your already frail body, another flash of light expels from Alina. The burning sensation overwhelms you again, dwindling your will to live. It burns worse this time, singeing you all over. A scream of pain erupts from your lips as you watch the veins on your hand become darker and darker.

A hand around your waist surprised you as it helps you get up from the ground. 'It's okay, It's okay' Aleksander. His forehead is pressed up against your temple as you continue to cry out in pain. You open your eyes briefly and look at the hand holding your waist- void of a Stag bone. The shock is barely enough to let you forget the pain though.

'It hurts' Your own tears burn as they roll down your face.

'I know' He leaves a kiss to your temple before leaning down to your ear 'I love you, you can still keep the promise Y/N. Please' His arms tighten one last time before leaving you feeling cold in the absence of the Fold.

Slowly, the reality of the situation settles in your stomach. He just said his goodbye, and I never told him I loved him too. Everything stills again and nothing seems to process in your mind. Maybe I'm dying, maybe Alina killed me.

You can hear her shout for Mal as he and Aleksander battle it out on the unlit sands. You can hear her struggling as Ivan collapses her blood vessels. You can hear Ivan's lifeless body drop to the ground. But your mind refuses to cooperate.

Even as a volcra sweeps down and grabs Aleksander mercilessly, you push your body past the limit and jump overboard, letting out pathetic shouts of plea to the volcra, bring him back to me, please. Your powers don't rise to your call, your mind won't listen.

The light shoots out again from a now awake Alina, but your numb now, the pain had reached its limit.

Zoya begs for you to come back to safety, Mal grabs your limp body and tugs you back but you shove him off with the last of your strength. The Crows stand by on the deck and listen to your heartbreaking sobs. Nobody misses the way the atmosphere in the Fold shifts with every cry, how the usually empty place emanates one single emotion; anguish.

They sit and watch in fear and astonishment as volcra fly above you, never once attacking. They watch as they settle on the sands, heads cowering to your shaken body, and they listen to the cries, ones very alike in pain to yours.

They watched as the Little Witch loses her soulmate, in the one place she ever knew as home.

-----------------

Epilogue.

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gaitwae · 3 years

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forget my name -+- 1/3

10th Doctor x Reader (platonic)

Summary: You might be dying, but there isn’t anything that the Doctor can do to save you other than to keep you safe and hope your fever breaks.

DR WHO TAG LIST: @ask-the-almighty-google (ask to be tagged!)

This will be part of a three-shot, thus why my usual “•||•” are different! :)

Warnings: talk of possible death, sickness/fever, and light angst. Rated T for those elements but would otherwise be rated G.

“Y/N!” the Doctor called you with glee. His eyes glittered like the stars that were waiting outside the window of the TARDIS, springs replacing his feet as he jumped up and down with excitement. He ran about twelve combs through his hair at the thought of showing you your next adventure (nervous preening, a nasty habit). He was fixing his tie, shaking with delight. “I can’t wait to show you the Eighth Great Roman Empire—my goodness, are you alright?”

The sight of you cut him off. Usually, a simple look at his companions never shut him up, never changed the subject (not unless they were wearing something unusually pretty (Rose most often had that effect) or unusually hideous), but the sight of you was so awful that his second heart almost stopped beating.

You looked like you had died five times over.

“Oh, Doctor. Good morning,” you said. “Nothing happ—”

Before you had a chance to finish your answer, he rushed over to you and felt your forehead, neck, hands, and hair. Your face was ashen from slow blood flow. Your skin was cold to the touch and your once-lovely eyes drooped in exhaustion. His lips pursed as he thought of the million tiny things that could be wrong, and the billion big things that couldn’t be right. “Oh, dear… are you feeling unwell?”

“I woke up feeling a little sick,” you told him, trying for a smile but it quickly dropped. With further examination, your lips were chapped more than they should have been; your skin was too warm to the touch; your voice was barely over a whisper. The Doctor’s eyebrows knit together tightly. Where did you… He had to think of the proper word. Where did you catch this?

“A little?” he asked, voice barely a whisper but yet somehow an entire shout. He watched you cringe away. His heart dropped. Was this just a cold? Was it more? It better be just a cold, or he didn’t know what he would do... “Y/N, you do not look even a little sick, you look a lot sick, you look extremely sick.” He turned you about. “Oh, no. When did you start feeling ill?”

“After we left 200,100, I believe,” you said quietly. Your voice crackled and broke with unwellness. The Doctor sat you down and felt your forehead without answering. “Why? Is something wrong with a little cough?”

“Erm,” he mused, “we’ll need to take your temperature…” He knelt in front of you and dug underneath your feet and through the floor. “Y/N, did you wake up feeling like this or did it start yesterday?” He poked his head up to look at you again.

“I think it was after we stepped back into the TARDIS,” you answered honestly. The Doctor sat up, jaw dropped. He stuck a thermometer in your mouth, right under your tongue without a single spoken word. Had you contracted something from the future? What if you got too sick? What if you died? What if it was just a cold?

“Were you feeling ill before we left?”

“No, Doctor.” You sniffed and wiped your eyes with both hands. “I’m sure it’s fine.”

As you began to lean too far forward, the Doctor caught you. “I’m not so sure it is.” His brows were practically one brow now. “You need to sit down. Forget about the Eighth Great Roman Empire. Rest.” He set you onto the grated floor, cupping your face. “You are sick. Understand?”

“Doctor…,” you whined. You tossed your head to the side in embarrassment. You didn’t want the Doctor to see you this way, did you? Funny. He was the Doctor. “Let me go. I want to go with you. I haven’t seen the universe, yet!”

He rolled his eyes and flexed his jaw. How had he been so careless? How hadn’t he known there would be a harmless virus among the humans in the future that would be deadly to you? It was the most obvious thing ever! You had never been exposed to the common cold of 200,100! “You’ve barely seen the future and you’re with fever — look where it’s got you!”

“Doctor!” you snapped. The Doctor stopped, but gave you the stare of death for disposing of his opinion so quickly. Most times, his opinion was taken as fact. He was already anxious enough; for you to ignore nine-hundred years of his expertise was far more deadly than whatever fever you had just contracted. Your hands were wet and clammy against his; your eyes didn’t break away from his; your pulse was audible to him even now — more now than ever before — and he didn’t want to listen to anything else. “I’ll be fine. You can just heal me… can’t you? I mean, you’re a doctor.”

“I can’t just heal you,” he whispered. “Medicine is not definite, and I am not just a medical doctor. Y/N, it is very possible that you don’t have immunity to this cough. I would have to take you back to 200,100 and find someone who does have the immunity and sample their DNA —” The Doctor stopped. “Y/N?”

“Yes, Doctor?” you said quietly. You were still lying in his arms. He stroked your head, your face, the little corner next to your eye. His friend could die. It would be his fault.

Nothing could protect you from a virus.

“What if I found some relative of yours? Gave you the T-cells of this virus?”

“Doctor?” you asked again, now a worried tone in your voice. Perhaps you had figured out how dangerous this sickness could be. “Doctor, am I going to die?”

“Not on my watch,” he swore. “I’ll die before I accept your death.”

You got choked up. The Doctor had never made you cry. If anything, he has made you weep tears of wonder and joy. But he had never scared you just by himself, just by his words. “Doctor,” you cried. “Doctor, I don’t want to die!”

He shushed you gently. “I would never let you die, do you hear me? We’ll just have to hang tight.” He smiled despite his uncertainty. “You’re my friend and I will not have it. Your time hasn’t come yet.”

“Don’t sound so sure,” you said quietly.

The Doctor heaved a heavy sigh and scratched at his sideburns. In his panic, he told you that you would die. In his idiocy, he let that be possible. Now he has to be beyond brilliant to make sure you didn’t end up that way. “Y/N…”

You were quiet for a while. The Doctor held you, running cool hands along your skin. You closed your eyes and let him do what he pleased. Neither of you said anything for almost fifteen minutes. Eventually, you spoke — the tone of your voice sent chills down the Doctor’s back and made each heart skip a beat. “Can I ask you something, Doctor?”

“Of course.”

“If I do die from a fever from 200,100,” you said, “I want you to forget my name.”

#Doctor who #tenth doctor #10th doctor #tenth dr #10 doctor #10th dr #david tennant's doctor #dr who 10th doctor #10th doctor x reader #10th Tenth #10th #doctor who x reader #10th doctor x y/n #doctor who x y/n #gaitwae writes #gaitwae writes bbc works masterlist

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everyhowlmarksthedead · 4 years

Text

❛ I'M GONNA PROTECT YOU ❜

with Angel Reyes, and reader as Che ‘Taza’ Romero' daughter.

Request: Oooh Could it be where you are a younger sibling to one of the guys or a daughter to either the older three? And you and Angel are somewhat good friends? Well one day you are alone at your house and you hear a noise outside and it freaks you out so you grab your gun and call your brother/dad and they are busy at the moment but they send Angel to check it out and he comes and turns out it's someone trying to break in. Anyway the guy runs away and it ends in some Smut? Then your relative comes!

BY @firebenderwolf

Warnings: brief violence described, I think.

Word count: about 1.8k

Aurora says: I wrote it listening a cover of ‘La Llorona’, by Natalia Doco, so I recommend you to listen this song while you read it. This writing hasn't been edited, you may find some grammar mistakes, I'm sorry about that!

Gif credits: @angels-reyes

Masterlist.

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The barks coming from the open field, next to the barns, suddenly wakes you up. Your dogs never barks in the middle of the night. You don't give them much importance, lying back on bed again, until they start to howl. Getting up and sticking your head closer to the window, you find some big figures cutting part of the wire fence with a pair of shears. Grabbing your phone, you call your father while leading your feet to his room, to grab the gun under his pillow. A nine millimeters semi automatic, enough to chase them away. Taking off the safety and raising your arms to the high of your eyes, you hang up the call. Probably, Taza will be at Vicki's house getting drunk with Bishop and Tranq, so you type Angel's number by heart. Going downstairs, your eyes looking straight forward, trying to make the least noise possible while you hear the howls and barks getting louder.

“Angel, there's two guys trying to come into my house, and my dad doesn't answer”.

“I'm going, mami. Hide and don' fuckin' move”.

The adrenaline was running through your body, and until you listened to his voice, you didn't notice that you were actually terrified. Gulping, you just hope that they don't hurt your animals. Keeping your phone muttered in a pocket, you hold the gun with both hands. The logic act would be calling the cops, but that is not an option for someone like you, nor your father. Crossing the huge and open living room, you decide to hide yourself into a wardrobe behind a folding screen that your great-grandfather made with his own hands.

Your heart races jumping inside your chest when you are able to hear their voices. Mexicans with a terrible american accent. Sticking your left ear to the door, you try to glimpse if you know them. And it is possible. Biting your bottom lip really nervous, you begin to text your father telling him what's happening, until your body shakes violently when a lot of small glasses fall to the floor after a heavy racket. The thieves are now entering into your house. And actually, they're not going to find anything. Your father is too intelligent to keep his money and valuables belongings inside there. But you're actually terrified because, yes, you know how to fire a gun; but you have never done it to defend yourself. And the only thing you can do right now is to wait. Your father is also coming with the older part of the crew after reading your text messages.

The barks outside don't cease, but your dogs are locked taking care of the animals, and you prefer it. You don't want them to get hurt. And the different noises of more glasses crashing, and different pieces of furniture falling to the floor are turning you anxious. The tears filling up your eyes and your shaky breathing don't help to stay calmed. Resting your back against the wall, with the gun raised to the door, you think that you are ready to fire it as soon as someone opens it.

Gulping a bunch of saliva, when you stop to hear them whispering curses in spanish after some minutes, the heavy steps upstairs call your attention; as the continues buzz of an engine getting closer to the ranch, speeding up in the moment it crosses the main fence. In complete silence, you step out from the wardrobe, with your trembling fingers securing the weapon between them. Checking that there's no one around you, your feet run to the main door to open it. Angel is already there. Without taking off the helmet, the man passes you away with his own gun lifted up in front of his dark eyes. Following him to the stairs, each other take up a side of the wall, waiting for them to go downstairs. The first one appears asking the other to leave, after not finding anything, but before he can warn his sidekick, Angel is already pointing at him, making him a sign to stay silent.

“Mario, where are you?” You hear from the top.

Taking off the gun from the thief's hands, you leave it over the table. But making a false move, the mexican manages to punch Angel, starting to wrestle with him.

“RUN, ANTONIO! MAYA—MAYANS ARE HERE!”

Your mind goes blank by the shock of seeing him fighting, and the weapon sliding itself over the floor, in the meantime the other man runs away jumping through a window and using the bindweeds around the house as stairs. Watching how the other tries to beat the oldest Reyes, you point at them with trembling hands.

“Leave him, pend—”.

Because of the nerves running through your veins, your forefinger presses the trigger shooting the thief by his back. A painful grunt floods the living room. Angel pushes him away, while the mexican writhes between tears and growls. Grabbing the gun from your hands, to not fire anyone else, your friend places an arm over your shoulders to turn you, giving your back to the thief. At the moment he tries to fight again, almost standing up, Angel shoots him again. Twice. Straight to the chest. Clinged to his body, you can't help but break into cries, hiding your face in his neck.

“Look at me… Look at me. Are you okay? Are you hurt?” He mumbles, leaving away the weapon, so he can cup your cheek in his hands.

You just nod swallowing, feeling his lips pressed on your forehead, before stretching an arm to the wall to turn on the lights.

“Com'ere, baby”. He says, urging you to slightly jump into him, wrapping your legs around his waist.

Your tears wet the franel shirt he's wearing inconsolably, leading his steps to the kitchen, away from the dead body staining the floor with the blood gushing out of it. Helping you to sit over the island in the middle of the place, Angel hurries up to bring you a glass of water, not knowing how to calm you down more than with leaving some caresses in your hair. You try to swallow but your throat is hermetically closed, coughing some times, while the salty tears keep flowing onto your lips.

“Did I… Did I ki—killed him?”

“No, no, no”. He says, putting the ringed fingers by both sides of your face, affected deeply by the look of horror in your orbs. “I did it, okay? You hear me? I did it”.

You know him from seven years ago, having a special connection from the beginning. You have been through a lot of shit together, but you never expected something like that happening. Putting the glass away from your trembling fingers, Angel holds you against his body, tightly hugging you, trying to make you feel somewhat better while the crew come to the ranch.

“Please… Stop crying… It's okay”. He mutters with a broken voice, not used to feel you so terrified. “I'm here, baby… I'm gonna protect you”.

“I'm sor—sorry, Angel”.

“Don' be silly. You don' have to be sorry 'bout nothing”. He chuckles softly, leaving a kiss on your right cheek. “Am your superhero, remember?”

The Reyes finally breathes when he hears you laughing with a low, low tone.

“I would never let anyone hurt you”. Sticking his forehead on yours, he closes his eyes for a second, feeling how your fingers get intertwined in his shirt.

You just nod, trying to catch back your breath, almost drinking his. The strokes by his thumbs over your skin helps to maintain a calmed pulse, beating your heart with a low pace; only focused on his touches. Your mind plays a dirt trick on you, making you lean forward some inches until his lips are being pressed by yours. But Angel isn't surprised, and doesn't have any intention to pull himself away, strengthening his fingers on your neck. Your mouths look like two pieces from a puzzle, destined to fit perfectly. Settling himself between your legs to be closer, your hands travel to the back of his head, as your lips start to move softly, tasting every single inch of his. Sliding his tongue inside your mouth to find yours, you can't help but feel a mix of feelings about it. Now you are confused about the fact that you don't know if you're doing it because of the horror lived, or because you really wanted to do it since long ago.

Running out of air, Angel continues kissing your cheek up to your temple with short and gentle gestures, clinging his arms around your body. You have never felt so serene, even if there's a dead body in the middle of your living room and the buzz of some engines are getting louder. He is warm, and seems like he smells better than never, resting your face on his chest with closed eyes. Angel's heart beat is like a hypnotic melody that could make you fall asleep just like that, as if you two were completely alone and you haven't been about to kill a man, for the first time, some minutes ago.

“BAB—HOLY SHIT! BABY! BABY, WHERE ARE YOU?”

As soon as Angel pulls away himself from you, your legs jump down to the floor, running to the place where your father's voice comes from. Your body collides with his surrounding him, breaking in crying again when you feel him finally holding you. Bishop, Tranq and Riz are also there, examining the man lying on the floor with no breath of life in him.

“¿Estás bien? ¿Estás herida, mi amor?” (Are you okay? Are you hurt?) Taza is desperate, looking at you with reddened eyes as you nod in silence. “What happened?”

“There were two men. This… son of a bitch's name is Mario. The other ran away by a window. Antonio, I think he said”. Angel explains under the gaze from his brothers. “Man… they knew where they were getting into”.

“Why?” Bishop asks.

“They knew we are Mayans”. Angel shakes his head slightly, rubbing his forehead with two fingers. “And they were mexicans”.

“I think I know him”. Tranq is squatted close to the dead body, narrowing his eyes as he studies his face. “Vatos or Coyotes, I am not sure, Bishop”.

“Figure it out and put in on the table”. Taza demands with the rage consuming him, hugging you tightly under his arms.

“Let's go”. Bishop moves his head to the main door, making the others know that they must go. “Angel, calls the guys. Take care of the trash”.

“Come here, mi vida”. Your father whispers carrying you into his arms upstairs, not wanting you to continue there. “We're going to take some clothes and leave to the club, okay?”

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mytwilightimagines13 · 3 years

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Amnesia (Book Two)(Part Two)(Alec Volturi

First hunt

"The window?" Maeryn asked, staring seven stories down. she'd never really been afraid of heights per se, but being able to see all the details with such clarity made the prospect less appealing. The angles of the rocks below were sharper than she would have imagined them. Alec smiled. "It's the most convenient exit. If you're frightened, I can carry you." "We have all eternity, and you're worried about the time it would take to walk to the back door?" Maeryn asked He frowned slightly. "Well Gianna is downstairs, and Master Aro would like to keep her around for alittle longer. Plus, we are not allowed to hunt in Volterra.” Alec explained. "Oh." Was all Maeryn said. "Watch me," Alec said. And then, very casually, he stepped out of the tall, open window and fell. Maeryn watched carefully, analyzing the angle at which he bent his knees to absorb the impact. The sound of his landing was very low - a muted thud that could have been a door softly closed, or a book gently laid on a table. It didn't look hard. Clenching her teeth as she concentrated, Maeryn tried to copy his casual step into empty air. Ha! The ground seemed to move toward her so slowly that it was nothing at all to place her feet to place her bare feet exactly right so that landing was no different than stepping one foot forward on a flat surface. she absorbed the impact in the balls of her feet and her landing seemed just as quiet as his. Maeryn grinned at Alec. "Right. Easy." He smiled back. "Maeryn?" "Yes?" "That was quite graceful - even for a vampire." Maeryn rolled her eyes playfully. “You mean I am no longer clumsy?” she asked. Alec grinned playfully, showing she had figured him out. Alec grabbed her hand. “Ready?” he asked and Maeryn nodded her head, wanting the burning in her throat to sooth. Alec started running. And so Maeryn flew with him through the living green web, by his side, not following at all. As she ran, she couldn't help laughing quietly at the thrill of it; the laughter neither slowed her nor upset her focus. She could finally understand why Alec never hit the trees when he ran - a question that had always been a mystery to her. It was a peculiar sensation, the balance between the speed and the clarity. For, while she rocketed over, under, and through the thick jade maze at a rate that should have reduced everything around her to a streaky green blur, she could plainly see each tiny leaf on all the small branches of every insignificant shrub that she passed. The wind of her speed blew her hair and her torn clothes, something that had happened due to her struggling and scratching and pulling while getting changed into a vampire, out behind her, and, though she knew it shouldn't, it felt warm against her skin. Just as the rough forest floor shouldn't feel like velvet beneath her bare soles, and the limbs that whipped against her skin shouldn't feel like caressing feathers. She kept waiting to feel winded, but her breath came effortlessly. She waited for the burn to begin in her muscles, but her strength only seemed to increase as she grew accustomed to her stride. My leaping bounds stretched longer, and soon he was trying to keep up with me. "Maeryn.” Alec called dryly, his voice even, lazy. she could hear nothing else; he had stopped. Maeryn had barely noticed that she had passed him and with a sigh, she whirled and skipped lightly to his side, some hundred yards back. Maeryn looked at him expectantly. He was smiling, with one eyebrow raised. He was so beautiful that she could only stare. "Did you want to stay in the country?" he asked, amused. "Or were you planning to continue on to France this afternoon?" "This is fine," Maeryn agreed, concentrating less on what he was saying and more on the mesmerizing way his lips moved when he spoke. It was hard not to become sidetracked with everything fresh in her strong new eyes. "What are we hunting?" “Just some low lives. People who no one will miss. So we stay unnoticed.” Alec explained. Maeryn nodded her head and her throat only burned fiercer, if that was possible, at the

thought of blood. The continued their ay until they reached a bad neighbourhood. "Hold still for a minute," he said, putting his hands lightly on my shoulders. The urgency of her thirst receded momentarily at his touch. "Now close your eyes," he murmured. When she obeyed, he raised his hands to her face, stroking her cheekbones. Maeryn felt her breathing speed and waited briefly again for the blush that wouldn't come. "Listen," Alec instructed. "What do you hear?" Everything, she could have said; his perfect voice, his breath, his lips brushing together as he spoke, the small chatter inside houses from humans, the beating of their hearts and most importantly, the flow of their blood. And there, near the noise of a party, was the splash of liquor flowing richely in the humans throats, and the laughing and chatter it caused., the loud thudding of heavy hearts, pumping thick streams of blood. It felt like the sides of Maeryn’s throat had sucked closed. Maeryn growled and could no longer control herself . Half-hidden around the edge of a purple-black alley, a man was cussing at a woman and slapping her while another woman watched silently. From their clothes, Maeryn guessed that it was a pimp and two of his employees. "Don't think about it," Alec suggested and took a step back. "Just follow your instincts. Watch me." Alec inhaled through his nose - a big, long pul - and Maeryn watched his body change. He crouched on the roof, one hand gripping the edge. Al that strange friendliness disappeared, and he was a hunter. Maeryn followed his movements, though she felt that she did not need instructions. Her throat was burning and she wanted blood. Now. Maeryn’s brain turned off. It was time to hunt. She took a deep breath, drawing in the scent of the blood inside the humans below. They weren't the only humans around, but they were the closest. Who you were going to hunt was the kind of decision you had to make before you scented your prey. It was too late now to choose anything. Alec dropped from the roof edge, out of sight. The sound of his landing was too low to catch the attention of the crying prostitute, the zoned-out prostitute, or the angry pimp. A low growl ripped from between her teeth. Mine. The blood was mine. The fire in her throat flared and Maeryn couldn't think of anything else. She flipped myself off the roof, spinning across the street so that she landed right next to the crying blonde. Maeryn could feel Alec close behind me, so she growled a warning at him while Maeryn caught the surprised girl by the hair. Maeryn yanked her to the alley wall, putting her back against it. Defensive, it was in her nature now. Then she forgot all about Alec, because she could feel the heat under her skin, hear the sound of her pulse thudding close to the surface. The prositute opened her mouth to scream, but Maeryn’s teeth crushed her windpipe before a sound could come out. There was just the gurgle of air and blood in her lungs, and the low moans she could not control. The blood was warm and sweet. It quenched the fire in her throat, calmed the nagging, itching emptiness in her stomach. Maeryn sucked and gulped, only vaguely aware of anything else. Maeryn heard the same noise from Alec - he had the man. The other woman was unconscious on the ground. Neither had made any noise. It seemed like only seconds later the girl ran dry. Maeryn rattled her limp body in frustration. Already her throat was beginning to burn again. She threw the spent body to the ground and quickly made her way towards the other human, before Alec could reach her. Alec was already finished with the man. He looked at Maeryn with an expression that I could only describe as... fascination. But she could have been dead wrong. But Maeryn didn’t really care. She sank her teeth into the human’s neck, keeping her eyes on him. This one was even better than the last. Her blood was entirely clean. The blonde girl's blood had the bitter aftertaste that came with drugs. Maeryn dropped the gril, blood dripping from her mouth and dripping onto her shirt. Now that the thirst

was slightly satisfied she looked back at Alec and something bloomed inside of her. She knew this vampire was hers. And she was his. She quickly darted towards him and pushed him against the wall, kissing him. Alec, slightly surprised at first, wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed back, much rougher than he had ever done. Small groans left both their lips, but the wind changed, and Maeryn caught the scent of even more blood. Alec hadn’t noticed it and started to kiss and lightly bite her neck. Maeryn growled and pushed his arm away roughly. A noise of metal breaking could be heard as small cracks formed in Alec’s arm from the force, but Maeryn had already gone, her instincts leading her to the nice scent. Her instincts let her towards a couple making out. Maeryn didn’t stop and attacked the man, practically ripping his throat open and drinking his delicious nectar. A moan once again left her lips in satisfaction, however Maeryn found the problem with humans, they were empty too soon. The girl screamed and started to run, but Maeryn had already caught her up, her vampire speed helping her in the protest. Maeryn grabbed the girl and sank her teeth deeply in the girl’s neck, making her blood flow past the fire that was burning in her throat. But just like the man, the girl was empty of her blood way too soon. Maeryn growled in frustration. She wanted, no, needed more blood. Suddenly everything turned black around her. She could no longer hear, see, smell, taste or feel anything. This worried her but also calmed her down. She no longer felt the burning in her throat, she actually felt quite peaceful. The darkness soon made room for Alec’s face, looking worried. “Are you alright, amore mio?” he asked as he stroked her cheek while she laid down in his arms. Maeryn frowned and nodded her head, her eyes widening at the realisation of what she just had done to her mate. Maeryn grabbed his arm and pulled away his sleeve, checking his perfectly smooth arm. “I am fine, everything is fine. It is just your instincts. It isn’t your fault, amore mio.” Alec said. Maeryn nodded her head. “I am sorry.” She said in her singing voice. Alec pecked her lips. “It’s okay. Now, let’s get rid of the bodies and go home.” Alec said. Maeryn nodded her head and grabbed the bodies while Alec carried the other three bodies, making their way to a deeper, darker alley. They piled the bodies on top of each other and lit the pile on fire. Alec couldn’t help himself and kissed his mate, softly and deeply. Maeryn smiled and returned his kiss, knowing this was her new life, and everything will be perfect. Her new life would be perfect. And she would do anything to keep it that way. Nothing, absolutely nothing would ruin her perfect life. And anything or anyone that would try, she would destroy, even if it will be the last thing she would ever do.

#alec volturi #volturi imagine #volturi #twilight imagine #twilight

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