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get-shiggy-with-it · 3 years

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collab masterlist

✧ pairing: villain!hawks x afab!reader

✧ word count: 5k

✧ warnings: this is like all smut, angst, ambiguous but happy ending, unhealthy relationships, mentions of transactional sex, reader has a healing quirk but it's really just for poetic purposes, reader has a vagina, no other gendered parts, oral sex (reader receiving), vague metaphorical drug reference, mentions of blood, mentions of wounds, mating press, soft sex (?), sorta, slight potential could be read as dubcon but they're both into it

✧ summary: for years you've stitched hawks back together when the world has torn him to shreds—and he always pays you back, though you can't help but start want more than he can give you.

✧ a/n: hey y'all this months theme was villain/hero swap with a shared opener! please go check out all the other wonderful works in this collab, there are so many talented writers/artists involved!! credit to @/lady-bakuhoe for the amazing intro. also bonus points if you catch the old aesthetic tumblr post references.

Breaking news: We have yet another report to add to the slew of attacks this month, this comes just days after we broadcast rumours of villains running rampant over the city. This spate of attacks has put the entire metropolitan area at a standstill, road closures and damaged property making it difficult for commuters to get to work in the morning. Road maintenance endeavour to do its best to keep the city running, but it seems futile when these attacks continue to increase. The entire city was brought to a standstill by the mysterious villain who has still not been named, but reports show they are nothing like we have ever experienced before.

Where are the heroes now? Who will save us from the terror overwhelming our city?

Every day the crime toll continues to rise and we have no one here to protect us. The Hero Public Safety Commission assured us earlier in the week that the crime rate would go down, that the top Heroes are out there protecting our city, but if so, where are they? Is it really safe to go out anymore, who can we trust? Would you put your life in the hands of a Hero today? When they have proved our streets are no longer safe. We still have no information on what is going on, or who is involved but we must remain observant. We will continue to report the latest news as we receive it, but for now, we must implore you to heed the warnings of the city-wide curfew that is soon to be implemented. If anyone has any information on these occurrences in the city please send them to us or contact the police, you can remain anonymous. The safety of our citizens is what is most important, stay vigilant and don’t go out unless it is absolutely necessary.

One thing we know for sure: we can no longer rely on Heroes to protect us. The streets of our once-great city are no longer safe, we are no longer safe.

***

You can only touch him when he’s dying.

That fact is made even more horrifically apparent as he stumbles through your open window—and how long has it been since you’ve slept with it closed?—dripping with blood and panting from his flight.

The T.V. blares in the background, filling your tiny apartment with incessant ramblings that only grow louder by the day, and you already know what they’re going to say before they say it. Because you see him, before the reporters stumble upon heroes in the wreckage—you see what they do to him before they’re warning the public of dangerous villains loose in the streets.

They spout off about failing heroes but you think they’ve done a pretty damn good butchers job. Red feathers matted together, sticky and brown, fall in tufts from his back. You burn with shameful jealousy at the thought of those who would call themselves heroes having laid hands on what is yours.

He isn’t really yours and you know that, though you often wish you could be a bit more delusional. It might not hurt so much then.

They call him a villain. They call him a threat to society.

But even faced with the truth spilling from him and onto your creaking floors, it is easy to forget what a ruthless predator the man before you becomes when he leaves these four walls.

Especially as he falls forward on heavy feet straight into your arms, outstretched and waiting. There are stains on your shirt but you’ve known the secret for getting blood out of clothing for years now. Cold water for the fabric, warm to wash away the grime on his lovely skin.

“Gonna need you to fix me up again, sweetheart,” Hawks mumbles into your shoulder where his forehead rests.

His breathing is even more ragged now, not just from the flight.

“I know,” you reply and your hands shake when they find the gaping wound at his side—wide and deeper than the ones before. “I know. Can you walk?”

He doesn’t respond but that mop of golden hair shifts a bit as he slings an arm over your shoulder and rests his weight. You don’t need to direct him to your bedroom. This is an old game you’re playing and he knows the steps.

So do you.

Though, you’re never sure if it's dread that fills you and makes your stomach knot and your knees weak. Or if it’s that awful, momentary rush of excitement at the prospect of being able to run your fingers over him, bare and giving you free reign.

As long as he’s bleeding out on your floor.

Then you can feel him.

When he’s dying and needs you.

Needs you to fix him.

But won’t ever let you close enough to finish the job the way you want to.

You comfort yourself in with the knowledge that at least he lets you this close. At least those thin, silver-skin scars are the unmistakable mark of your healing hands. At least you’ll always haunt him like the red feather down that sticks to your pillows or between your floorboards.

So you strip him carefully and try not to let his sculpted chest distract you from the work. Hawks is silent, such a model patient as always. Only grunting when your fingers move to knit together the ragged edges of his flesh.

This will leave a nasty mark, you know it already. But you can’t find it in yourself to mourn the loss of that lovely skin.

It will only make it harder for him to forget you.

You’re knelt beside him, laid out on a towel you keep at the edge of the bed. Blood will soak through to the sheets regardless, but you try your best. He takes a sharp breath, white teeth catching the back of his hand between them to stifle groans.

You wish there was more pleasure to it. That he was biting back moans for you instead of trying not to scream as his flesh pulsed and grew hot while it was rebuilt under your fingertips. So you indulge, pretend your hands are elsewhere, roaming his perfect waistline and pulling whimpers from him.

Your dangerous, villainous, predator Hawks sprawled on his back, wings spread and cumming onto his chest under you.

The sounds above you change, and you know it hurts—must be excruciating as bone is set back into place—but you chose to believe it’s because he’s trying to keep himself from screaming your name as he reaches his release.

Hawks, you’d croon to him—Hawks because you don’t know his real name. Don’t know who he was before he started this underground life of crime on the fringes of a society that called him a monster and then turned him into one.

He isn’t a monster in your bed, though he may cry like one.

Cry as you mold his flesh and try not to look him in the face. Try to pretend they are an overflow of some better emotion. And when those summer wheat field eyes roll back in his head and those horrible pretty noises stop, you push past the growing ache in your limbs until the skin under your palms is smooth and no longer leaking thick, red blood.

And you do your best to resist the itch to feel more of him while he can’t stop you. Even with your fingers numb from overexertion, you can’t help but fall back on your heels and long for the feeling of his cheek in your hand, or his chest on your face.

But your part of the transaction is done.

And your permission doesn’t extend past these limits.

And it pains you to wish harm on him.

But it hurts even more when he does not need you.

So you sit and hate yourself and hope that those heroes with their disgusting philosophies get their shit together just a bit more. So you won’t lose your purpose. So he’ll keep coming through your window, permanently open through rainstorms and snow and spring heat.

Hawks’ breath evens slowly, and you stay still as a watched painting—no shifting eyes or moving limbs.

You crave these times like water or warm food—constant and instinctively.

And this is the only time you’ll ever have them, hands so filled with pinpricks of fried nerves that you can barely feel the soft, relaxed muscle beneath them.

What a tragedy.

What an injustice—

You can only touch him when he’s dying.

***

“Hmm,” he groans, sitting up and wincing as the new flesh protests under his movements.

“You should rest for a bit longer.”

Hawks looks at you, stretched next to him on the mattress—a purposeful few inches of space left between your bodies. It’s both selfish and practical advice.

But he isn’t here for that kind of help.

“You know I can’t just be sittin’ on my ass,” he quips, flashing you that eyes closed, wide smirk that sets your heart hammering in your chest. “Can’t have anyone tracing me back here.”

“Normally I’d agree,” you don’t find it in yourself to give the words any bite, “but you were just actively bleeding out a few minutes ago.”

“Sure, but that was a few minutes ago,” he winks and you can already feel the bed shifting as he moves to settle himself over your hips, one toned thigh on either side to bracket you against the bed. “Now, let me pay you back for all that hard work, yeah sweetheart?”

You wish the way he peered up through those long lashes, gold eyes honed in on you like a piece of meat on a hook, didn’t make your face burn this much.

It doesn’t mean anything to him.

Because this arrangement really is transactional—so you have to get something out of it too. At least, that’s what he tells himself, you think. He doesn’t know that those scant few moments you hold his life between your fingers is more than enough payment.

It’s been this way since the very first time you stumbled across him, half dead in an alley. But then you think it might have just been a ‘heat of the moment’ sort of thing that had just stuck.

You heal him and he makes you writhe on the sheets with his tongue and his hands, until you're fucked into unconscious bliss and he can slip away without your prying eyes watching him go.

But you still aren’t allowed to touch Hawks, even when he reaches into those deep parts of you and molds them to fit only him.

“You don’t—” you start to protest, partly because you want to believe you don’t want it and partly because you want to hear him insist that he does.

“Shh,” Hawks presses a calloused finger to your mouth and it takes every ounce of strength not to suck it past your lips. “I don’t like leaving my debts unpaid.”

That’s the end of your determination for the night. So you try to relax into his touch as slides your bottoms off and tosses them to the floor. Try not to clench up under those fingers that spread your legs. He doesn’t like it when you squirm away, when you flinch from his hands.

You want to think it’s because he hopes you aren’t afraid of him—of what he is—like the rest are, and not because he wants to get it over with as quickly as possible.

You want to.

But he’s so hard to read, and your mind is not often a kind place.

“Mm, god I’m always so hungry after you patch me up baby,” Hawks licks his lips as he stares down at you. “You won’t mind if I eat you right?”

You cringe at how fast your head shakes.

“Mm, course you wouldn’t.”

You can hear the smirk in his voice, and he’s right though you resent it a bit that he’s got you pegged so easily.

But you’re weak, you’re no villain, you’re no hero.

And so you’ll never be able to resist him. But, damn, did you wish you had a name to cry out. Then at the very least, you could keep a part of him with you too. Then you’d have some to moan on the nights he goes uninjured and you have to bring yourself to lonely release, only thinking of him.

Of those wings spread above you like a burning, red sunset, obscuring the rest of the world from view with his blinding light.

“Hawks…” you hiss instead as he shifts your legs over his shoulders and lays his tender chest on the sheets. “Please.”

“Yeah, yeah, what’s it gonna be tonight then?” he asks, breath ghosting over the damp folds between your thighs.

“Thought you said you were gonna use your tongue,” you whine, impatient now for any scrap of attention he’s willing to give.

“If that’s what you want,” he presses a kiss into the crease of your leg and hip, nipping the delicate skin so you whine again. “It’s whatever you want, you know that.”

It isn’t though.

It’s not whatever you want.

You can pick the position, you can ask for his mouth or his fingers, but even then, they won’t go past your neck. Your hands must stay firmly knotted in the comforter and away from him while he works. Cause he is working. This is part of the job to him, it's only in your fantasies that he’s doing it simply for the hell of it.

Hawks nudges your embarrassingly soaked slit with his nose and hums at you, “So is that what you want? Want me to eat your pretty pussy, yeah?”

“Yes—ngh,” you don’t get much in past the confirmation.

He’s a busy man.

He doesn’t have time for your stupid, romantic day dreams.

So he dives right in, and it’s enthusiastic enough that you can convince yourself he simply wants you that badly.

Hawks tongue licks a long strip from your hole to your clit and sucks the little bud past his plush lips. They’re a lovely, soft pink against your skin and they make a mess of you in seconds. He starts up an even rhythm, drawing circles into the nerves that sing and have heat building up in you only seconds after he’s started.

You hate that you love how well he knows your body.

You hate that you only know his when it’s shutting down.

“You taste so good, you know that?” he mumbles, lapping at you and kneading your thighs. “Could live down here just drinking you every fucking day.”

He doesn’t always talk like that but you’re happy he is now. It distracts you from the deep, ingrained urge to yank him by the hair and taste yourself on his lips.

“Makes me wish I’d let those damn heroes get hits in more often,” he’s back to panting and you keen at the sound. “Want my fingers too?”

“Fuck yes,” you don’t even bother hiding the desperation anymore.

He deserves the boost to his ego. You’d shower him with praise if he’d let you, bathe him in warm words and press them into his skin with your tongue.

But he doesn’t let you.

Hawks’ hand on your thigh trails slowly against the sensitive skin until he’s pulling back to run his fingers through your folds to ease the stretch a bit as he pushes two inside. He knows you can take what he gives to you, knows you love the way he fills you up.

Your tingling hands ache to grab his head and force his lips back as he sits for a moment, eyes glued on the space where his fingers disappear into your body. He groans low at the wet sounds your bodies make at their joining. Your legs shake where they rest on him, the one other point of contact he’s allowed. Those deadly soft feathers brush your calves as he curls his fingers up and waits expectantly for the strangled cry he pulls from you.

“There it is,” his voice is so much lower when he speaks now. “Can’t exactly show you the real ones, but how ‘bout you let me make you see some stars, huh?”

He asks so much of you. So much. So often.

In fact, you don’t think you’ve ever actively asked him for a thing he hadn’t already offered in the few years you’d known him. Hawks does it all—the taking and the giving and the demanding.

And you’re simply along for the ride, holding on for dear life lest he drop you, let you plummet like rock to the barren ground.

Still, you are mortal and you crave and you will take what you can get.

“Mhm,” you whimper when his deft fingers increase their pace, not thrusting but grinding mercilessly into that delicious spot inside.

“You wanna cum now, sweet thing?”

Then, true to his villainous nature, Hawks latches his lips back onto your clit, wracking your body with waves of truly sinful pleasure. His tongue draws quick, perfect circles across the bud just how you like. You’ll never know why it feels so much better when it’s him touching you.

How he knows exactly what you want.

Most of it.

Then his other hand is reaching around your hip, thumb taking over to press down where his tongue had been. Panting for the third time, his gorgeous head rests on your thigh and he stares dead on into your eyes. That predator yellow gaze pins you to the pillows better than any hand could and he licks across his lips while you watch, moaning as he tastes you there.

You groan deep and unabashedly at the sight.

“What is it?” he’s teasing you, unable to keep that part of his cruelty hidden even now. “What do you want?”

You shake your head and wish you could turn away, flop against the mattress and writhe but you can’t. You just can’t give up this moment that’s etching itself into your retinas—like you’re staring head on at an eclipse, celestial and short-lived.

“Tell me,” Hawks whispers, nipping at your thigh and working his fingers harder on you. “Whatever you want, you’ll get it.”

And maybe it’s the sudden heat of the room, or the little breeze from his wings spreading defensively to block you from view of his nonexistent audience—the outside world maybe? To keep you, this secret indulgence, hidden from their prying hands. Or quite possibly it’s just your own weakness at the feet of years and years of loving—because you do, you love him, it’s clear by now that’s what this is—this man whose name you don’t know and whose eyes never seem to leave you even when he’s gone.

Maybe you simply crack under the pressure of keeping this awful, looming silence for too long.

You feel your lips split at the seams and it all comes rushing out in a polluted flood—a stagnant river of secrets.

“Let me touch you,” you gasp and close your eyes then just so you won’t have to see that grin slip from his beautiful face. “Please Hawks, let me touch you. I can’t do it anymore, just—I need to kiss you, I need more.”

All this time he hadn’t let up on pulling pleasure from your skin, but he stops now, bringing your release to a screaming halt.

The quiet that follows—devoid of fast breaths and wet slapping—is suffocating.

You wish you regretted the outburst, the waste of years worth of work to keep him coming back.

But you don’t.

Of course you will in a minute, when he slips away and doesn’t return.

But now it just feels as though that boulder of secrecy has been lifted off your chest and you can finally take in lungfuls of sweet, unhindered night air.

It’s only after that dreadful minute has passed and there are still hands on you—buried in you—that you dare to open your eyes again.

Hawks is staring blankly, an expression you’ve never seen before, so stark from the usual quirk of his lips and tilt of his chin. Blank, but calculating. You can see the gears clanking as his thoughts rush a mile a minute, faster than he’d ever dream of soaring over the city skyline.

He blinks once, twice, then again and you can see the redness blooming at the corners as his eyes grow glassy between each flutter of lashes. And then, as though moving through honey, he draws back from you, only to crawl up your body until your noses touch.

You hold your breath, lip caught between your teeth, but his slicked thumb comes up to pull it out of your gnawing reach. He strokes across the puffy skin, never meeting your gaze, until he slowly, slowly leans down.

It’s not really a kiss, more of an accidental brush, so little of your lips touch you could easily have imagined it. When he speaks again, you can feel him forming the words against you.

“I—” he starts and licks his lips and yours and you don’t think it’s an accident, “I can’t.”

It isn’t what you want him to say, but it’s better than a silent loss .

You know truth when you hear it.

“I know.”

And you do, you do know, you’ve always known. He’s darker when he’s not with you. You’ve seen the carnage he leaves behind broadcasted on screens, but it’s never stopped the ache before.

He can’t keep you the way you want, can’t have things that get in the way.

You can only touch him when he’s dying. You can heal him, reform his flesh and bone—pull him back from the brink—but you’ll never feel his chest against yours or his hair slipping through your fingers or have all of him buried inside you. He’ll never love you like you want him to.

It doesn’t stop you from wishing.

And apparently, it doesn’t stop Hawks from kissing you anyway.

“I can’t,” he repeats and it sounds so broken you almost think that wound has reopened and he’s going to start slipping away again.

But the only thing that slips is his tongue past your lips and tangling with your own.

And then the levee breaks.

It’s a sudden torrent of hands and legs knotting together like the torn edges of too many injuries. Hawks covers every available part of you like an addict seeking his fix. It’s breathless and uncoordinated but you’ve never felt more alive, alight, aflame.

He presses his lips to yours again, pulling away and then diving back in. Frantic hands pull you off the mattress until your back is against the headboard and he’s straddling your lap. You take the opportunity to sink your fingers into that goldenrod hair and it’s just as silky as you’d imagined it to be.

Hawks moans into your mouth, kissing you wildly, like the beast he is with teeth clacking and your tongue sucked between his lips.

“I can’t,” he keeps mumbling, between groans and hips grinding and hands grabbing, “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t— “

You wonder then which one of you he’s trying to convince.

But you don’t ask, just let your hands wander to the delicious curve of his ass on your thighs and squeeze, rolling his bulge against you. His fingers push and proud, ghosting across your chest and stopping to pinch your nipple. He drinks down the whimpers you let out, letting his lips wander your jaw and throat, sucking bruises—leaving his own scars on you—as he goes. He pushes you back down to the pillows so his lips can continue their work, latching onto the quickly hardening bud and suckling lightly. His groan sends little shockwaves through you and he looks up with brows furrowed like he’s in pain with how good it all feels.

“I’m sorry,” he says and it’s so soft you barely hear it between licks at your chest.

“No,” you finally find it in you to respond, shaking your head and pulling him back to your lips.

“I’m sorry,” he says again while you nip at his earlobe and down his jaw, tight pants yielding under your hands as they’re tugged away so he’s just as bare as you.

“No,” you shake your head and any response dies on his tongue as you dig your fingers into the feathers at the base of his wings and pull him forward.

Hawks lets out a choked gasp as his length, bare, hard, and leaking glides across your cunt. Any other time, you’d have liked to savor this moment. Get on your knees and worship his pretty cock—and you know it's pretty, just from your short glimpse. He’s long and perfectly thick, just how you dreamed he would be. The cute tuft of blond curls at his base is course in the best way as you trail your fingers through it to take him in your palm.

“Ahh,” he keens, arching above you with his head thrown back as you stroke him for the first time.

It’s been so long, you're not sure how you ever resisted this before. Not with how heavy and warm he is in your fist.

“Hawks,” you moan, sucking at the dip in his collarbone and moving to bite at his nipple. “Hawks, please.”

“I—” you think he might protest but you flick your thumb over the tip and it pours precum to help the slide of your fingers.

He’s already got those powerful arms hooked under your knees, all he has to do is lean forward and sink into that tight, awaiting heat, and he knows it. You can see the resolve cracking.

“Hawks,” you beg again. Because you are begging, that’s what this is.

And he looks at you, drool slipping from the corner of his mouth and brows all bunched up with his head shaking.

“Hawks.”

His hands grip the underside of your thighs and knock your hand from his dick.

“Hawks.”

His forehead comes down to rest against yours, eyes squeezed shut and red at the edges. You feel the sting at the corners as if they were your own.

“Hawks.”

You can only touch him when he’s dying.

Is he dying now?

Are you killing him?

“Hawks.”

His breath hitches, whatever he might have said is long gone when the head of his cock catches against your entrance.

“Hawks—”

He sinks in to the hilt all at once and the last utterance of his name is a yelp. Your walls clamp down hard around the intrusion, so much bigger than his fingers, so hot and long and thick as he pulses inside you.

There are no words after that.

No names, no refusals, just his face pressed up on yours as he pushes your thighs to your chest and rolls his hips, fucking you evenly into the mattress.

Not soft or slow or overly rough.

Though it is all of those things at once as well.

Hawks has always been full of contradictions. It makes sense that this is too.

Both your eyes stay open, lips brushing and sharing breath as he slips a hand back down to your clit and starts those perfect circles up again.

He doesn’t ask you questions now. Just stares in your eyes and sinks his cock into your over and over until you feel fuller, more complete than you ever have in the whole of your life.

There’s no warning leading up to the end. You feel the crest approaching, the coil waiting to snap low in your belly and you don’t dare take your eyes off his face. You need to commit the entirety of this moment to memory. Just in case.

Just in case it never happens again.

Or worse, it happens over and over until it doesn’t.

Until you run out of chances to touch him.

Until he comes to you too far gone.

“Oh fuck,” he mutters and that’s all the warning you get.

All the warning you have the strength to listen to as you tumble over the edge, waves of rolling pleasure burning under your skin. You clench hard around his cock as his hips stutter in their pace, thrusting unevenly as you gush and he spills rope after rope of hot release deep into you.

And you’d been wrong before, because this was full. This was whole, your stilling bodies pressed together at every point with his cock still hard and twitching as your walls milked him of cum that warmed you from the inside out.

This is what you would die for.

***

Later when you stumble into unwilling wakefulness, there are hands tucking a thin sheet over your bare skin.

Hawks has pulled himself from you after resting like you’d told him he should. He’s dressing, though not hurriedly, and you can’t find it in your jelly bones to move or stop him.

You’re both silent, even when he looks down to find your eyes alert and raking over him—costume donned and wings prepared for flight.

His face is drawn in a way that might have been resentment. Maybe towards you for breaking his resolve, maybe at himself for indulging in what he cannot have.

I can’t.

You hear the words as clear as though he’d just said them.

I can’t.

Can’t have you. Can’t forget his purpose. Can’t have gentle things.

Hawks is a villain, first and foremost, above all else and that includes you.

So you don’t move to stop him as he walks softly through your door. You just watch as he makes his way to the open window and perches on the ledge. He does look back, only briefly, to see you draped across the sheets, head resting on your arm and staring at him as he leaves you.

The ghost of that cheeky grin crawls its way onto his face before he tips backwards off the landing and into the night sky. He winks once before the indigo of the night swallows him like the maw of a leviathan. The city has teeth and it will chew him up and spit him back out into your arms soon enough.

So you’re content to wait.

You know this isn’t the last time. That he’ll come back to you as he’s always done. And offer you more and more of himself each time.

Because you can only touch him when he’s dying.

And this world is nothing if not determined to kill him.

So you can keep your purpose.

And by extension, you can keep him.

#hawks x reader #hawks x y/n #keigo takami x reader #villain!au #bnha fanfiction #tw blood #tw dubcon #hawks angst #hawks smut #bnha smut #mha smut #bee.writes

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theepisceswriter · 3 years

Text

𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐘𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍 𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐔𝐄 — 𝐑.𝐁

♡ Pairing: Reiner Braun x AFAB!Reader ♡ Rating: 18 plus, MDNI! or I’ll gnaw on your ankles like corn ♡ TW: Smut obvies besties, breeding kink like heavily, nursing mentions, lactation mention, oral (fem recieving), dirty talk, praising, a whole lot ! Also not proofread. ♡ Synopsis: Wedding night sexy and fluff with your breeding kink ridden husband Reiner ♡ WC: 2.3k

♡ A/N: AHHHH, my first ever collab ! this is for my bby, @saccharine-darling ‘s Reiner and Zeke birthday collab. Thank you so much for letting me participate and giving me the experience of being in my very first collab. Congrats on your milestone yet again babes !

The welcoming aroma of lavender and rose candles that omitted a warm, soft glow throughout the dimly lit suite of the newlyweds did very little to help calm the nerves that ran like electricity through your nervous system.

Every second your fingers ran over the see through coverup nightgown over your lingerie, not even smoothing out wrinkles anymore but giving your so awkwardly placed hands something to do; anything that kept you hidden away in the bathroom for a couple more seconds to compose yourself before you had to be met with Reiner’s hunger filled gaze.

This was nowhere near his first time seeing you naked or the first time he would ravage your body, nor would it be the last, but it was something about the newfound intimacy between you two as husband and wife that made this night especially special, the two of you right back in your honeymoon phase all over again.

Not that you two had ever really left it. Every day with Reiner was a day you felt loved and appreciated by him and that was only amplified by 100 today. You couldn’t possibly count how many times he glanced over at you with that loving doe look in his eyes that just screamed ‘Finally, you’re my wife.’ And you could’ve sworn that you saw tears slip from his hazel eyes the moment he saw you cladded in your silk white wedding dress, done up the prettiest he had ever seen you, as you walked down the aisle towards him.

He made sure to let everyone know that he was proud of his beautiful bride by holding you close to his side the whole day, arm hardly ever leaving from around your waist and always ready to sing praises about you to whoever would listen.

And now that the two of you were alone he was ready to appreciate you in a different way, the way he knew best.

“Come on, love. There’s no need for you to act all shy around me now,” His voice beckons you from the other side of the door, “I want to see my pretty bride in all her glory.

He lounged on the large California king sized bed situated in the middle of the room with nothing but briefs attached to his body, toned chest prickled slightly with stray blonde hairs that glimmered against the golden light of the lit candles, as he awaited your arrival. Any time spent away whether it was a couple of days or a handful of minutes while you got ready in the bathroom was always excruciating for him to deal with.

With hesitant fingers you twisted at the doorknob until the door opened wide enough for Reiner’s eyes to meet yours with something like a sly smirk painting his features the moment he saw the lace lingerie that hugged your body in all the right places.

It was his words and the expression on his face that gave you enough confidence to step from behind the bathroom door, finally putting your whole body on display for him to see as you made your way over to the bed.

He wastes no time at all, the moment your knees hit the cushioning of the bed he already has his large hands at your waist groping the skin that couldn’t all fit into the restraints of your undergarments and pulling you into his lap, forcing you to straddle his large thighs.

Immediately his lips find their way on yours, wanting and hungry as he practically devours them with open mouth kisses with the occasional tongue slipping past your lips just to get whatever taste of you he could right now.

His fingers traced the irregular pattern of the lace adorning your skin, continuing the pattern up your abdomen until he reaches the mounds of your breasts where he transitions to a grope, his hand nearly covering every square inch of the skin except for the gaps in between his fingers.

Breaking away from the kiss with a trail of saliva still connecting you two, hooded darkened hazel eyes looked up at you with nothing short of admiration, “Look at you,” The blonde nearly growled out in a feral tone, “So, so pretty and dressed up just for me. Too bad I’m going to ruin it, hm?”

His words bring flutters to the deepest parts of your abdomen, making the already damp spot that had begun to collect on your underwear accumulate even more. He always had that type of effect on you.

Peeling off the cover up that hid the rest of your body from him, he discarded it on the floor and was quick to do the same with your bra next. The warmth and moistness of his mouth engulfed your nipple and large areola with ease, already knowing exactly where to direct his mouth after doing so plenty of times, before beginning to suckle on it gently as if he were nursing from you while his other hand flicked over your other nipple getting it prepared next.

“That feels so good, Rei.” Your moans only encouraged him on more, his suckling becoming slightly harder and his tongue flicking faster once he moved on to the other nipple.

“I can’t wait until these are filled to the brim and leaking with milk once you’re carrying our child,” he nuzzles his face between the valley of your breast, sucking on the skin there and leaving a few hickies before motorboating and pulling away completely.

Ruin is exactly what he planned to do with you tonight. In seconds you were being flipped onto your back, not hard enough that it hurt but with enough force to leave you confused and shocked before you realized your positions had been switched. It left him with the perfect opportunity to lean down and rip your panties quite literally off of your lower torso completely, mumbling about how he was going to buy you even prettier ones in the future as he trailed kisses down your legs. Making sure to stop and give extra attention to the areas on the inside of your thigh that he knew would make you squirm up against him.

“Fuck,” Just the sight of your cunt adorned with arousal alone had him ready to cum undone, rough finger pads moving your lips around to observe the beauty that was you.

“I’m the luckiest man on earth. I must be to have someone as beautiful as you, love.” The words leave his lips in a tone that doesn’t allow it to come off as anything short of a fact because in his heart it was.

Spreading your legs further apart with the placement of his arms, he allowed a long trail of saliva to escape from between his lips and fall directly over your sensitive bud, sending shivers up your spine, before leaning down and adding on to the mess he created with his saliva by moving his tongue in a way that only accumulated more. It didn’t matter how much you squirmed beneath him or tried to move your hips against his mouth at a pace that wouldn’t have you cumming as fast as he was going to, he wasn’t going to slow down.

His lips isolated directly over your clit and collected all the wetness he could in his mouth as he continued abusing it with pleasure. His face was soaked in your juices at this point and that only made it all the more better for him; Reiner getting just as much pleasure as you the more he made you feel good.

“Oh, fuck baby,” the words left your lips in a broken moan that borderlined a choke and something about the way your husband hummed against your cunt in surprise let you know that he knew you were close as well,

“I know darling, I know. Go ahead and cum all over my tongue like the good girl you are.”

Removing himself from your cunt with pop, he allowed only those words to be spoken before he went right back to work. Even going the extra mile and slipping two fingers inside of you to give your pussy something to clench around for the meantime.

And it wasn’t long after that, that your thighs clenched tight around the sides of his head and your fingers found themselves entangled in his blonde locks as you rode your orgasm out on his tongue. Your hips bucking wildly up against his mouth that he gladly left open for you to use and small ‘thank you’s escaping with gasps from your lips.

A kiss to each inner thigh was given before Reiner merely situated his lower torso between your waist instead of his face, gathering your legs from the back of your thighs and pressing them against your chest so you were spread out nice and perfect for him. He didn’t even bother removing his briefs completely, only moving the band around his waist down far enough for this thick cock to come springing out and slap against his stomach. The precum leaking from his pretty peach tip leaving a stain on one of his abs that glistened when he was positioned perfectly in the dim lighting of the room.

He strokes his thumb over his tip with a groan, taking his cock at the base and sliding it through the soaked lips of your cunt. He needed as much lube as he could possibly get. Taking him wasn’t an easy task at all even after you had done it plenty of times; he was huge just by girth alone and he didn’t want to hurt his pretty wife. Especially not the pretty pussy he was going to be stuffing with children in the near future.

Lining himself up with your plush entrance, he groaned with each inch of him that sunk into your inviting walls, moving his hands to the side of your head for leverage as he began snapping his hips up against yours in swift calculated motions he knew would curve up into your most sensitive areas. His eyes never left contact with yours, still holding that loving gaze he had hours before during your ceremony despite how roughly he was thrusting up against you, cock hitting all the right spots.

“Fuck you feel so fucking good baby you have no idea. Such a tight and breedable pussy you have on you.” His fingers tangle with yours and holds them tight as he pounds into you from above, the weight of his meaty body keeping your legs pressed up against your chest, still sensitive from his suckling and biting from earlier.

And all you could do was take how deep he was going and the feeling of his tip gently pressing against your cervix at a pressure that didn’t quite hurt, but sent a shiver throughout your whole body in response.

“Fill me up, Rei. I want you to fill me up nice and full.” You finally managed to get out in stutters through his rough pace of fucking, thock cock invading every inch of your insides and wall with a burn that felt too good.

Your words clearly had an effect on him because not only did his cheeks visibly turn red, but you could feel dribbles of precum dripping inside of you. You just had that type of effect on him.

“My pretty little wife wants to be bred like a slut, hm? Then I’ll do exactly that for you, love. I’m gonna fill you to the brim with cum until you have no choice but to take it and get pregnant.” And on cue, hot spurts of cum release deep inside of you with one last stroke. So filled to the brim with cum that even with his dick inside of you acting as a stopper, it still can’t help but trickle down to your asshole.

“Don;t think we’re done yet because we’re nowhere near that.” He huffs into your ear and although you can't see his face, you can just hear the smirk in his tone. “M’not stopping until I know for sure that you’re going to be nice and plump in the next few months.”

#I literally posted like the day of the deadline im so sorry LMAO #but I hope u all enjoy babes #reiner braun #reiner braun smut #reiner braun x reader #aot smut #aot x reader #Spicy.#shingeki no kyoujin x reader #shingeki no kyoujin smut #ReiZe birthday collab

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tainbocuailnge · 3 years

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i think if fgo implemented a working pity system it would instantly reverse their slowly decreasing sales and shoot them right back to top grossing game worldwide. i feel like they HAVE been listening to user feedback or at least my specific complaints that i send in every survey with how they a) rerun old limited servants way more often lately and b) are much more proactive in buffing older servants. the endless waits between main story chapters remain the fucking worst but i don’t think they’ll actually change that and i personally would’ve been fine with it if they from the start had communicated that lostbelt will take a long time but there will be main chapter sized content in between (though this 6 week hype building for lostroom collab with no real content in between is exeptionally excruciating, like couldn’t you have stuffed a grailfront in here or something). fate IS a big deal and fans ARE willing to put up with a lot so the biggest bullet they’re shooting their own feet with is the way fgo’s lack of pity system makes its gacha extremely unappealing.

#anyway i love cuchulainn

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whumpasaurus101 · 3 years

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Collab part 5!!!

oOOO yaaaa!!! Part 5 y'all!! Also huge huge thank you to @jordanstrophe for helping me out, letting me whump yo boy and diting!!

Gabriel and Walter belong to the most amaizing @jordanstrophe !

Pheonix Masterlist / Gabriel's masterlist

CW: Stabbing... a lot... / tbh that most of it- / Creepy whumper/

Once the half-hour had gone by, Gabriel started worrying. What could have happened?! Did Walter’s car break down- or worse, maybe he had crashed it. Oh shit! Then he’d be left with Mateo and Pheonix! No! I-

He was interrupted from his thoughts by a soft knocking on the door. Who the hell could that be? He slowly crept towards his doors, Walter’s words haunting him, “All those mean people out there, and then the manipulators! You shouldn’t trust Pheonix!” He slowly brought his eye up to the door’s peephole and flinched back as he saw Mateo’s angry face.

There was more knocking, “Abre la Puerta! Apurarse, hurry! Open up!” Gabriel was confused by the different language but he quickly opened the door. Walter wouldn't be angry at him for letting Mateo in, right? Mateo was his friend!

Gabriel was sent stumbling back as Mateo barged through the heavy door. “Jesús, took you long enough to open a fucking door!” Gabriel flinched, “I-I’m sorry.” Mateo waved his hand with a grunt as he scrolled through his phone, muttering nonsense under his breath. Gabriel opened his mouth but closed it, Mateo seemed pissed off enough.

Eventually, Mateo looked up from his phone and looked Gabriel up and down, “My boy has run off. I miss him.” Gabriel gulped, “Do you- um- do you know where Wa-Walter is? He- he said he was going to the shops to-” He was cut off from Mateo raising his hand again. It was quite infuriating being totally honest.

“Yeah, yeah, I know, he went to the shops. Listen, he’s running late and he wants me to… mind you until he returns.” Gabriel found himself slowly taking a few steps backwards until *thud* his back hit the wall. He had hoped Mateo hadn’t noticed. But boooooy had he noticed.

Mateo grinned and took a step forward, soaking in Gabriel’s fear as he tried to step further, through the wall. Mateo let out a soft chuckle, putting his hands against the wall, leaving him like a trapped animal. He leaned right in front of Gabriel’s face, “Why so scared, hm?” Gabriel could only manage a couple of shaky breaths. Mateo traced his fingers against Gabriel’s cheek, his cold metal rings sending a shiver up Gabriel’s spine, “Snake got your tongue?”

Gabriel whimpered and Mateo grabbed him by his shirt, “Enough sweet talk mi príncipe” He was dragged into Mateo and Pheonix’s room and shoved to the rough carpet. Mateo towered over him like an eagle with its prey.

Then it hit Gabriel -no, not physically hit,- Mateo couldn’t hurt him! Walter would kill him if he did! And surely Mateo wouldn’t hurt a hair on him now! He grinned. Mateo did a double-take on him, “Dame Fuerza, what the hell is so funny, huh?” Gabriel smiled, “Oh nothing, just a funny thought came into my head.” Mateo rolled his eyes and retrieved something from his back pocket.

He flicked open his switchblade with a smirk, “Guess you will have to fill in for mi amor, let’s see what he sees in you!” Mateo took his knife and slowly cut the fabric of his shirt. Gabriel looked up at Mateo with wide eyes and grabbed Mateo’s wrists without thinking. Mateo growled, “Hands off! Unless you’d rather me chop them off.” Gabriel gulped.

As Mateo continued, Gabriel squirmed. Walter was going to be angry about his shirt. He wouldn't hurt him, he couldn't- He let out a scream as Mateo plunged the knife into his shoulder.

“GAHHHH! FUCK!” Mateo chuckled, “You alright there, cariño?” Gabriel tried to shove Mateo off of him, but it was useless. It was impossible to get Mateo off of him! He couldn’t breathe, he needed space, needed air, needed some peace!

The knife was slowly dragged down Gabriel’s abdominal as he let out yells and shrieks of pain. Mateo made a hum of disapproval, “Hmm, you’re very loud, that’s alright though, I don't mind that one bit.” Just as he started dragging the knife once more, Gabriel let out a gasp, “WAIT!”

Mateo rolled his eyes and snapped, “What?” Gabriel -thankful for the break- took several breaths before blurting, “Walter! He- he’ll kill you if he finds- finds out what you have done!” That seemed to make Mateo pause. “If you stop now, he’ll just be angry! Please! Just-” Mateo was sick of his bullshit, yanked the knife from his shoulder and slapped his wound.

He let an ear-piercing scream, clutching his shoulder. Mateo sighed, “I’m getting bored anyway, let’s try something new.” Gabriel started shuffling backwards, “Please, just listen to me! Walter is going to get so angry.” Mateo backhanded him hard, “Cállate! Will you shut the fuck up about Walter for two seconds! Jesús!”

Gabriel let out a sob, he couldn’t tell who was going to get into more trouble, him or Mateo. Wow, there he was again thinking about Walter. But Walter couldn’t be mad at him! He had no choice but to let Mateo inside!

Mateo chuckled, “Dios, I don’t know why I gave you to Walt. I mean, look at you.” He rubbed his bloodied hand against Gabriel’s tear-stained cheek, making him flinch, “Wh-what do you mean?” Mateo chuckled, “Los siento, I forgot he hasn’t told you yet.” Gabriel gulped, “T-told me what?”

Mateo stood up and wiped his bloodied hands in Gabriel’s torn up t-shirt, “Your car, didn’t you find it quite strange how it just… suddenly broke down?” Gabriel gulped, “I-I mean, it was an old car but I-” Mateo chuckled, “Oh sweet naive boy.”

Gabriel’s breath started picking up and now his wounds were excruciating, “N-no.”

“Oh yes. Yes, yes, yes. That morning, while you were asleep, I fiddled with your engine.” Gabriel looked at him, eyes widened in fear, “Wh-what?” Mateo smiled and shrugged.

“Oh, you know, I just fiddled with a few wires and… ‘tweaked’ it a bit! It travelled as far as I wanted it to go and then boom, that night Walter texted me telling me that he got you. My plans never fail me, Gabriel, keep that in mind.”

Gabriel was in shock. All along -all along Gabriel had blamed Walter for his kidnapping, but it was mostly this bastard’s fault! How the hell did he know where he lived?!

Mateo -who clearly saw his fear- chuckled again, “I have my people. Up, come on, sit up on the bed!” Gabriel scrambled to his feet and walked to the bed, he looked at Mateo who nodded and he neatly sat on the edge of the bed. His back was straight and his arms were neatly folded on his lap. It was his position he sat in at the piano as he tried to recall different pieces.

Mateo smiled, “You know what I would always threaten my boy with?” Gabriel shook his head quickly, eyes glued to the room’s cream rough carpet. Mateo knelt down right in front of him, he traced his hand up Gabriel’s shin, “You see, I have a snake, a beautiful one indeed. Her name is Aurora which mean’s ‘dawn’. She and Pheonix had an… interesting greeting. Another fun thing I do is, I test his stillness.”

Gabriel looked at him. “I’d put fish oil all up along his leg. Then I’d set Aurora down on the ground, after several minutes she’d find her way up his leg. She’d slowly slither up his leg. At the start, he’d flinch at the feeling of scales against his legs. But you see, the more Pheonix moves, the more danger he puts himself in. It would get worse for him as she would travel up, and up, and up.”

He slowly trailed his hand up Gabriel’s leg. When Gabriel flinched, Mateo was brought away from his trance and laughed, “Ahem, anyway,” He drew back his hand, “Aurora then would wrap around his neck.” Gabriel took a shuddered breath, trying to relax himself, was Gabriel just experiencing the tiny amount of the Hell that Pheonix has to go through every day?

Mateo sighed, “Hmm, it's a pity Aurora’s not here at the moment. Who knows, maybe you can come over to my house one day and we’ll see if Aurora likes you or not.”

He can't hurt you, he can't hurt you, he can't hurt you, he can’t- He jumped as Mateo snapped his fingers in front of his face, “Hey idiota, did you hear me.” Gabriel nodded, “Y-yeah” “Good. Now, I'm feeling quite peckish, you hungry?”

“Y-yes.” Mateo cocked his head to the sighed, “Hmm, no manners?” Gabriel’s chest burned in anger. He swallowed down his humiliation and spoke, “Sorry, yes sir.” Mateo smiled, clicked his tongue and ruffled his hair, “Atta boy! We’ll go to the restaurant we were at last night, I heard they do a killer french toast.” He threw Gabriel one of Pheonix’s spare shirts which he put on.

Gabriel’s stomach grumbled at the thought of food. Maybe this wasn’t going to be as bad as he thought.

Oh, it was… It started off fine, they were escorted to Mateo’s stupid ‘v.i.p’ booth and were given menus. Gabriel didn’t dare look at it, he heard Mateo order Pheonix’s food for him so he decided to leave it to Mateo to do it.

After several long minutes, Mateo smiled and took off his reading glasses, gently placing them on the table he looked at Gabriel with a smile. Gabriel shifted awkwardly in his seat, he wished he could build up some confidence.

“So tell me, how long have you been playing the piano for?” Gabriel fiddled with his hand awkwardly over the table, “Well, I learned when I was young and I have been playing ever since.” Mateo smiled, “Interesting. And what’s your favourite piece?” Gabriel softly chuckle to himself as the memories came back to him

“It’s kind of basic but probably Winter from The Four Seasons or Moonlight Sonata.” Mateo nodded, “Basic but classics.” He then looked down at Gabriel's fidgeting hands and frowned. He looked around, no one. He quickly grabbed his steak knife which the restaurant always gave him and plunged it straight into Gabriel’s palm. The knife went straight through to the table. Gabriel let out a shrilled screech.

“Come on now, another thing I teach Pheonix is to never fidget. People fidget when they’re nervous. And if your nervous, the people opposite you know they can stop all over you.” Gabriel went to pull out the knife. Mateo smacked it away, “Mierda Jesús! Are you that dumb!” Gabriel looked up at him quickly with tears streaming down his face. “You never take out an object you have been stabbed with, luckily, I think they have a first aid kit here for the chefs, I’ll be back, don’t go anywhere.”

He stood up and before leaving, he leaned right down so he was whispering into Gabriel’s ear, “I wouldn’t run if I were you, Noah is guarding the door.” He then patted his shoulder roughly and left.

Gabriel let out several sobs and then just broke down. The pain. So much pain. He couldn’t take it! He missed Walter! Walter- piano- he looked back down at his hand. This wasn’t good. He flinched as a heavy first aid box was stopped right in front of him. Mateo shoved him over and sat right beside him, “Give me your arm.”

Gabriel hesitated at first, but once Mateo raised his eyebrow he quickly handed his shaking hand. Mateo studied the wound, “Hmm, easy, I learned this in scouts when I was a boy.” He then looked at Gabriel, “Oh how the times have changed.”

Without wasting any more time, he took out multiple cotton balls. He counted to three and quickly took the knife out, he pressed hard against the gash with the cotton. Gabriel let out a cry. “Hush now, you’re being so good for me, almost finished.”

After a few minutes, he took off the cotton balls and threw them into a plastic bag which he would later dispose of. He took the skin glue then and caught Gabriel looking, “It’s better not to look mi Querido! Makes the pain worse.”

Gabriel squeezed his eyes shut and looked away, hearing Mateo chuckle. Mateo poured some glue along his wound and squeezed the skin together, making Gabriel wince. He then wound a bandage tightly around his palm. “It’s not as bad as it looks, really You're just making a big deal over nothing!” Gabriel squeezed his eyes tighter as tears fell down his face.

Suddenly Mateo’s phone rang, “Jesús, este hombre, no se relajará!” he answered it with a snappy tone, “What?!”

“Mateo! How is my boy doing? I hope he’s behaving himself!” Mateo looked at the sobbing Gabriel who had curled up on himself. “Yes, he’s all good, we just are relaxing. He’s being good, but he’s missing you... A lot!” He heard Walter chuckle to himself happily, “Good, good. Well, I have your boy and we’re on the way.” Before Mateo could ask where the hell he had found him, Walter hung up.

He looked at Gabriel, “Alright, sorry mijo, looks like french toast will be a miss today! Walter will be back soon!” Gabriel perked up at that. Walter! Walter!!! Safe! No more pain!

Back at the hotel, Gabriel gazed longingly out the window. His heart fluttered when he saw Walter’s car pull up outside the hotel. He looked to Mateo who rushed to the window and sighed, “Bien, let’s go, rápido!” He was dragged out of the room and down the hotel stairs, Gabriel wanted to cry as all of his wounds rubbed against his shirt -well, Pheonix’s shirt.

Before he could restrain himself, the minute Gabriel saw Walter, for the first time, his heart jolted with relief. He ran up to him and hugged him tight, not realising that he was crying. He hugged him as tight as he could. He couldn’t even feel the pain anymore. Safe, he was safe. Never leave me again, please.

---

taglist: @as-a-matter-of-whump @milk-carton-offical

@yesthisiswhump @kixngiggles @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi

#<3 #whump #whump story #stabbing #tw stabbing #alot of stabbing XD #caretaking #whumper caretaker #whumpee #whumper #walter #gabriel #pheonix #mateo #gang whump #whump collab

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high-warlock-of-brooklyn · 3 years

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take every chance, drop every fear

Note: The art is made by the brilliant and amazing @miss-shiva-adler Thank you so much for agreeing to collab with me, you have been so terrific 💙

Summary: The Clave has given a mandate for Simon- a new mission. Get the dagger that killed the first Shadowhunter, and get it quickly. Only problem? The dagger is in possession of Jace Herondale, the continent's most notorious Vampire King. Simon has to fulfil the mission, come what may. Except, the Vampire is already aware of his intentions, and is ready to face him. The result is sure to be deadly for at least one of them. Except, the mission doesn't go the way either of them expect.

Ao3: LINK

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“I’m going.”

“No you’re not.”

“You can’t stop me.”

“Like hell I can’t.”

Simon sighs, putting the briefing file back on the ops table. “Are you going to be like this the entire mission?”

“No.” Raphael shakes his head. “I’m not. Because there’s not going to be a mission in the first place.”

“Raphael, this isn’t your decision to make.” Simon crosses his arms.

“Okay. You’re right.” Raphael scowls. “This is your mission. But I have to say, it’s a very stupid mission.”

“What’s so stupid about it? It’s literally the simplest mission we’ve ever done. Even the Clave signed off on it.” Simon shrugs. “Get in, get the dagger, get out. It’s that easy.”

“Except for the part where you’re going into the lair of a Vampire king who’s been known to hold grudges against Shadowhunters in the past, and who guards his property more fiercely than a Draconea .”

Simon seems to bristle at that. “You don’t think I can do this?”

“I didn’t say that. I just don’t want you going in without backup. We’re Parabatais, we’re supposed to watch each other’s backs.” Raphael explains, his tone softening. Simon’s face brightens like a Mundane child on Christmas morning. “Aww you want to come with me! You want to keep me safe! I knew you were a softie inside, you big ole huggy bear.”

Raphael’s scowl deepens. “I know two hundred and sixty ways to kill someone and make it look like an accident, don’t tempt me.”

“Noted.” Simon offers him a lopsided smile. “This isn’t gonna be a cakewalk, I know that. I just- I know I’m up to it. And I’m long due for assignments anyway, I’ve been on patrol duty for way too long.”

“Nothing wrong with good old fashioned Shadowhunting,” Raphael remarks. “But if you’re so adamant, I’m going to help you with the plan.”

“I already told you my plan.” Simon reminds him.

“Yeah and I said it’s a stupid plan.” Raphael rolls his eyes. “Listen, I might not be inside watching your back, but I’ll be damned if I send you in without a proper plan. And no- don’t you dare-” he slaps away Simon’s attempt to squeeze his cheeks, “Don’t try to stop me.”

“Aye aye boss.” Simon offers him a mock salute, earning another eyeroll.

“Now I was thinking we could chart the ins and outs of the DuMort, maybe get some floor plans from the Archive.” Raphael says.

“I have a better idea,” Simon follows him out of the ops centre. “There have been missions of this type that I’ve seen before, and I was thinking we could maybe go through those. Learn how it works.”

“There has?” Skepticism clouds Raphael’s face, “I thought the Clave didn’t normally allow missions like this.”

“I know,” Simon nods gravely, “But these are crucial. You could even say that they provide- leverage .”

That stops Raphael in his tracks, the older Parabatai groaning as he pieces it together. “Simon Levi Lovelace, tell me you’re not going to put me through hours of a Mundane heist movie.”

“Of course not. I won’t make you sit through a movie.” Simon assures him, before breaking into a shiteating grin. “It’s a tv series!”

“Ay dios mio.”

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

“I can’t believe you’re still grumpy about this.”

“I’m your Parabatai, I’m allowed to be grumpy about your lack of self-preservation instincts.” Raphael tells him flatly.

“Why are you so upset? I’ve done vigorous research as you’re aware!” Simon protests weakly.

“Watching hours of tv and reading up on the man is not enough. What if you need an exit strategy quickly?” Raphael holds out a hand, a tiny round disk on it. “I asked Lily to make this specifically for you. Put it in your ear.”

“If I had a dollar for every time someone asked me to put something in my ear, I’d have two dollars. Which isn’t much but it’s weird that it has happened twice.” Simon looks at the device, debating the decision in his mind. “I know you’re concerned about my safety, and I appreciate the gesture, but I can’t take it.”

“Listen-”

Simon cuts him off before he can complain further. “I’m not refusing it because I want this to be a solo mission. I’m not taking this because Jace Herondale is the most powerful vampire on this continent and I’d rather not be caught with a device on me that crackles every time it turns on. He’ll expose me in a second. I have to focus on keeping my heartbeat even and my glamour intact, I can’t have any other distractions.”

Raphael stays silent for a moment, and Simon worries that he has insulted his best friend by declining the clearly thoughtful gift. But Raphael is nodding in agreement the next moment, and relief almost knocks Simon off his feet.

DuMort looks as sullen and abandoned as it perpetually does, and Simon feels tendrils of insecurity creep in as he stands outside wearing a white t shirt under the black leather jacket he raided from Raphael’s closet.

What if the intel was wrong and there’s no party at all and he looks like a fool when he has to go back to the Institute empty handed?

His hands fly to fidget with the cuffs of his jacket, nervously bouncing on his toes. Finally, after an excruciating wait of three minutes, Simon spots the stray lights of a strobe, a distant thumping vibrating the ground under his feet. He walks into the building, his senses at the highest of his abilities. Simon isn’t sure if it’s because of all the runes he’s activated under his glamour, or his anxiety sending a tingling sensation at his fingertips.

A healthy dose of each, he supposes.

The thumping of bass increases tangentially the closer he gets to the party venue. Simon spots no less than six vampires lounging in the dark corridors, a few perched on the banisters. It’s not something to inspire confidence, but it’s certainly a manageable number, if a situation rises. Finally, after a few minutes of going through some of the most complicated floor plans he’s ever seen, he comes face to face with the actual venue.

The party is….well there is a reason the Vampire king’s parties have a certain reputation .

There are aerial acrobats hanging from the chandelier that’s roughly the size of Simon’s room in the Institute, worth way more than he can probably imagine. The buzz of music is ever present, the bass shaking him to his very bones. Numerous waitstaff in wide ranges of clothing mingle in the crowd, offering drinks to the patrons.

The Herondale Clan symbol can be seen standing stark against the ashen skin of their wrists, the tattoo of a set of fangs biting a dagger dripping blood seared in his memory from Raphael’s in depth briefing. The knowledge does very little to soothe his nerves, hands flying to fidget with the decorative chains on his jacket.

One of the waitresses approaches him, and Simon debates between turning her away to remain alert but risk sticking out, or drinking anyway and take a gamble on his generally lightweight nature. But turns out he doesn’t need to make a decision after all, as she puts a glass of golden liquid in front of him, gesturing to the back of the club when he looks at her curiously, leaving just as gracefully as she came.

Simon picks the glass up, the doubtless expensive glass a comforting weight in his hands. The back of the club is darkly lit, adorned with only a single leather sofa big enough for two people, three at most. Simon tries not to stare, all the wheels in his mind whirring loudly to figure out just who would send him a drink so soon since his arrival.

Call it a professional curiosity.

At last, the strobe overhead flashes in the direction he’s been squinting at for the past three minutes, and Simon catches a flash of golden hair, and a set of glowing mismatched eyes, and all the bells in his head go off at once.

-----------

Jace is trying really hard not to be offended. He really is.

It’s one thing to come to the farce they call Clave Downworlder Relations meetings and lie to his face. He expects that after so many years in the Shadow World. It’s another thing to plan to steal from right under his nose.

The moment his informant at the Institute told him about the operation, he was ready for the Shadowhunter to step into his club, so he could rip his throat out and get on with his night without a hitch.

He just didn’t expect the guy to be so non threatening. Almost……. cute .

Well it’s not a hindrance really, definitely not a wrench into his plans. More like a ring lost in a birthday cake dough that you only notice after baking. A spilled ice cream scoop at most.

Whatever, Jace thinks. He’s just going to have to toy a little with the guy before he kills him.

----------

“I haven’t seen you around here before.”

Simon tries not to bristle or let any excitement show as the golden haired vampire claims the seat next to him at the bar, the crowd parting reverently to make space for him. Simon fidgets in his seat, hoping the man assumes his racing pulse as excitement rather than the truth.

He’d rather not die so soon into the assignment. Who’d finish his new Lego set?

The vampire gestures at the bartender for a drink, not taking his eyes off of Simon even for a second. The bartender, a wiry pale man, almost passable for a Mundane were it not for the purple eyes devoid of any iris. He hands over a drink to Herondale’s hand, the liquid sloshing against the rim in his hurry. Simon notices the dark red of it in the pulsing strobe light, and shudders inside.

Blood .

Simon takes a deep breath, settling his nerves. He’s a Nephilim. This is a mission. There is no room for error. He takes a swig of his drink before speaking, the alcohol warming its way down his throat. “You know everyone who comes here?”

“I never forget a face. Besides, I’d remember a face that pretty.” The vampire answers smoothly. Simon hopes the warmth in his cheeks is from the alcohol and not the implication of whatever this is.

Hope being a loose word.

“I’m Jace Herondale, I own this place.” the blond nods at him, lips stretching in a brilliant smile. A set of fangs behind his flawless set of teeth glint in the club lights, and Simon feels a shiver go down his spine.

“Simon.” He offers, stopping himself before he blurts out the Lovelace part. Herondale raises an eyebrow.

“Just Simon?”

“Just Simon. For tonight anyway.” The brunette purses his lips.

“Well then, Just Simon ,” the vampire’s eyes sparkle with mirth, looking Simon up and down, then offers an elbow casually, “You look like someone who could use some air. Fancy a tour?”

Simon straightens in his bar stool. “Mr Herondale, I-”

“Jace, please. I insist.” Herondale smiles dangerously.

“Jace.” Simon says slowly, as if feeling out the sound of it first. “I have to say, I’m not as easy to impress as I look.”

“Well then,” the blond smirks, “I guess I will have to try my best.”

Simon takes the offered arm, walking towards the back of the club, and up the stairs towards a lavish penthouse at the top of the DuMort.

The eagle has landed in the nest, Simon thinks, the eagle has landed in the freaking nest!

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

It’s like taking candy from a baby honestly. Well, not that he’d actually take candy away from a child. He might be a bastard Vampire king, but even he’s not that much of an asshole.

Jace guesses it’s more like tearing throats of pretty, unaware Shadowhunters.

The Nephilim gapes as they step into the penthouse. Jace suppresses the urge to laugh as the boy stares at the glass ceiling, the New York sky resplendent with millions of stars, the Milky Way partially visible this time of year. “Cat got your tongue?” He asks. The Shadowhunter almost forces himself to tear his eyes away, as if regretting it the second he does.

Jace feels curious if Nephilims do ever get to have the time to look up at the stars.

“This- this is, just brillian- wait.” Simon stops in the middle of the drawing room, “Don’t sunlight also come in?”

“It’s reinforced. UV resistant.” Jace explains. “Made for people with sun allergies.”

Simon nods in understanding, face sincere. “It’s beautiful.”

“Thank you.” Jace answers. “Come on, I have something to show you.”

Simon follows him wordlessly, remnants of the childlike wonder still on his face, until he notices the narrow lobby and hand flies instinctively towards the breast of his jacket.

As if Jace wasn’t already feeling the glare of the adamas stele in his pocket.

Jace resists the urge to scowl. In his long life, if he knows one thing, it’s that Shadowhunters respond well only to one language.

He’ll show them what violence can mean.

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

“Why do you have four different bathtubs? In four different bathrooms as well?” Simon asks confusedly. “Seems kind of overkill.”

“So I can bathe however I like.” Jace shrugs. “Three of those are for specific moods, and one is for spaghetti baths.”

Simon stares at him for a moment. “I honestly don’t even want to know.” Jace laughs, throwing his head back. Simon tries not to pay attention to how beautiful the man looks when he smiles.

“It’s an inside joke.” Jace explains, before straightening up, expressions smoothing to neutral ones. “There’s something I’d like to show you. Come on.”

The man moves closer into the penthouse, and Simon follows, mapping out the escape routes almost instinctively, noting how far they are from any immediate help should he need to avail it in an emergency. There’s a twinge of disappointment somewhere underneath the part of his brain that has been trained for two and a half decades to be vigilant, and Simon has to remind himself to focus on the matter at hand.

Right. The mission.

“Here.” Jace gestures at an open door to a separate part of the structure, light from inside the room illuminating his golden locks into a resplendent sunlit glow. The Vampire offers him a tight lipped smile, and Simon notices the deadlocks on the door, and a set of biometric scanners that shouldn’t be needed for a vampire.

What the hell is he keeping in there? And what exactly does he want with Simon?

“Listen.” Jace says hesitantly before Simon can step inside, hand on the doorknob. “I haven’t really shown this room to anyone. This is somewhat of a private indulgence, and you are one of the only few to ever witness everything that’s in this room.”

Simon’s heart lurches, but he tries to keep the ruse going, lips stretched into a practiced smile. “Hey, at least if something’s missing, you’d know who to ask.”

“Yes I would.” Jace answers, fangs shining as he offers a sharp smile.

Simon is so fucking screwed.

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

“By the A-”

The Nephilim clamps both his hands over his mouth, possibly to keep himself from saying the name of their precious Angel. Jace pushes the eyeroll down under the feeling of knowing he rendered a Shadowhunter speechless.

“You- you have- this is- I mean I expected- but- but this- I-”

Simon sputters on, and Jace debates over how to approach the situation. He could keep up the ruse of this being a date and show off his prized possessions, and this would definitely send a clear message to the Clave not to mess with the vampire king ever again. Or he could step back and let the boy intimidate himself.

Oh well, his best friend has been telling him to practice subtlety for the past few centuries anyway.

Jace lets Simon go up to the aisles between the artifacts, eyes weaving between all them, as if trying to take them all in at once. Jace waits for a reaction, ready to relish in the knowledge that he outsmarted the Clave.

“This is the best day ever!”

Wait what?

-----------

It’s been a little over one and a half hours. They still haven’t left the collection room. Jace is beginning to fear he never will.

The Nephilim, to Jace’s utter astonishment, and more than a little disgruntled feeling, looks just as excited to see the sword that fell Vikramaditya as he is seeing the Black Volume of the Dead. He’s been over sixty such oddities, every single one of them the only one of their kind, either by nature or by design, eyeing them like a child on their birthday. He makes a mention of having a fascination with unique artifacts like these since childhood, telling Jace everything he knows about them, seeking out any extra facts the age old Vampire might know that a historical record could have missed.

Jace is starting to suspect the Clave sent this specific Nephilim planning to undermine his strategies.

Not that he’d ever admit that it’s working. Nope.

He definitely does not preen as Simon tames the usually wild Black Volume like a house cat. He absolutely does not smile indulgently when Simon gushes over the kukri used to stab Genghis Khan affectionately.

He scoffs at the mere notion that someone like him would ever even be anything other than wrathful at a Nephilim, let alone be…. fond .

Yet Simon is going up to the countless artifacts that any museum would sell all their available limbs for, and treating them the same way a Mundane might treat an old friend, and Jace’s lips quirk up in an amused smile without any conscious effort on his part.

Finally, finally, Simon rounds up the first room of the collection, coming to stand in front of a dais at the north-east corner where a single dagger lies buried in a mound of solid dirt, preserved in a decorative glass case, warlock charms the only thing keeping it the way it appears against the harshness of time.

Jace waits for something to happen, and feels something blooming deep under all the amusement and excitement and more than a little satisfaction, and tries to put a name to the feeling. It’s disappointment, he realizes a moment later.

It’s ever so rare to find someone who truly appreciates his collection, not for what they can be used for, but rather for what they represent- the undeniable unshakable proof of the world’s wonders, spanning millennia of history. It’s rarer for them to be the very joyous, caring and sweet way that he thinks is distinctly Simon.

That’s the reason for this sudden melancholy, Jace tells himself, because the alternative is so much worse. Especially when he’s going to have to wipe off the blood of the boy in front of him from his fingers in a few moments.

Simon’s back has gone ramrod straight, his expression troubled, and Jace wonders what lie he’s going to hear. Jace finds himself wondering if he will use adamas on him.

“I have a confession to make.” Simon says without turning back.

-----------

Raphael was right, he really has lost his mind.

“I need to tell you something.” Simon rambles on without a break, worried that the nerve he’s worked up will falter at the slightest pause. “I lied when I came here. I didn’t- I’m not- I’m not a Mundane. I’m a Shadowhunter. And this was my mission. To infiltrate the DuMort and obtain the dagger that killed Cain Shadowhunter. So that the Silent Brothers can study it.”

As Simon speaks, the glamour around him ripples as if every word is a stone cast in the water, and as he finishes, it falls away to nothing, showing the black runes stark against Simon’s pale skin.

Jace narrows his eyes, apprehensive of the Shadowhunter for an entirely different reason than he expected.

Simon keeps on talking. “I’m aware you might think I’m playing games with you, but I’m truly not, you can believe it. My Parabatai suggested a heist, not a con, and I wanted to do it alone. I watch a lot of Mundane TV you see, and I just wanted to test it out. Coming here undercover, flirting with you so you’d show me the dagger. All of it. But I wasn’t prepared for- for this.”

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

He’s done it, that wild Shadowhunter. He has managed to render Jace Herondale speechless.

He’s been expecting a lot of things. Lies. Accusations. Glamours. Even a fight. But not this. Not a clear admission of guilt. Not a confession. Not honesty.

Definitely not from a Shadowhunter of all people.

But standing in front of him, Simon looks as open as the book Jace’s mother used to read him, a time that seems like more than a few lifetimes ago. And just as familiar.

It’s not surprise, particularly, that makes him ask the question. Rather it’s the increasingly unsettling feeling, the uneasiness that claws inside some old forgotten part of him. “Why are you telling me this?” Jace asks, hoping the answer would tilt the world back into the way it was, the way it should be- a Shadowhunter cheating and lying their way into his lair, and him tearing them apart without a second thought.

But Simon, it seems, has a natural knack at surprising him.

He laughs, leaning forward, a clear sound Jace wants to hear again as soon as it subsides. His form shakes with the bouts of laughter, dark blue sneakers scuffing against the floor as Simon has to make a conscious effort to steady himself lest he topples the thirteenth century jade vase with a hidden message only to be read under clear moonlight.

Jace looks at him, questions swimming in his stare. Simon stops laughing for a second to catch his breath before he can answer.

“I’m telling you this because I’m an absolute idiot.” Simon wipes away a few stray tears that had sneaked their ways down his cheeks. “I’m a Shadowhunter, here to take back what is essentially historically ours. And I’m worried about you, the literal Vampire King, being sad.”

“What?” Jace asks, stupefied.

“My thoughts exactly.” Simon echoes. “Raphael is going to kill me.”

“Who?”

“My Parabatai,” Simon clarifies, then straightens up, shoulders rigid, the typical Shadowhunter mannerism shining through that lopsided smile. But even then, Jace notices it being filtered by a prism made of a good heart with an open mind. Then the Nephilim speaks, and the tone is, understandably, much more firm than it was a moment before.

“I have to take it. Dimensional portals are being breached, demons that haven’t been seen for millennia are swarming their way back. And we need more information. I’ll fight you if I have to. But really, you have to understand. This is a matter of safety of the whole Shadow World.”

That brings Jace back from his stupor, Simon’s words playing in his head on repeat like a beloved record. He squares his shoulders, regaining his lost composure, and regards Simon closely before he speaks. “I was aware of the ‘mission’, as you put it.” He silences Simon with a raised hand. “Yes, I have sources inside the Institute. Don’t insult my intelligence by arguing otherwise.”

“I was going to kill you once I caught you trying to steal the dagger.” Jace notices as Simon digs his nails in his palm, trying to fight off a shiver. “However, I have to admit, I was not ready for you to confess. And I was definitely not prepared for you to be so forthcoming with your intentions.”

Simon stares at him, expression resting somewhere between apprehensive and curious. “What should we do now, then?”

Jace turns, sitting against a high-backed leather chair he keeps inside the room. “In any case, I don’t see why we have to tarnish our professionalism.”

Simon squints in confusion. “You mean like a….. fight?”

“No, of course not. I see no reason we can’t be civilized.” Jace makes a show of mulling over the matter, before deciding on it. “I propose a deal.”

Simon crosses his arms. “I’m listening.”

“I offer the dagger to the Clave for their research, on loan . In return, I receive a generous compensation from the Institute.” Simon opens his mouth to ask something, but Jace keeps going on. “Let me finish. I also get a date with you. An actual one.”

That succeeds in shutting Simon up completely. The Shadowhunter stops, confident expression faltering at the face of the statement. He swallows, throat bobbing. “Why?”

“Why not?” Jace counters. “I had fun today, infiltration and all.” The blond smiles, as if letting Simon in on a private joke. “And it is awfully hard to find anyone that’s actually as interested in these as I am. I’ve been told most find these grim and improper for date night.”

“Ugh, amateurs.” Simon exclaims, face lit in a shining smile. “Okay then. I’ll go on a date. You know, for the greater good.”

“Ah, right. The greater good .” Jace teases.

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

“What the hell were you doing there for six hours?” Raphael asks in an accusatory tone as soon as he steps inside the Institute. Simon doesn’t answer, putting the wooden box gingerly on the ops table first, then shrugs off the jacket, bending his head this way and that to pop a muscle joint.

“You got the dagger.” Raphael says quietly as he opens the box. His eyes go wide once he takes in the content, enthralled to be in the presence of the stuff of legend every Nephilim child is told during bedtime.

“We have a mole here in the Institute.” Simon says, quiet enough only for Raphael to listen. The latter barely registers the words, eyes transfixed on the dagger at hand.

“Don’t be absurd.” Raphael scoffs.

“He knew about the mission, about me being undercover.” Simon raises an eyebrow.

That seems to snap Raphael out of whatever trance he’s been in ever since he took the dagger in hand. “What? Your cover’s blown?” Simon nods in agreement.

“We have to fix this right now.” Raphael puts the box away, focusing on the problem at hand. “We need to take Herondale out.”

“Already ahead of you, Rapha.” Simon claps a hand over his Parabatai ’s shoulder, assuring him. “We’re going out to Taki’s this Thursday.”

“Okay then.” Raphael nods along, before his face scrunches up as the words fully register. “Wait, what?!”

Simon can’t wait for Thursday.

#hmdiscord #nephilimdaily #idrisnnetdaily #tsccreatenet #dailyjimon #jimondaily #jace herondale #simon lewis #shadowhunters #the shadowhunter chronicles #tsc #the mortal instruments #tmi #jay.fic #collab fic #art

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kitsunewolf95 · 5 years

Photo

Shattered

Sans threw himself to the right for what felt like the millionth time, managing to avoid the swift, clean cut of the blade that had been swung at him repeatedly during the past several minutes. A small bead of sweat that had been travelling down the side of his skull was pulled loose from the rapid movement he'd made, floating weightlessly in the air for a couple of moments before beginning to fall towards the floor. His flaring left eyelight followed the silvery metal as it slowed to a stop, and he waited with anticipation, knowing that it wouldn't stay unmoving for very long.

A soft giggle rang through the air, bouncing along the walls of the large, elongated room, and Sans' gaze snapped from the blade upwards, locking with the bright red eyes that had always sent a cold shiver up his spine. A wide, smug, almost crazed smile lay across the human's lips, and a heated wave of anger surged through his soul at the sight, causing his glowing eyelight to light up an even brighter shade of crimson, his teeth gritting.

They'd taken everything he knew, left nothing but death and destruction in their path. What had remained of monsterkind was now nothing but dust. They had been obliterated. Beaten and broken.

Shattered and torn to pieces.

There were white, scattered particles on parts of the red and black sweater the human was wearing, as well as the edge of the blade they held in their hands. The mere sight made a sick feeling of hatred grow in the pit of Sans' gut and he couldn't really say why. Perhaps it was because he didn't know who the powdery substance had belonged to. Perhaps it was because part of it could have been his brother's. The mere thought made his blood boil.

The smile that still lay across his opponent's lips grew even wider, their eyes lighting up with anticipation, and Sans was brought out of his thoughts a split second too late. The blade moved once again, and a shot of adrenaline coursed through his bones. He had been about to take a step back to get out of the way when he felt the sharp end of the blade dig into the left side of his ribcage, and he knew he'd been too slow.

The human's rosy cheeks were splattered with bone marrow, excruciating pain cut through Sans' chest a mere moment later, and the small ounce of vitality he possessed was ripped from him like a rug beneath his feet. The small skeleton staggered backwards, a weak grunt escaping his teeth, and he fell to one knee, fighting to keep himself upright. One hand placed at the front of his chest in an attempt at slowing down the amount of marrow that had started to soak through his shirt, and his gaze lifted to face his executioner. When he looked up, however, the golden tiles in front of him were deserted, and Sans felt a faint breeze brush past him when the human walked by, continuing towards the throne room without sparing him as much as another glance.

A pained smile tugged at his jaw as the soft patter of their footsteps faded, a bitter chuckle leaving his throat, and his eye sockets slowly slid shut.

“Heh… 'Guess y'were right, bro… I am pathetic…” he grumbled, letting his body relax.

Soon after, the fragile soul within Sans' ribcage gave way, shattering along with what was left of his willpower.

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I did a collab with a friend of mine on Amino. We both wrote a short one shot, I wrote from Fell Sans' perspective and she wrote from Chara's. I also made a cover for it, as you can see~ This is not connected to TSODITW btw, just a short thing I made for fun with my friend ^^ Hope you enjoy!

#underfell #fell #underfell sans #underfell chara #sans #chara #kitdraws

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lanceeselhombre · 5 years

Text

Tell Me I’ll Be Okay

Hey everyone! This fic is part of a collab with @mitsukkii, where I wrote a story and she drew some amazing art. I’ll be reblogging her art but please go check her out!

Read it on Ao3

—

Keith fidgeted underneath his covers, trying to ignore the tight feeling in his lower belly. He’d been woken up by the slight pain, but he was too comfortable to get up and take care of it. Sleep was much higher on his list of priorities than using the bathroom.

In an attempt to fall back asleep, he curled up more under his blankets and pressed the side of his face into his pillow. His pelvis cramped almost immediately in protest, eliciting a groan of discomfort from the teen. He tried to wait it out, but the cramping wasn’t going away, and his tolerance for it was quickly deteriorating.

A minute later he gave in, throwing the covers off with a tired huff and standing to walk to the bathroom, his eyes heavy with drowsiness. He pulled down his pants and plopped himself on the toilet, leaning forward on his elbows and letting his eyes fall shut while he took care of his business.

He noticed to his confusion that the tightness and pain in his belly wasn’t going away despite the fact that he was peeing. He pulled his eyes open to investigate, checking himself for bruises that would explain his discomfort. Maybe he got a little more ruffled up during yesterday’s practice than he thought? It wasn’t uncommon for him to wake up with injuries he hadn’t noticed before.

Keith was even more bewildered to see that his skin was clear of wounds. Maybe it was a UTI? No...his urine looked and smelled fine…

It was then that the teen’s eyes caught the small reddish-brown stain on the crotch of his boxers. The image took a moment to process before the red paladin groaned loudly and rubbed at his eyes. It looked like his period was finally back to bite him. Part of him had hoped that his implant would last until they could return to earth, but it had ran out several months ago. He’d been dreading every moment since, waiting for this nightmare to begin.

Now that he was aware of what the pain was, it took on a sharper edge. At the same time, he felt a deep ache start to creep it’s way up his back and a light nausea gnaw at his stomach. He sighed tiredly and cleaned himself up, then dug in one of the vanity’s drawers for a pad. He stuck it to his boxers and pulled them up, making sure it wouldn’t leak before he washed his hands.

Once his hands were dry he reached into his medicine cabinet for his pain meds. Unfortunately, he’d left his prescription at the shack, never expecting he would need it nearly a year later in space, and there wasn’t any comparable medicine in the castle for him to use instead. The best Coran could give him was the space version of an NSAID and a couple of pain patches. They helped with his daily aches and pains, but he knew they would not spare him from the excruciating pain of a period.

It wasn’t like he could do anything about it though. Still, he was apprehensive as he took the maximum safe dose of the painkiller and stuck a pain patch to the back of his pelvis and between his shoulder blades. He hadn’t had a period since he was twelve, but he remembered that they were not fun. He could only hope that the medicine was enough to help him make it through the day.

*****

By the time training came around, it became obvious to Keith that the pain medicine wasn’t doing a damn thing. In just a few hours, the sharp cramps in his belly had become violent spasms and the dull aching in his back had become an intense, radiating burn. He was both sick with hunger and too nauseous to eat. His bladder and bowels ached. He was sweating from the pain of it all, but also shivering and weak from anemia. And to top it all off was the gross, hot feeling circulating in his belly from the blood seeping into it from his lesions.

Needless to say, he felt like death warmed over with an extra pinch of suffering.

Somehow, he still found himself at the training deck in his paladin suit like usual despite how sick and horrible and disgusting he felt. As much as he wanted to spend the whole day curled up in bed cuddling with Hunk, he knew he couldn’t skip training just because he was on his period. Pidge suffered through her own every month, and she was able to practice just fine, albeit with copious amounts of complaints and whining. He should try to power through as well.

Though, that sounded like an impossible feat with the way that his frame shook from the exertion of standing alone. His whole body was as heavy as lead, everything in his body hurt, and it all was swirling in a kaleidoscope of pain until all he could focus on was how bad he felt. He was sure he could faint, could already feel the faintest numbness slowly creeping in on the edges of his consciousness.

Oh, what he wouldn’t give to be able to let his caregiver take care of him all day and make him feel better. Or just to have his prescription meds. Or just to not have to stand anymore.

There was a hand on his shoulder, pulling the teen out of his haze of pain enough to see Shiro standing in front of him, a worried frown pulling at his lips. Behind him, though, was an even more worried Hunk. “You okay kiddo? You’re extremely pale.” Shiro said, feeling the red paladin’s forehead for a fever. He looked confused to find that Keith was cold despite how much he was sweating.

Keith found himself nodding before he could really think about his answer. He responded in a low mumble, not having the energy to speak very loud or clear. “Yeah, I’m not feeling too well today. I, um” He paused for a moment, feeling a bit awkward admitting to his teammates that he was menstruating, even if they were in the loop about his condition. Talking about it often didn’t make it easier. “I started my period this morning.”

He saw both of their faces light up in understanding. “Well, let us know if you need a break, okay? Everyone knows that this is really hard on you. No one will be mad if you have to step out.” Shiro said.

“I will. Thanks Shiro.” Keith replied sincerely.

*****

Coming to training was a horrible idea. What had he been thinking? The pain was something he could power through, albeit reluctantly, but the longer he ran around and swung his sword the less his muscles wanted to cooperate. All the blood in his belly was irritating his abdominal and back muscles, causing them to refuse to support his weight. He could barely survive ten seconds at a time without slouching over where he stood and bracing his hands on his thighs to give them a moment of much needed rest.

Soon, the added pain from his fatigued middle had him gasping in agony and forming a T with his hands to alert the other that he needed a break. He heard the exercise immediately stop and a couple of his teammates approach him with concerned words on their lips, but he couldn’t understand them through the fog quickly clouding his brain. He couldn’t even respond to tell them so, unable to speak in between his heaving gasps.

Suddenly, his nausea grew unbearably intense and he became extremely light headed. It took the teen less than a second to know he was about to faint. In an attempt to stay conscious he lowered himself to the ground and laid on his back, covering his eyes with an arm to block out the spinning room. For a few seconds all he could process was the static replacing every sensation in his body.

He must have actually fainted at some point, because he was waking up a moment later, half of his body numb and the other half on fire. Not only that, but he suddenly felt so much smaller than before and was quite frankly terrified that so many bad things were happening inside of him at the same time.

Panic bubbled in Keith’s chest as sobs began pouring out of his mouth like a faucet on blast. His little side had never experienced a period, or any kind of pain remotely close to what he was experiencing right now. In comparison to what he could currently recall comprehending as painful, this felt like dying. But he couldn’t currently comprehend death either right now, so he could only describe the pain as really, really, really bad.

“Papa!” The little howled, calling frantically for his caregiver. He felt so alone and scared, he needed to be reassured that someone was there to take care of him. “Papa I no feel good!”

Hunk was quickly at his side, carefully pulling the boy into his lap and supporting his head and back. “Shhh, it’s okay sweetheart. Papa knows you’re in pain. You’re gonna be okay.” He cooed softly. “Papa is gonna sit you up, okay? Squeeze my hand if your head feels funny.” He instructed as he slowly lifted Keith to lay against his chest, holding the little’s hand in his own so he would know if he started feeling faint again.

Keith never squeezed his hand, and after a moment Hunk got to his feet. “Papa is gonna bring you to the med bay, and Uncle Coran is gonna give you some medicine that will make the pain go away. Does that sound good?” He cooed, the little fervently nodded against his caregiver’s shoulder. He hated medicine, but he would do anything to make the pain go away. It was way too much for him to handle.

Hunk talked to the boy as he walked, giving him something to focus on that wasn’t the agony he was suffering through. Thankfully, the walk to the med bay was short and Coran was already there, preparing one of the beds for Keith to lay on.

Coran patted the bed once he was done. “You can lay him here, number one.” He instructed as he picked up a handheld scanner. He turned the device on and played with several settings while Hunk gently laid the little down on the bed.

Keith wailed and held his arms out for his caregiver as he was put down. “Noo, Papa!” He protested loudly, flopping onto his back in a feeble attempt to hold onto the teen as he backed away. His cries grew more frantic when he failed to grab onto the other’s shirt.

Hunk shushed him and carefully rubbed his belly. “I know sweetheart, but Papa can’t hold you while Uncle Coran gives you your medicine. If you’re good this’ll be quick, and Papa will hold you for as long as you want. Okay?” He cooed.

Keith was very obviously not happy with Hunk’s statement, but he nodded anyway, knowing he didn’t have a choice. He sniffled and laid still for Coran while the Altean gently rubbed the sensors of the scanner over his belly. The scanner chimed once, and Hunk gently turned the toddler on his stomach so Coran could repeat the process with his back.

The little felt his stomach churn as he was moved around. “Papa, feel sick.” He complained.

Hunk pet his hair soothingly. “It’s okay Keith. Do you think you’re gonna throw up?” He asked, getting a small nod in return. “Okay sweetheart. Papa’s gonna get you a bucket.”

Coran finished scanning again and allowed him to turn the little in his side. While the yellow paladin searched for something resembling a bucket the Altean read over the results.

Hunk returned to see Coran scowling at the scanner, causing him to frown as well. “What’s it say?” He wondered as he looked over the man’s shoulder at the scanner’s screen, which displayed a holographic model of Keith’s stomach. The inside of the model was littered with dozens of rosy orbs, with most of them centered around and in between the hips.

“Those marks are lesions.” Coran explained simply. “That is what endometriosis looks like.”

The teen looked again at the screen with slight horror. He couldn’t possibly imagine the kind of pain all of those growths were causing. And to think that they were all bleeding at the same time. It was no wonder why Keith was in so much agony and so weak. The poor boy was suffering.

“I can give him therapy to get rid of the lesions, but first let’s address the pain.” The man decided. “I’m going to give him a spinal block. Do you know what that is?”

Hunk nodded. “Do you want me to undress him?” He asked.

“If you could, that would be helpful.”

The caregiver hummed and turned around to face his little again, placing the container he’d found on the floor by his head. The boy looked up at him with confused eyes, having not understood a word they just said. “Papa?”

He shushed him. “Papa is gonna help you out of your suit. Can you sit up for me?” He prompted as he gently rolled him onto his back, only to get a whine and a tired head shake from the boy.

“No feel good.” Keith whimpered, though Hunk couldn’t tell if he was referring to the pain, nausea, feeling faint, or all three.

“That’s okay sweetheart. Uncle Coran is getting your medicine now.” He reassured. “Can Papa help you out of your suit?”

Keith reluctantly nodded. He cooperated as his armor was taken off and his suit was stripped away, leaving only his sports bra, binder, and boxers. The little shivered at the temperature of the room without his space suit to keep him warm. “Cold.” He whined.

“Papa will get you a blanket in a minute. Can I change you first?” Hunk asked, comfortingly rubbing the boy’s belly.

He hiccuped and rubbed his eyes, responding with a fussy grizzle. Hunk expected the reaction, considering all that was happening. It was understandable for the little to be feeling some dysphoria.

“Papa loves you sweetheart. I know you’re having a rough time.” He sympathized. “If I change you I can get you out of those icky boxers and into a clean diaper. How does that sound?”

This time, he earned a nod from the boy. “Love you.” Keith said tearfully.

Hunk smiled softly at him and rubbed his belly. “Papa will be quick.” He promised. He grabbed a diaper from a drawer in the nearby cabinet and unfolded it on the bed beside Keith’s hips. As he lifted the little’s bottom to slip off his boxers he noticed some of the blood had seeped into the sheets and cooed. “Oh, poor baby.”

“Not a baby.” Keith huffed as his caregiver wiped him clean and taped the diaper onto his hips.

“You’re right.” Hunk said, positioning the boy on his side again and putting his bloody boxers to the side to be washed later. “You’re Papa’s big boy for being so well behaved.” He praised. “Maybe when you’re feeling better we can go shopping for a new stuffie as a reward.”

That lightened the little’s mood a bit, but it couldn’t distract him from how miserable he still felt. “Cold.” He mumbled again as another shiver shook his frame.

“I know. Papa’s going to get you a blanket now.” The teen said.

By the time he returned with a hospital blanket in his arms, Coran was back with the anestesia for Keith. He hid the needle behind the boy’s back so as to not freak him out.

Hunk covered the red paladin’s front with the blanket, leaving his back bare for Coran. He also shimmied the bottom of Keith’s binder up to keep it out of the way, shushing the little’s whines of protest when he thought he would take it off.

“Alright, little one. I’m going to clean your back. It’ll feel cold for a moment.” Coran warned before cleaning a circle of his skin at the end of his spine with an antiseptic. Keith sat still for him and only whined a little at the cold substance on his back. Afterwards, the Altean sprayed a cooling spray on the same area in hopes of keeping the little from noticing the needle when it went in.

“I need you to stay very still for me while I give you some medicine. Hunk will count to ten, and it’ll be over once he’s done.”

Keith nodded at the instruction and went still, listening obediently as Hunk began counting. “One.”

The yellow paladin rested a hand on Keith’s head to keep him from looking back at what Coran was doing. At the same time the Altean picked up the syringe and filled it with the anestesia.

“Two.”

Coran braced his hands on the boy’s back and paused as he flinched at the contact. “Don’t move sweetheart.” Hunk reminded him, offering the little his other hand. “Squeeze my hand if you get scared.”

Keith gripped his caregiver’s hand tightly. Once he was still again Coran felt along his back for the injection site and carefully pressed in the needle. The boy squeaked and held onto Hunk’s hand even tighter, trying so hard to stay still.

“Three….four….five....six….”

“Papa, feel sick.” Keith moaned.

Hunk pet his hair placatingly. “I know sweetheart. We’re almost done.” He reassured. “Seven….eight….nine….”

Coran felt the needle start to go in easier and stopped moving it, then pressed the plunger in and pulled the needle out. He wiped the antiseptic off the child’s back and covered the wound with a bandaid.

“Ten.” Hunk counted, breathing a sigh of relief when Keith stayed still until the needle was out. Immediately after he said the word, Keith rolled closer to the edge of the bed and gagged, throwing up his breakfast into the bucket on the floor. His caregiver rubbed his back and held his hair out of the way for him while he emptied his stomach.

Once Keith was done being sick, Hunk helped him onto his back and readjusted the blanket on top of him. He watched as the little’s face slowly relaxed as the anestesia took affect and numbed everything in his lower half. “Feel better sweetheart?” The teen prompted.

Keith sighed and nodded, letting his eyes fall closed. “Yeah.”

Hunk smiled. “Good.”

Coran left for a moment and came back with two electric heating packs and handed them to the caregiver. “These should help with the muscle soreness. If he wants them.” He said.

“Thank you Coran. When do you want me to bring him back for the therapy?” The yellow paladin asked.

“When the pain begins to come back.” The Altean replied. “That way it can get done at the same time that he gets another block.”

“Okay.” Hunk hummed. He turned back to Keith, finding the boy nearly asleep with his knuckles pressed against his lips. The teen smiled as he gently lifted the little into his arms and wrapped him in the blanket. “I think it’s nap time.” He cooed softly as he left the room, heat packs in hand.

“Nooo.” Keith whined sleepily, even as he was starting to drift off on his caregiver’s shoulder. “No nap.”

“No?” Hunk cooed as they reached his bedroom and opened the door. “But your tummy was hurting so much. That didn’t make you tired?” He asked, though the question was rhetorical as it clearly had exhausted the boy.

“Uh-uh.” Keith huffed, wanting to squirm as he was sat on his bed and leaned back against several pillows in protest. He was surprised to find that he couldn’t move his paralyzed lower half. “Papa, how come legs no move?” He mumbled.

The caregiver kneeled and tucked the covers around the boy’s body, placing his favorite lion plushie in his arms. “They went to sleep sweetheart. They’re tired, just like you.” He explained softly, leaning down to kiss the little’s forehead.

Keith sighed at the kiss, the comfort of being tucked into bed with his stuffie and caregiver starting to lull him to sleep. “Not tired.” He insisted one more time.

“I know buddy. Get some sleep.”

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