#he barely even looked at my incision like | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dxstopiaa · 1 year

Text

Impetous Injuries

Synopsis: Caring for an irresponsibly injured man was not on your plan for today, so why was he at your door?

Characters: Morax, Xiao, Childe and Scaramouche x Fem! Reader!

Warnings: Zhongli as an archon and Scaramouche as fatui again, Childe’s part has angst/comfort. description of injuries and trauma. ♡´･ᴗ･`♡ [i needed to post something sfw and clear my drafts! <3]

Morax

It wasn’t every day that you’d hear the hasty pummel of closed fists against your front door and even rarer was it to witness one of the Seven requesting for your help— a meagre goddess who tried to live a tranquil, joyous life to the best of her ability.

“I fear i may of overestimated myself, dear.” Morax’s throaty voice could be made out from behind the door, notably lower in volume. Neither was this the first time, yet something felt different than usual. Of course, the archaic god was prone to injury in battle, but upon opening the door, he was more maimed than you had thought.

Brunette strands of hair plastered to his chest and forehead—covered in elemental ichor and sweat. His limbs were littered in a spectrum of wounds, bruises and incisions alike. His robes of ivory reduced to scraps of crimson-dyed fabric, blood from who knows where drenched his torso.

In short, you were responsible for an Archon who had gotten himself too deep into bloodlust. As always. Your lips pressed together before you let out a displeased hum. You just wished he would of cared for himself better.

“Morax…are you even aware of the severity of your injuries? Thank Celestia no one had attacked you on the way here!” You scolded, arms crossed as an attempt to look irked enough for the irresponsible man to come to his long-lost senses.

Though to him, you just looked adorable, he had always been fond of your gentle heart in the midst of a war. Therefore, Rex Lapis knew you valued him too much to leave him isolated in the dangerous depths of the night, entering your abode and placing a bloodstained hand on your pretty face. You didn’t grimace from his touch.

“I’m truly sorry, but you’re the only one i can trust with healing, my goddess.” You felt your knees buckle at the endearment, rather embarrassed that such a high-status being was addressing you as superior. He just never learns, does he?

“Please stop the flattery, my Lord. Instead, follow me so i can actually treat you.” Another exasperated sigh from your lips, you gently held his finger and guided him to the steaming bath, collecting all relevant tonics and herbs in your store room and returning back to the wounded god.

Your heart lept in your chest seeing this he was, quite literally, already fully undressed. Oh, so shamelessness was another quality he lacked? It most certainly didn’t help that he could barely even fit his tall frame into the jade tub, glowing aureate arms casually resting on the outskirts of the container. You felt your mind begin to wander as did your trail of vision.

“Ah, my injuries are starting to sting slightly—Hm? What has you so timid?” Morax’s tone felt unfamiliar to you, seeing the God of contracts so relaxed might of stunned you beyond repair. You dismissed yourself, dampening a medicated towel and wiping it gently over his chiseled chest—as calmly as one could in such a predicament.

Grunts and groans followed with some obscenities of his at the stinging serums painted your cheeks scarlet. Genuine or not, you didn’t think you could hold your composure for another minute. Even worse— the youthful archon wouldn’t remove his piercing critical gaze from your face, analysing every single movement in your expression.

“Admire me and my lips all you’d like afterwards, but i’m in a dire condition at the moment, dearest.”

“It’s not like that, Morax! Halt such talk and stay quiet whilst i treat you! Please!”

Xiao

Stubborn.

The quality that the Yaksha had always been described as. Especially by you. Yet he never listened to your pleads to let you help him.

Xiao hesitantly loitered around the door to your estate, a gloved hand lingering on the doorknob for longer than it should have. He’s been doubting his feelings of just ‘friendship’. He’s seen human couples— so loving and expressive it squeezes his heart in a manner so painful, you deserved better than a man who didn’t even think to enter your home, so he discarded his thought.

Especially one who would turn up with blood around his clothes, a deep wound on his side too.

Just as he contemplated leaving, the wooden barrier inched open. You held a miniature basket, a lengthy list in the other. Xiao was keen to disappear at that moment. Despite this, you were quick to drop them both to encase the adeptus in a tight embrace.

“Xiao!” An excited exclamation from you as you rested your cheek against his shoulder. Had you noticed his injuries at all, or was it pure blinded excitement to greet him? Crimson still trickled down his abdomen, but you had wrapped your arms around his waist.

A surge of pain and discomfort flashed through his body— he couldn’t stop the loud gasp he let out when your arm grazed his injury.

“Agh!” Xiao cried out, causing you to recoil back into place upright upon the doorstep. Your delicate features morphed into a state of horror whilst he stumbled back. Your sleeves were coated with vermillion fluid, eyes fluttering to the yaksha’s expression and back to your stained clothing.

“This isn’t anything major, i’ll leave myself to treat it—” You barely let the usually vigilant adeptus finish his sentence before grabbing his wrist and pulling him close gently, barricading him from vanishing into a flurry of karmic debt.

“No. I can’t let you go until you’ve recovered well, you can barely walk upright Xiao!” You smoothed your thumb over his cheek tenderly, distracting him that you were, in fact, taking him inside into the safety of your abode.

The adeptus’ face was warm— tentatively watching your own lips so close to his. Your kindness was irreplaceable, your heart was too soft for his liking, but he’s never once felt unwelcome in your presence. Xiao had witnesses the false sympathy humans showed off towards him, yet you’ll always be willing to listen.

Now you’re treating his wounds? Why are you doing this?

“I’m running out of my medicine, i’ll visit Bubu Pharmacy later, just have these now, please?” You offered, suddenly noticing the flush over his cheeks. Maybe he has a fever too? He accepted the concoction of herbs, hesitantly consuming the mixture. Xiao, having noticed your obvious staring at his chest, shifted around in his seat.

“Xiao…?” Archons, he just looked so anxious it’s endearing, you’d hate to push him from his comfort zone but he hasn’t got much of a choice.

“Yes?”

“You’re going to have to…remove your shirt—” You meekly stated, ashamedly hanging your head down at your lap as he cleared his throat numerous times. That just sounded so disrespectful! What if he took it the wrong way? You resided within the embarrassing realm of overthinking.

“As you wish, but be quick, i’d rather not have you ogling me.”

“I do not!”

Childe

Two in the morning.

That was the time your beloved decided to show up— weak, timid thumps of his open palm across the wooden barrier. Childe knew he had already messed up, clenching his jaw with anxious anticipation. What would you say? Yesterday, tired tears flowed down your cheeks. It hurt him to leave his care in your hands rather than his own. Would you do anything at all? Would you leave him lonely in the cold?

The harbinger’s questions were answered for him. Your body slumped over, distress tugged at your eyebrows. You stared at every injured limb of his.

Merciless splotches of the infamous crimson liquid matched his scarf, ripped and loosely tied against his thigh. A tourniquet, ideal for hiding the severity of the injury below it. His bruised skin was as lifeless as the pale snow cascading to the floor, where his eyes stayed put. A classic snezhnayan man fitting right into his war-strife homeland. If it wasn’t his own blood, it was the metallic scent of other’s. The unpleasant smell was overpowering, that migraine of yours worsening and nausea invading your stomach.

You remained blank and wordless, firmly securing one of his least injured arms over your shoulders and guiding him to the armchair. Childe hated seeing you like this— yet he never changed his ways. He didn’t know what hurt more, the pre-assembled medical kit laying on the side cabinet, or the two cold dishes set upon the dining table that went uneaten from hours ago. He messed up, for sure.

“Darling…Please, say something.” Tartaglia breathily beseeched, clasping a wounded hand over yours. You shook him off. You yourself didn’t know what you were feeling. Shock? Well, this was the third time this week, so no. Hurt? Something deeper than that.

“Say what? Childe, you just never learn!” Your sudden outburst made him flinch, and your heart panged with guilt—yet it was never strong enough to overcome your fury.

“Two days ago you arrived with major burns, the next with a broken wrist and today barely making it alive? Tomorrow will you even come back to me? Or will your coworkers deliver me your death instead?” Your tears swelled up in your eyes, distracting him from you by pressing the antiseptic towel against his stab wounds.

Childe hissed, unsure if the sting was from your harsh words or from the medication. His heart felt as if someone had squeezed it tight, the truth pained him to hear, especially from his wife’s mouth. He had kept you up for so long, losing your rest and throwing you into an abyss of constant worry. He deserved it. How could he ignore you?

“Love, i’m so sorry, i beg you, you can do anything to me. Ignore me, hate me or punish me for all i care, just don’t leave me alone…please.” His cerulean eyes held no lies, staring into your distant ones with desperate longing.

He clinged onto your torso, near sobbing into the crook of your neck. The frantic nature of his words broke your trance, anger dissipating with each tear of your own. Soon enough, your arms instinctively raised to wrap him in your embrace. Staying infuriated with him was futile.

His half-conscious pleads ceased as he calmed down, exhaustion catching up to the young Harbinger. You combed his matted tresses with your fingers, pressing a chaste kiss to his forehead to lull him into comfort.

“I’m sorry, Childe, just take better care of yourself, okay?” You reassured, his confirmation in response felt real this time. He rested his heavy head in your lap, enjoying the warmth of your hand on his cheek.

Your husband wouldn’t give up your company for the world—if he had to cease his pursuit of strength for you, he’d do it in a heartbeat.

Scaramouche

“What, are you just going to stand there staring at me? Let me in.”

A rude introduction from an even more arrogant man. Scaramouche stood lazily upright at the entrance to your estate, somehow expecting you to take him in your arms and nourishment. Expecting you not to question him. Too bad you did just that.

“Yes, i will. Care to explain why you’re here?” You scoffed in an equally aggressive manner. Your eyes trailed up his legs and waist, exposed and bruised— if that was possible for a puppet. Nothing spilled from said wounds, but the Harbinger discreetly winced from the pain. He remained there silent, opting not to share any details.

“Shut up, this isn’t my fault.” Scaramouche almost yelled, his unexpected outrage igniting irritation through your body.

Oh? You clenched your teeth together in frustration. Your grasp on the doorknob was deathly, you were in no mood to deal with his attitude nor his own problems. “Then this isn’t my concern.”

And with that, you forced the door shut— well, as far as you could. Scaramouche pushed the door open with his foot and arm, a look of disbelief and confusion gleamed in his eyes. How dare you? Those words he wanted to spit at you, but all that fell was a single word.

“Wait!” The harbinger exclaimed, forcing his way through the gap in door. He couldn’t believe himself. First, he dared to show up to your house and now he’s begging for your help? He felt pathetic, truly.

Resistance was pointless against him. Letting your ex-boyfriend back into the very same house he’d swear he’d never step into again. But being ruthlessly ignorant was his characteristic, not yours. Scaramouche had obviously forfeited whatever ego he latched onto— you weren’t that cruel as to leave an injured man by himself.

“I’m sorry, alright? I shouldn’t of been so blunt.” His head, for once, was inclined towards the wooden floor, indigo eyes barely meeting yours. It was an apology nonetheless. “I mean, for everything, even for how i acted before.”

Scaramouche was…genuine? Bewilderment accumulated within your judgement, your heart softened. You knew this feeling— you knew you shouldn’t be feeling sympathetic for the harbinger you used to love so dearly, the man who left you without a valid answer. It couldn’t be helped.

The more that Scaramouche longingly gazed at you, the more he desired to be kept in your arms just like he used. His cold exterior melted away like treaded snow, instead your footsteps trampled over it. He couldn’t justify the guilt-ridden sensation plucking away at each inch of his body. He found himself on that day, emotional, again.

Scaramouche doesn’t act like this. Kunikuzushi does.

If he had to surrender his dignity to take you back as his, he’ll do it, just this once. His fingers, still blistered and scarred from earlier yet appearing so delicate on his porcelain skin grazed your jaw. Soft touches and gestures lulled him into safety within your embrace. An action he missed far too much.

Kunikuzushi latched tightly onto you in his mindless stupor of mental and physical distress, not coming to terms with he consequences of his behaviour later on. You found his conduct abnormal— if it was fear of losing you again, or simple loss of informed conscious, you wouldn’t know.

Raised, superficial gashes of violet and burgundy littered his pained countenance. You never thought that wounds could look as pretty as his. Not a single tear was shed for a vessel such as he, but his grasp on you slipped once the puppet fell into a peaceful slumber.

With your heedful care and more ointments than preferred, he had recovered by the next morning and those surreal memories wafted back to him. Two sentences wavered in his mind.

“Don’t disregard my words from yesterday, i meant it. Whether you accept it, it’s up to you…”

“…If it results in less harm for you, i’ll listen to those words from my mouth thousands of times over.”

2K notes · View notes

thewintersoldierdisaster · 1 month

Text

a/n: so. this wasn’t a fic i planned on writing but kind of needed to, in order to just process some shit. i had the same thyroid surgery a couple of years ago, but only had half of it out at the time. i recently had a little bit of a scare that there was something going on with the remaining half (there wasn’t, i’m all good!!) but i sat down ready to write a different andrei fic and this one came out instead 😬 it’s kind of funny, because i wanted to post an andrei fic on the one year anniversary of posting that first andrei fic and it weirdly worked out that this fic is an opposite of that first one - andrei taking care of reader as opposed to her taking care of him after the acl injury. anyway, stupidly long note over and just one final thing: i have been so grateful and blessed by all the love for my hockey fics this past year and i’m looking forward to writing more fun fics for you guys 🤍

word count: 6.6k

tw: cancer mention, surgery mention, incisions and scarring mention

summary: when you have a medical scare, it’s andrei’s turn to take care of you

You manage to keep your emotions under control and locked away until you get home and Andrei’s head pops up over the back of the couch, television remote in hand, smile on his face as he asks, “how was your day?”

The words are barely out of his mouth before you’re bursting into hysterical tears, sobs wracking your entire body. Your bag slips off your shoulder and lands on the floor with a thump and you can’t see Andrei’s face fall in fear through your tears. But a second later, his arms are strong around your body, his chest solid under your cheek as he crushes you in a hug.

You’re grateful for it, for his solid presence, because the second he touches you, your knees buckle and he’s the only thing keeping you standing.

“What happened? What’s wrong?” Andrei’s voice is thick with fear, one large hand stroking the back of your head. His voice shakes when he asks, “did someone die?”

You manage a shake of your head against his chest, breath hiccuping out of your chest. Your lungs feel tight and you’re pretty sure you’re not getting enough oxygen in on your shaky, shallow breaths. Andrei pulls back slightly and cradles your face in his hands, fingers gripping just slightly too tight. The pressure grounds you and even though you’re still sobbing, your breathing feels easier.

“Solnyshka, please, what’s happening?” Andrei studies you with worried eyes, his accent stronger than usual. His thumbs swipe over your cheeks, like windshield wipers getting rid of your tears. “You’re scaring me.”

“D-doctor called,” you manage to choke out and Andrei’s grip on your face gets tighter. Your stomach swirls with nausea and you’re afraid that you might vomit on him.

Andrei mutters a curse under his breath, your reaction isn’t for good news.

You raise a shaky hand to your mouth and press your fingertips against your lips, muffling your voice as you choke out a fragmented sentence, “b-biopsy was, um, it’s - they said. Oh fuck, um, c-cancer.”

The word hangs in the air between your bodies, dropped like a bomb.

Andrei’s eyes go wide and he stares at you, jaw going slack. “Fuck,” he grits out the curse and you press the heels of your palms into your eye sockets, hard, until you see little white starbursts.

One of his hands slides down the side of your jaw until his thumb is right over the lump just above your collarbone, the cause of your tears. He’d been the one to notice it months ago, pressing a kiss to your skin and mumbling that something felt off. You’d brushed him off, like an idiot, thinking it was nothing until he had mentioned it again a few weeks later, noting that it was bigger. Twice more he had to comment on it before you went to your doctor, starting down a path of blood draws, ultrasounds, CT scans, and most recently, a biopsy.

You feel like an idiot for waiting so long.

Andrei’s lips meet your forehead, a warm kiss stabilizing you. He mumbles something against your skin and wraps his arms around you again in a tight hug. You lean heavily against him, mind going a mile a minute, your doctor’s words ringing in your ears. Without realizing it, Andrei gently ushers you up to your room, helping you strip off your clothes and turning on the shower for you. You blink at him and he cups your cheek.

“Shower,” he says, voice hoarse. “Clean the day off, yes? Then we figure it out. Together.”

You nod, wiping at the tears still sliding down your cheeks. “Please don’t leave?” Your voice cracks. You don’t think you can be alone with your thoughts right now. “Just…just tell me about something. Anything.”

“Okay,” he nods and leans against the countertop, arms crossed over his stomach. He’s quiet for a few moments while you get situated in the shower, hot water running over your face. You splutter out the water when it fills your mouth and tears well up in your eyes again. Andrei’s eyes study you as he slowly begins to tell you about practice, clearly trying to remember each and every little detail that he can to try and distract you.

It sort of works, drawing a faint laugh when he tells you about Pyotr’s latest adventure in the crease, but also your brain can’t stop thinking about the c-word. It’s a constant loop in your brain - “I’m sorry, the biopsy was positive for malignant cells. Thyroid cancer. I’m scheduling you for an appointment in two days to discuss the plan going forward.”

Without you really participating, still in a daze, Andrei turns the shower off and bundles you in a towel, rubbing his hands up and down you arms to get some warmth in your body. He guides you into the bedroom and quickly helps you into sweats, bundling you up under the covers before climbing in next to you and pulling you close so your chest is flush against his.

“You’re shaking,” he comments, squeezing you tightly. Your head is tucked under his chin, nose pressed against his neck.

“She didn’t say,” you mumble, cutting yourself off. “What if it’s - what if it’s bad?”

Andrei shakes his head above you and his fingertips draw nonsense patterns on your back. “It won’t be,” he says firmly.

“But what if it is?” You press him in a shaky voice. “What if I’m like, just -“

“Stop,” he says shortly, interrupting your spiral. You shut your mouth with a little snap. “When do you see doctor again?”

“Two days,” you reply. “The first appointment, eight in the morning.”

Normally your doctor is booked up weeks in advance. The fact that she’s squeezing you in last minute only makes your heart beat faster, nausea churn in your stomach. It must be bad, for her to make sure you get in quickly. If it weren’t, wouldn’t she just let you schedule a normal appointment?

Andrei’s talking, but you don’t hear him over your spiralling thoughts. “Sorry,” you tap on his chest, drawing his attention. “I wasn’t- what were you saying?”

He kisses the crown of your head. “You can have breakfast before? I’ll take you for coffee before we go to the appointment. Is the office near that coffee shop you like?”

“You - wait,” you’re still not really processing what he’s saying, too hung up on cancercancercancer.

“Breakfast before your appointment,” Andrei repeats. His legs tangle with yours.

“You don’t have to -“ you start to say, shaking your head. He doesn’t need to be burdened with your medical stuff now.

Andrei interrupts you with a little pat to your ass. “I’m coming with you, final. No arguing, solnyshka,” his cheek rests against your head and you can feel his hands tremble a little against your back.

“Okay,” you murmur. “No arguing. But you might be late for practice…I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

The thought of going to your appointment alone is terrifying though and you’re grateful that Andrei offered, that you didn’t have to ask. Because you wouldn’t have asked, not when you know he’s busy and distracted with the season. Not when you’re an adult and should be able to handle this on your own.

“Leave to me,” he says. “I’ll handle, okay? Just try to relax now and then we’ll have dinner.”

“I can’t eat,” you reply immediately, your stomach lurches violently. The thought of food is enough to have you ready to rush for the toilet. Frankly, you’re surprised you haven’t already vomited from the sheer anxiety of the situation.

“Then you can watch me eat,” Andrei jokes, surprising a weak giggle from you. You can feel his cheek move against the top of your head with a smile and allow yourself to focus on the steady beat of his heart under your cheek until you fall into a fitful, unsatisfying sleep.

The next day drags and speeds by and before you know it, you’re waking up at 4:30 in the morning on the day of your appointment. You try to stay quiet on your side of the bed, so you don’t wake Andrei up - there was a game last night and he’d gotten home late - but he’s more attuned to you than you realized. His hand slides over your hip, squeezing gently.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper into the dark. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

His eyes are still shut and his voice is low and hoarse with sleep, but Andrei’s lips curl up in a sleepy, lazy smile. “Didn’t wake me,” he mumbles into the pillow as his hand finds yours. You lace your fingers with his, feeling the ridges of his knuckles with the pads of your fingers. “Don’t want you nervous alone.”

“Thanks,” you manage to choke out the word around the lump of emotion lodged in your throat. Andrei tugs on your hand and you slide closer to him, letting him tuck you under his arm and bury his face in your neck.

“Sleep again. Alarm is set,” his breath is warm on your skin and his arm is a heavy, reassuring weight over your stomach. You close your eyes and let yourself mimic Andrei’s slow, steady breathing. It’s not easy and your brain continues whirling a mile a minute, thinking about the lump on your neck, the possible treatment, possible long term effects. You just wish you knew already how bad it is.

Andrei grunts next to you, blowing little pieces of hair from your face. “Stop thinking, solnyshka. You’re going to start a fire with all your thoughts,” he kisses your shoulder and pulls you closer, crushing you against his side so tightly it’s almost hard to breathe. You focus on the weight of his arm and the heat of his body until you can feel your heartbeat slow down.

The next time you wake up, it’s to an empty bed and the smell of eggs and bacon in the air. You yawn and stretch out, turning your head to see the time on your Hatch. 6:45, a much more reasonable time to be awake.

A pit sits heavy in your stomach and you scrub a hand over your face, swallowing harshly around the lump in your throat. Just over an hour until you really know what you’re dealing with.

You can hear Andrei moving around in the kitchen and with a heavy sigh, you push yourself out of bed and move on auto-pilot to get ready for the appointment. You take time with your hair and makeup, feeling a little bit better once you start looking like a human again.

“Hi,” you greet Andrei quietly once you head down to the kitchen. He looks up from where he’s scrolling on his phone while eating his first breakfast of eggs and bacon.

“Morning,” he opens one arm for you to come and lean against him. You rest your head on his shoulder and he kisses the top of your head. “Sleep well?”

You lift one shoulder in a shrug and Andrei chuckles a bit. “Snored and drooled all over me,” he teases, “so it was a rhetorical question.”

“I did not!” You protest, a spark of energy flaring while you defend yourself. You push back from Andrei’s side and squint at him, a little pout on your lips.

“Did too,” Andrei grins and when he grabs your chin in his hand to draw you in for a kiss, you know he provoked you on purpose and is happy with the result.

You exhale a scoff through your nose when he pulls back, shit-eating grin still on his face. “Terrible man,” you murmur affectionately.

His grin turns smirky and his hand slides down to rest against the curve of your ass. He pats lightly, a little frisson of heat traveling through your body at the contact. You sigh and lean into him again, not looking forward to leaving the little bubble of your home.

At the coffee shop, you pick at the cinnamon scone Andrei had forced into your hands, crumbs littering the tabletop as you shred it with your fingers. Andrei studies you, chewing on the black plastic straw in his iced white chocolate mocha. You’re startled when he abruptly asks, “where do you want to go this summer?”

Crumbs skitter across the table when your fingers jolt and you blink at him, hands frozen in midair. “What?” You ask, shaking your head and processing. It clicks a second later and you continue, “I…I can’t think about the summer, Drei. I just need to get through today.”

He keeps chewing on the straw and you can’t help but watch his lips as they move. “Solnyshka, when this is over and you’re not going anywhere on vacation, you’ll tell me that we should have planned something,” he smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners. “So, where do you want to go this summer?”

Tears prickle at your eyes, again, overwhelmed by Andrei’s thoughtfulness. Pausing for time and to make sure your voice isn’t shaky when you do speak, you look down at the massacred scone and brush your fingers together to get rid of the crumbs on your fingers. “Um,” you clear your throat, “I don’t know, really. Nykki and Martin love Mauritius. Maybe there?”

“Whatever you want,” Andrei agrees easily, slurping at his drink. He pushes the napkin with a larger chunk of scone on it towards you. “Eat,” he demands, tone firm.

You take a small bite, just to appease him, but the pastry tastes like sawdust in your mouth.

Andrei holds your hand throughout the entire appointment and you’re grateful for his presence, because you can’t focus on anything your doctor says after ‘stage I papillary thyroid cancer’ and ‘surgery’ and ‘radioactive iodine treatment, just to be sure.’ He squeezes your fingers tighter and tighter as your doctor talks, pointing out something on the black and white images of your ultrasound and CT scan. The blurry blobs could be anything and you honestly have no idea what she’s pointing at.

Your heartbeat pounds in your ears, blood rushing like you’re underwater, as she explains the surgery you’ll be undergoing. A thyroidectomy to remove your entire thyroid and the cancerous lymph nodes. In and out in the hospital, a straight line cut across your lower throat. A scar unless you’re good with applying Vitamin E oil or Mederma. Possible damage to your vocal cords, but that’s very rare.

“What does your schedule look like in the next month?” She asks, briskly but not unkindly.

You blink at her and shake your head slightly. Andrei looks at you, waiting for an answer. “I, um,” you pause, trying to mentally access your calendar, “I’m open. I just…have to put in the leave time at work.”

“Good,” she says, looking down at the paper calendar on her desktop and running her finger over the boxes, “we’ll schedule your thyroidectomy for a week and a half from today, that’s a lighter day for me. All the pre-op information will be in your portal and we’ll go from there on scheduling the rest of your treatment. Any questions?”

A million.

“No,” you murmur, “um, not right now.”

“Can I stay with her?” Andrei leans forward to ask. “When she has surgery?”

“You can wait in the waiting room while she’s under,” your doctor replies. “And once she’s out of the anaesthesia and discharged, you’ll have to drive her home. She won’t be able to drive for a day or so while the anaesthesia really works out of her system.”

You’re shaking your head. “No, you have work. You have practice and games, someone else will drive me. I’ll ask Nykki…”

“No,” Andrei turns to you with wide brown eyes. “I’ll drive you. I’ll be there, solnyshka.”

You shake your head again, but keep quiet because you don’t want to have a fight with Andrei in front of the doctor. The rest of the appointment is routine scheduling and you leave with your head swimming and a surgery date burned into your brain.

You’re quiet the rest of the day and Andrei doesn’t push you to talk, instead trying to go about your routine as normally as possible. He’s missed practice - “personal reasons” Rod’s quoted as saying on Twitter, but “nothing that will prevent him from playing tomorrow.”

The next week and a half feels like a blur - you’re distracted and anxious with Andrei playing three games in seven days, two of them on the road, taking him away from you. He’s back the day before your surgery and doesn’t say anything when you greet him at the door with a tight hug and cling to him for the rest of the night, your stomach growling since you can’t eat, both from the anxiety and the pre-surgical requirements.

“Are you sure about missing the game tomorrow?” You ask later, when it’s dark and you’re buried under the blankets. “I feel -“

“Don’t feel bad,” Andrei rubs small circles over your back. “I made decision. Rod understands. You are more important than the game and the boys promised to win for you.”

A soft giggle escapes into the air and some of your guilt along with it. You hate that Andrei’s missing the game, hate that he’s missing it for you. You hate that everyone seems to know your personal business too, but you know Andrei had needed to talk about what you’re going through too.

His other hand moves up to your scalp and scratches gently, tension seeping from your shoulders. “Get some sleep,” he kisses your cheek. “Early day tomorrow.”

“I love you,” you whisper. “So much.”

Andrei has to practically manhandle you into the car in the morning, making sure you’re dressed comfortably and warm. Your head rests against the window as he drives. “I’ll pick up some groceries while you’re napping,” he says, brushing his thumb over your knee. “Anything you want specific?”

“Butterscotch pudding,” you ask hopefully, smiling a little. You try not to eat a ton of processed foods, but you figure post-surgery you’ll indulge.

“On it,” Andrei grins at you, dimple popping. He looks calm, which reassures you. Once he parks and you enter the hospital, everything speeds up and slows down. Andrei helps you fill out paperwork while you change into the hospital gown and grippy socks.

You fold up your clothes neatly and put them in the little duffle bag you brought along. Andrei catches sight of the pile and raises an eyebrow, “are you not wearing underwear?”

Your cheeks heat up with a flush and you hold the gown shut behind you. “No,” you hiss, “I’m not allowed to. Don’t even start with me.”

“I wasn’t going to,” his smile is a little too sneaky and you try to climb onto the bed in a way that doesn’t leave your entire ass exposed. You fail miserably, if the little wolf-whistle Andrei lets out is any indication.

“I hate you,” you mutter, pulling the sheet up around your legs. You’re both quiet while the nurse comes around to make sure all your paperwork is filled out and signed. Andrei immediately reaches for your hand when the nurse puts the IV line in your other hand - “for the anesthesia, later,” she explains - knowing that you hate needles more than anything.

And then there’s nothing to do but wait.

Andrei’s sitting on the edge of the bed, texting and reading out the messages that the guys are directing to you. “Jarvy,” he says, wincing at the screen, “wants to know if you get to keep your thyroid once it’s removed.”

“Uh, no,” you reply flatly, face screwing up in disgust at the thought of it. “I hate this.”

His hand lands on your knee and rubs it through the sheet. “It will be over before you know it,” he soothes you. “In meantime, Skjeisy says you can join me and him in the cool scar club.”

Your hand subconsciously lifts to your throat, fingers wrapping around it loosely, and you blow out a breath, puffing up your cheeks. “Not a club I really wanted to join,” you say wryly.

You scroll through Twitter absently, a pit of guilt settling low in your stomach when you see the Tweet from the Canes’ account that Andrei’s missing tonight’s game for personal reasons. Your thumb hovers over the tweet, ready to tap on it and read the replies, when Andrei plucks the device from your hands. “Hey!” You protest, reaching for your phone. Andrei pulls it out of your reach.

“No more social media,” he says, tucking your phone in the back pocket of his jeans for safe keeping. With his other hand, he digs a little envelope out of his front pocket. “I forgot, yesterday, to give this to you. But mom sent this and I was supposed to give it to you before surgery,” he settles the little envelope in your hands and you look at it curiously.

Opening the flap, you tilt the contents out onto the palm of your hand - a little gold medallion on a chain. You hold it up to your face and see the tiny icon embossed into the gold. “Who is this?” You ask, rubbing your thumb over the image.

“Saint Anastasia,” Andrei replies, “she was a healer, I think. Mama wanted to make sure you were protected.”

Elena’s gesture of love and concern hits you like a punch to the stomach and you startle both yourself and Andrei by bursting out into ugly, loud sobs. Your face crumples and fingers tighten around the chain.

Andrei lets out a noise of distress that you can barely hear over your crying and rush of blood in your ears. His arms wrap around your upper body and you bury your face in his chest, getting tears and snot everywhere. “It’s okay,” he whispers in your ear, stroking a hand over your hair. “Hey, stop crying, nurses are going to think something is wrong. Shh.”

“I just really love your mom,” you wail into his chest, muffled by his shirt.

Andrei keeps shushing you, alternating with trying to comfort you. You sniffle and pull back, wiping at your face with the back of your wrist. “Better?” Andrei asks, cupping your chin. His lips are drawn down in a concerned frown.

“A little, yeah,” you nod, pulling your knees up to your chest and wrapping one arm around them. You hold your other hand up, the little pendant dangling from its chain in between your faces. “Can you keep this safe for me?”

He nods and lets you clasp the chain around his neck. The little pendant falls into place against his chest, dwarfed next to his giant cross. You smooth your fingertips over the icon and his cross, lingering for a few heartbeats over the warm metals. Andrei’s hand comes up to cover yours and he squeezes your fingers. “You are going to be perfect, solnyshka,” he mumbles, lifting your hand to his mouth to kiss your fingertips.

“Okay, kids,” your nurse, a cheerful older woman named Monica, appears at the foot of your bed, drawing yours and Andrei’s attention, “one more kiss and then I’m whisking you off to the best sleep of your life.”

Andrei squeezes your fingers again and presses a soft kiss against your lips, mumbling, “see you soon.”

You press your fingers into his chest, digging your nails into the fabric of his shirt, fingers curling like you’re going to hold on and not let go. With a shaky sigh, you release him and manage a brave little smile, “don’t forget my butterscotch pudding.”

He nods, laughing under his breath, and then Monica’s helping you get settled back on the bed and Andrei steps off to the side while a whole little team appears to transport you to the operating room. You twist your fingers together anxiously, stomach turning, and turn on the bed so you can keep looking at Andrei until you’re completely out of the pre-op ward. He catches your eye and winks, waving a little and tapping his other hand over his chest, where your icon hangs next to his cross.

“He’s a real cutie,” Monica comments idly, drawing your attention once the swinging doors are shut behind your little parade and Andrei’s out of sight.

“Oh,” you hum faintly, “he really is. I don’t deserve him, honestly.”

“Now, I’m sure that’s not true,” she keeps chatting as you get situated on the operating table, climbing awkwardly from your bed, trying to keep the gown closed over your ass. “You’re just as cute, even more, I’d say.”

“Thanks,” you laugh a little, the compliment warming the icy block of nerves lodged in your chest. Once you’re laid out on the table, you run a hand over your sternum, breathing deeply.

The surgeon comes in and offers you a warm smile, “I promise, I’m really good at this.”

You’re thrown off a little by the statement and he nods, clearly pleased with himself. “I find that patients always want me to be a little cocky,” he continues, sitting down on a wheeling stool next to the table you’re on. “We’ll be done before you know it and you’ll wake up feeling extremely well-rested.”

“As long as you’ve got the skill to back up your words,” you say, surprisingly reassured a bit by his no-nonsense manner.

Monica pats your hand and grins, “he does. Now, count back from ten and you’ll be back with that sweetheart of yours in no time.”

Your lips curl up briefly and you angle your head away when you feel the little tug on the IV in your hand indicating that the anesthesia is getting attached and started. In your head, you start the count at ten, nine, eight —

“Oh, looks like she’s coming around,” a voice breaks through the dark haziness surrounding you and you try to blink, but your body feels too heavy.

There’s a warm pressure on your hand and you twitch your fingers against it. A little shiver works its way through your body, you’re freezing.

The warmth on your hand moves up your arm - a hand stroking against your skin. “Whenever you’re ready,” the familiar accent washes over you, “I can’t wait to see those eyes, solnyshka.”

A hum forms in the back of your throat and that’s a mistake because it hurts and you let yourself fall back asleep to avoid the pain.

The next time you wake up, the bright lights of the hospital almost force you to close your eyes again. You grumble wordlessly and the noise draws Andrei’s attention from where he’s sitting in a chair next to your bed, scrolling on his phone. He looks over at you and his face immediately breaks out into a wide, dimpled smile.

“Hey,” he greets you, scooting the chair closer and reaching for your hands. His are still warm against your cold ones and it’s nice when his thumb brushes over the backs of your knuckles. “How do you feel?”

Before answering, you take stock of your body and you’re surprised to find that you feel pretty good beyond the pain in your throat. That feels like you’re swallowing knives. “‘M okay,” you manage to mumble quietly, wincing at the stretch of your skin. “C’n I have water?”

“Da,” Andrei pours water into a little plastic cup and hands it to you, plunking a straw in the water. You take a sip and it feels so good going down, the cold water soothing the burning. You sigh happily and sink back into the pillows.

“How’d it go?” You ask, rolling your head so your cheek is resting on your shoulder and you can see Andrei better. Your voice scratches out of your throat, raspy and hoarse like you’d just smoked a pack of cigarettes.

“Surgeon says perfect,” Andrei grins, the crinkles around his eyes deepening. “You did so good, solnyshka.”

His fingers never stop stroking yours and you melt at the contact, glad his the first face you saw when you woke up. “Wonder how bad the scar is,” you mutter, resisting the urge to touch your lower neck, where the skin feels tight and battered. “Can I see?”

Andrei’s hesitation and slight frown before he says, “maybe not best idea right now,” tells you all you need to know.

“Oh my god,” your eyes go wide, panic starting to claw at your chest. “He botched me! I’m botched, it’s a horrible scar, right?”

“No, no!” Andrei shakes his head frantically. “Not botched! It just, with the glue, there’s no stitches. But you can see all the blood. It looks worse than it is, the surgeon said.”

“But it looks really bad,” you confirm and before Andrei can say anything, Monica appears behind his shoulder.

“Look at you, awake and ready to go,” she smiles, effectively cutting off any discussion about your neck, and asking how you feel while filling out your chart. You answer as honestly as you can, voice growing more hoarse the longer you talk. “Well, everything looks really good. We’re going to keep you here for a few more hours and then, if everything keeps looking good, you’ll be back home before dinner time.”

You and Andrei chime a simultaneous ‘thank you’ as she leaves.

“Give me my phone,” you demand and Andrei shakes his head.

“No way,” he taps the back of your hand. “I’ll be your secretary. You’re just going to get upset if you look.”

“I won’t!” You counter petulantly, poking your lower lip out. “I just want to see.”

“When we get home,” he promises and you scowl at him. He effortlessly changes the subject, showing you a picture of Gigi that Martin had apparently sent earlier. You smile at your favorite puppy, swallowing often to try and ease the sharp pain. It doesn’t do much other than intensify the pain and you start to regret it, closing your eyes for another nap.

By the time you’re cleared for discharge, the pain meds have worn off completely and your neck hurts, a dark mood clouding your head. Andrei is patient with you, helping you change back into your sweats and zip-up. You protest the wheelchair an orderly brings around, but you’re told it’s hospital policy and you slump into the seat, crossing your arms over your chest. Andrei runs his hand over the crown of your head as he walks next to you, carrying your empty duffel bag.

Instead of driving his Lamborghini, your Toyota Rav is waiting at the curb and you smile. “Oh thank god,” you mutter and Andrei laughs.

“Didn’t think you’d want to get down low in my car,” he explains, holding out a hand to help you stand and then climb up into the passenger seat. He left a blanket in the car for you too and you take the opportunity to cover yourself up with it while he goes around the front of the car. You wave at the orderly through the window and Andrei starts the car.

“You thought right,” you yawn. It’s a fast drive home and you’re grateful for that, because all you want to do is rinse off and lay down. Considering you’d been under anesthesia for a couple of hours, you’re exhausted. You’re so tired, you forget to flip down the visor mirror to look at your incision.

Once you’re home, Andrei bundles you into the house, one hand solid against your lower back as he guides you up the front path. “I know you want to shower,” Andrei says, “but remember the doctor said not to get the glue wet for twenty four hours.”

You whine, cranky and desperate for a shower. “I want all the gross hospital feeling off of me, Drei,” you pout, toeing off your sneakers and crossing your arms.

He drops your tote next to your sneakers and raises an eyebrow. “I know, you can get in the bath and I’ll wash your hair. We’ll be careful with your neck, okay ?”

Your neck feels stiff and your throat is still sore, but you nod, just wanting to take your Tylenol and relax. When you shuffle further into the house, you spot bouquets of flowers on the kitchen island and gasp. “What are those?” You whisper hoarsely, tears prickling at your eyes.

“Oh, right,” Andrei laughs. “Special deliveries for my girl. The team sent and your office, Neci and Nykki. My parents, your parents, Geno.”

Tears slip down your cheeks and you feel overwhelmed with love. You wipe at your eyes with the heels of your palms and turn to Andrei for a hug. He embraces you easily and you shake your head. “I didn’t want everyone to know,” your throat hurts more when you cry.

“Only the important people,” he says. “Everyone loves you, solnyshka.”

The reminder of how many people are supporting you makes you think of Elena’s gift and you pull back from Andrei’s chest. “Can I have my necklace back now?” You ask in a shaky voice.

“Of course,” he unclasps the thin chain from his neck and hooks it around yours, pleased to see that the chain doesn’t touch your glued over incision. He taps the pendant with the tip of his finger and kisses your temple.

After an unsatisfying bath and a glance in the mirror that shows the dark rings under your eyes and the gruesome looking wound on your neck, you’re more or less clean and you build a nest of blankets and pillows on your bed, tucking yourself into the middle of it all. You have to sleep sitting up or partially reclined for the first night and it’s not your favorite way to sleep, so you prop a bunch of pillows around your head and hope that works. Andrei brings you a butterscotch pudding and climbs onto his side of the bed so you can watch the game.

“My neck looks awful,” you blurt, unable to stop thinking about it.

“It doesn’t,” Andrei replies. “Just for now with the blood and glue.”

“The scar is going to be so obvious in pictures,” you poke at the pudding with your spoon.

“You look badass,” Andrei rolls onto his side and grins at you. “Like a warrior.”

You scowl at him, feeling like he’s making fun of you even though you know he’s completely serious. You jab at the pudding again, suddenly nauseous. “I wish this was it,” you mutter, still raspy and hoarse and you’re really hoping it’s just temporary and that the surgeon didn’t actually fuck up your vocal cords. “But I still have the radiation and then who knows…”

“One day at a time,” Andrei knocks your foot with his. “That’s what you said to me, right? Every time I’ve been recovering, it’s one day at a time.”

He’s right, for each and every one of his injuries, you had been preaching taking recovery one day at a time. You suppose it’s time to practice what you preach now. Still, your anxiety ratchets up every time you think about the c-word, darkness and worst case scenarios dancing in your head. You twist your fingers around a piece of hair, fidgeting as you mind spins.

Andrei’s hand snakes over your thigh, rubbing gently at the soft fabric of your sweats. He rests his chin just above your knee and says, “hey, look at me.” It feels weird when he talks, chin bouncing on your leg, but you look down at him.

“Hm?” You chew at your lower lip.

“One day at a time,” he repeats firmly, refusing to break eye contact with you. When you nod and he’s satisfied, he presses a kiss to your knee and rolls back onto his back. “Who do you think scores first?” He gestures to the TV, trying to lighten the mood in the room.

You play along, wanting to avoid the pain and the scary future for now. Scooping out a bite of pudding and sticking the spoon in your mouth, you hum around the dessert before teasing, “oh, it’s definitely going to be Pyotr.”

Life goes pretty much back to normal over the next few days, you’re back at work and Andrei hits the road with the team. The glue over your incision flakes off and while the cut is a vivid, angry-looking red, it’s a clean, straight line only about three inches long. You’re obsessive about applying Mederma and Vitamin E oil to help the scar fade as quickly as possible. Your voice is still a little raspy, but it’s getting better slowly.

By the end of the week, you’re working up the courage to call your doctor to schedule your radiation therapy session. It’s a terrifying thought and your hands shake every time you think about it. But Andrei had sent a text this morning, reminding you to make the call. And you don’t want to let him down, not after how supportive he’s been. So, you stare down at the contact information for your doctor’s office, wishing you could, like, use the Force to make the call.

Startling you, the phone begins to vibrate on the table, the same contact information you had been looking at flashing on the screen.

“Holy shit,” you mutter to yourself, blinking stupidly at the phone and swiping at the last second to accept the call. “Hello?”

It’s your doctor, making a personal call, the smile evident in her voice. Within minutes, you’re sobbing with relief as she tells you they ran additional tests on the tissue taken from your neck and while the initial thought and course of action had been to have radiation therapy, the surgeon was confident he had gotten all the cancerous tissue out of your neck.

“You’re cancer-free,” she tells you cheerfully. “I love making these calls.”

“Really?” You manage to squeak out the word around your tears.

“Really. You’ll have to be on a synthetic thyroid pill for the rest of your life and see me every four to six months for blood tests and evaluations,” she explains, “but I am very confident that the malignancy is gone and you won’t need radiation therapy.”

The rest of the conversation passes in a blur and you’re pretty sure the only thing you manage to say is a repeated ‘thank you, thank you, thank you’ before the call ends.

You sit on the couch, shell-shocked, gripping the little icon hanging around your neck.

That’s where Andrei finds you when he gets back from morning skate, tears dripping down your cheeks. Before he can ask, you catch his eyes and beam, “cancer free.”

Andrei lets out an unintelligible, strangled noise of joy and rushes to the couch, swinging you up in his arms and holding you to his chest in a bruising hug. He murmurs in Russian in your ear and you can feel his shoulders shake a little. “I love you,” he murmurs, while you cling to him, “I love you so much, solnyshka. So much.”

His arms are tight around your back and you hook your legs around his waist, not wanting to let go any time soon. Your face is buried in his neck and you’re not sure if his skin is damp from his shower or your tears, but you can’t stop crying.

“Did you book Mauritius?” You laugh wetly into Andrei’s shoulder.

Andrei’s laugh startles out of his chest, echoing around the living room and vibrating through your whole body. It’s your favorite sound in the whole world and you can’t wait to keep hearing it for a long time.

#andrei svechnikov #andrei svechnikov x reader #andrei svechnikov x you #andrei svechnikov fic #nhl fic

190 notes · View notes

klausysworld · 11 months

Note

Could you do a one shot based on bored from billie eilish, where Y/n leaves Klaus in the end and he realizes the mistakes he made, leaving and cheating on her

Never Enough

The games you played were never fun (mm)

You'd say you'd stay but then you'd run (ah)

———————————————————————

Klaus Mikaelson isn’t an easy man to love.

He pushes me away at every chance he gets.

But as soon as I would leave him be then he was back at my door, chasing my attention.

It took far too long to get used to his games. That’s all love is to him, a game. Feelings are toys and so are people, entertainment for him to thrive upon.

And even after I had realised it, I couldn’t stop myself from loving him.

So, somehow every empty promise he gave me, I believed him. Or maybe I just wanted to believe him and that was enough.

But it got to the point where it was just too much to bypass.

———————————————————————

Givin' you what you're beggin' for

Givin' you what you say I need

I don't want any settled scores

I just want you to set me free

Givin' you what you're beggin' for

Givin' you what you say I need

Say I need

———————————————————————

And yet, even when I knew he had been with another women, when he had treated me as though I were nothing but an object for his pleasure, I found myself apologising to him.

“You know that I love you, I’ve always been there for you. I would never do this to you” I yelled but he only looked angrier

“You love me? You barely look at me! We don’t talk, we don’t touch! We have nothing worth my time!” He bellowed

“I try to” I whispered and he sighed, his hands running down his face

“You have it in your head that I’m doing all of these things, I have been here every step of the way through your incisive whining! You’re sensitivity and your insecurities! I have been right here but I am tired of picking you up, it’s pathetic, it’s boring.” He shouted, his finger pointing at me as he took menacing steps toward me and I followed suit and rushed backwards. His hand came down harshly beside my head against the wall making my body flinch away from the loud noise of impact. I anxiously looked up to him and nodded

“I’m sorry” I whispered “I’ll be better” But he only shook his head, his hand grabbed my jaw forcing me to keep my eyes on his

“There’s no point in this anymore, you don’t want it” he mumbled

“Of course I want this, I love you. Klaus please don’t leave me, not again, please. Please Klaus it’s cruel to do this, just tell me what you want me to do. You know I’d do anything for you” I pleaded, tears running down my face as I held the wrist of the hand on my face.

“Anything?” He questioned

“Anything at all”

———————————————————————

I'm not afraid anymore

What makes you sure you're all I need?

Forget about it

When you walk out the door and leave me torn

You're teachin' me to live without it

———————————————————————

And I truly did everything I could to have him love me even the slightest bit. For him to want me even if it was just for my body. Because I loved him so ridiculously much that it didn’t matter to me if I was just a toy to him, I’d rather it be him than anybody else.

And after a while, the fear was gone.

The screaming matches were just part of the game.

I could hold up my own and fight back at him, rile him up and push him over the edge.

The only thing that still hurt was when he left.

The echo of the door slamming shut rings through my head all of the time.

My knees gave out the second the door closed. I collapsed down to the floor, tears flowing down to the ground despite no sound leaving my lips. My nails pierced through the skin of my arms as I held onto myself. I hated everything about this. It always ended like this, I always ended up just that much more pathetic.

I hated the shell of who I was. Who I am now.

———————————————————————

Bored

I'm so bored

So bored

———————————————————————

Sitting at him waiting for him for hours was just torture. I knew exactly where he was.

Who’s body his hands were all over.

Who’s mouth was on his.

Who’s bed he was breaking.

But I remained in his bed, waiting for him. Whether it was for him to yell at me and throw things or to just lay beside me and slowly, reluctantly put an arm around me.

He didn’t want anything to do with me anymore but I couldn’t find it within me to let him go.

———————————————————————

I'm home alone, you're God-knows-where (mm)

I hope you don't think that shit's fair (ah)

———————————————————————

“Fair!? You want to talk about what’s fair Klaus? It is not fair that you get to go and fuck whoever you want and then come back and torture me for breathing the wrong fucking air!” I screamed

“If you knew what I was doing then why the hell are you still here? Get out! I don’t want you anymore!”

———————————————————————

Givin' you all you want and more

Givin' you every piece of me

I don't want love I can't afford

I just want you to love for free

Can't you see that I'm gettin' bored?

Givin' you every piece of me

Piece of me

———————————————————————

But once again when I left like he said, well there he was back in my room of my new apartment.

“Shh love, you know neither of us meant that. You know that I love you and I know you love me too.” He murmured while wrapping both arms around me, his chin on too my head.

“I have nothing left to give you” I whispered looking into his chest. “You shouldn’t have come back” I mumbled “please leave”

“We’re destined to be together. You’re all I need, you just have to give me your love, it’s all I could ever want” he countered

“Then why wasn’t I ever enough?” I questioned sadly

“You’ve never truly allowed me to own your heart, I needed it”

“And sleeping with other girls gave you that?” I laughed breathlessly and pressed my forehead to his shoulder

“They made it easier to push you away. But I know that you’re what I truly desire, you’re exactly what I need. I want to marry you.”

“Please don’t lie to me”

“Why would I lie? What do I have to loose?” He asked. I shut my eyes in mental turmoil, was he saying he was nothing without me or that I was nothing?

I think I knew it was the latter but ai just refused to let it be true in my mind.

———————————————————————

I'm not afraid anymore

What makes you sure you're all I need?

Forget about it

When you walk out the door and leave me torn

You're teachin' me to live without it

———————————————————————

It didn’t even hurt when I saw him in our bed with another random blonde.

His head turned to me with that stupid expression on his face before he hurried to follow me down the stairs

“Love!” He called as I reached the front door “y/n, sweetheart, please” he murmured grabbing my shoulder so I would face him. “Forgive me my love, I-“

“It’s fine Klaus” I muttered tiredly and he frowned

“What?” He whispered confusion evident on his face as he took a step closer, only boxers on his body and he was clearly still hard, apparently his blondes weren’t as fulfilling as he had hoped.

“I don’t care anymore Klaus, really it’s fine. Just do whatever you want but for the love of God please just don’t do if in the bed I sleep beside you in” I sighed and he grabbed my hand

“You aren’t upset? Or mad? You aren’t yelling…” he listed with a ludicrous look on his face

“You need to wash your hands” I mumbled with a grimace and he quickly retracted them

“You should be shouting at me” he told me and my brows furrowed

“You want me to yell at you?”

“Don’t you care?”

“Not anymore”

———————————————————————

Bored

I'm so bored

So bored

———————————————————————

Klaus wasn’t expecting her to sound so tired. So done with everything.

He didn’t really believe she would leave properly.

But when he received a letter in the mail the next day requesting he leave he be, he knew he’d finally pushed her over the edge.

The sick truth was that Klaus enjoyed taking her live and destroying it. He enjoyed hurting her in a way that only he would be able to. He was a sadistic being who after years on being labelled a monster, finally embraced it.

———————————————————————

Givin' you what you're beggin' for

Givin' you what you say I need

I don't want any settled scores

I just want you to set me free

Givin' you what you're beggin' for

Givin' you what you say I need

Say I need

———————————————————————

But sat alone in his room, nobody to hold when he felt empty, he realised she was actually an important person in his life.

Despite all the girls he had, none of them seemed to give him anything.

As much as he craved emotionless sex, he found that when the women also had no care towards him, it wasn’t what he wanted.

Y/n looked at him like he was everything she had ever wanted. She touched him like he were the most desirable thing on the planet. Her hands were soft and she wanted to please him, she always made it about him, she told him how good he made her feel and how much she loved him.

He missed how she would sit with him in his art room with her crisps and soda while comments on the colours he chose and complimented his composition choices.

He missed her annoying laugh and sleepy smile.

He missed the state of her hair when she first woke up, the way she would struggle against him and refuse his kisses because she had ‘morning breath’.

He missed her cooking and baking, the way she made his coffee and the shitty shows she had him watch.

He missed their arguments, he missed her tears. He missed how she would fall back into his arms and prove to him that her love for him was true.

He missed her.

———————————————————————

I'm not afraid anymore

What makes you sure you're all I need?

Forget about it

And when you walk out the door and leave me torn

You're teachin' me to live without it

———————————————————————

Calling her phone got him nowhere, his voicemails were never answered.

His witches couldn’t locate her.

All he had left of her was the memory of the empty look in her eyes as she left him.

The clothes in his drawer that she didn’t grab when she rushed away.

The clothes he held to his face each night to help him fall asleep.

The pillow he hugged to his chest to remind him of her.

But it wasn’t her.

He would never have her again.

———————————————————————

593 notes · View notes

dfortrafalgar · 25 days

Text

I'm Losing You

Having a family isn't always as easy as fairy tales make it seem.

Warnings: Read chapter 1 for warnings. posting two chapters today just because chapter 11 was so short in comparison! Beware... chapter 13 is when things start to get heavy again </3

Taglist: @phsycochan | @mirillua | @augustanna | @chaixsherlock

Chapter 12

[Prev] [Next]

While Law was busy with work, Shachi and Penguin had become more akin to doting brothers than friends during your post-op care… but today your apartment was bustling. Penguin had taken the liberty of using your phone to invite Ikkaku, who brought Nami and Usopp in tow. As you laid in your bed fighting off a mild headache, the sounds of chattering and cleaning in your apartment filled your closed off bedroom. At one point, something heavy had clattered against your kitchen floor, followed by harsh shushes warning the perpetrator of keeping silent so you could catch up on sleep. Not like that made a difference.

You checked your phone that was set charging on your bedside table. 1:00PM. You were thirsty.

Standing, you grabbed your empty glass and began to pace out of your room and toward the kitchen. Your recovery had been incredibly swift, and you had achieved a total of five days off from work with the help of the weekend. Your incision site healed quickly with a barely-visible scar, and while you still had a bit of recovery left, you had begun to feel much more like yourself. Helped in part by your official diagnosis: endometriosis. Not that you were surprised by that, but it definitely felt good to have an actual answer to your troubles. The few cysts that were found on your ovary were also benign, and your call with Dr. Robin to discuss your results left you feeling surprisingly refreshed. Things felt like they were finally starting to look up.

You rounded the corner of your apartment and entered your living area, the smell of pine and lemon-scented floor cleaner invading your nostrils and making you grimace. Your gaggle of friends were seated around the kitchen table, digging into more left-over chocolate chip cookies that, at this point, had to be beyond stale.

“Hey, there’s the woman of the hour!” called Usopp. “Sorry if we woke you up.” He flashed a toothy grin as he popped a cookie into his mouth.

You smiled, meandering to the sink to refill your glass with fresh water. “Nah, it’s all good! Thank you guys for cleaning up and spending time with Bepo, I really appreciate it, you know.”

Nami leaned back in her chair, tossing her arm over the back of it to twist her torso and gaze at you. “It’s no problem at all, it’s the least we could do! You deserve all the rest you can get after everything that’s happened.” Her friendly grin quickly morphed into one of mischievous intent. “Though, if you wanted to Venmo me, I wouldn’t say no.”

“Nami! The poor woman is struggling!” Ikkaku placed a firm slap to Nami’s shoulder, making the red-head wince.

You were laughing as you approached the table to sit with your friends, politely denying the stale cookies that were offered to you. “No no, she’s right. I’ll think of something I can do to repay all of you for all the help you’ve been to Law and I. I don’t feel right not treating you guys back in the same way.”

Shachi stretched his arms above his head and cracked his knuckles, uttering a deep groan at the feeling of his shoulders extending. “Give your future kid my name, and we’ll call it even.”

“No fair, I wanted my name passed down!” shouted Penguin.

You sputtered a laugh against the lip of your glass. It still filled you with a bit of discomfort to discuss the topic of pregnancy so soon, but your friends’ lighthearted attitudes made your feelings a bit easier to cope with. “Not to disappoint, but Law and I already have names picked out. None of you were on the list.”

Two disappointed sighs came from your husband’s best friends, but Ikkaku excitedly leaned forward against the table with her head in her hands. “What are the options?”

You circled one of your fingers around the rim of your glass. “Law really wanted his family to be honored in some way, so right now our favorite choices are Cora, Rose or Rosa, and Lami. He said he felt a little strange having our kid’s first name be his sister’s, so if we have a daughter her middle name will probably be Lami.”

Usopp sighed dreamily. “He’s so sentimental, isn’t he?”

Ikkaku giggled. “Never say that to his face, though, or he’ll–”

The front door cracked open. From the corner of the room, Bepo picked his head up.

“Say ‘what’ to my face?” Law entered his apartment with a grouchy expression, closing and locking the door before shrugging off his light jacket and placing his hat on a hook behind the door.

“Hi, honey!” you called, your eyes immediately lighting up at the sight of your husband. “You’re home early!”

Law stretched his back and wobbled toward the kitchen, opening the fridge and grabbing an energy drink from the door. “Well, I had a surgery this evening, but the patient ended up coding.”

Nami cocked her head. “What does that mean?”

“He croaked,” replied Law, taking a sip and assuming a protective stance behind your chair. “Can’t perform surgery on a dead guy.”

“Aw, that’s too bad…” Ikkaku chimed in, her excited posture manifesting into a more forlorn slouch. “You must see that a lot, huh?”

Law shrugged. “Not really, most of the time it’s elderly people who die before they get treatment. It’s hard when you’re old.”

You reached a hand up behind you, placing it on your husband’s shoulder. He took his free hand and wrapped it around your own. “Well, I’m glad you got to come home early. Everyone spent the entire day cleaning the house while I was in bed.”

“Is that why it smells like pine cleaner in here?” he asked, somewhat confused.

“Usopp spilled the bottle on the floor,” Nami piped up.

“It was an accident,” the curly-haired man replied with a perturbed hiss.

—

The plate of cookies was discarded, the kitchen was finished being cleaned, and your friends had all departed for the night, leaving you and Law cuddling alone on your couch as a brain-dead comedy rerun played on the television. Bepo remained on his plush bed in the corner, his entire body upside down and snoring away peacefully. You laid against Law’s chest as his lean hands ran up and down your sides, ghosting the skin beneath your cotton shirt with pleasant electric tickles that made you stifle a giggle occasionally.

“Hey, can we talk?” Law asked, eyes still trained on the television, but clearly not absorbing any of the half-assed jokes and canned laugh track.

“Yeah, of course,” you replied, shifting a little against his body to face him. You reached over his head for the remote that was sitting on the arm of your couch, pressing the power button to turn off the television and envelope you and your husband in a calm silence.

Law smiled weakly, his golden eyes now trained on your own. “Did you get a call back from your doctor?”

You nodded. “I do have endometriosis, and the cysts on my ovaries are benign. She actually said they were quite small and said if they started causing me more trouble, then they could be dealt with.”

Your husband ran his hand over the back of your head. “And how do you feel about that?”

You sighed, leaning your head against his chest, listening to the way his heart thrummed against his rib cage. “I feel… strange. It’s weird to know that this entire condition was under the radar for my entire life until we started wanting to have kids. And everything’s been happening so quickly, sometimes I feel like the entire world is spinning around me.”

Law hummed. “I bet… it’s been a hard few months.”

You closed your eyes, your own hand trailing fleeting touches up and down his shoulder. “Thank you for sticking with me, Law.”

Your husband picked his head up to gaze down at the top of your head. “Why would you have to thank me for that?”

“Well…” you began, struggling to form words. You felt too ashamed to face him head-on, and chose instead to keep hiding your gaze in his chest. “We’ve been married for over two years, and I still haven’t been able to give you a baby like we’ve wanted. So the fact that you’ve stayed with me–”

“Let me interrupt you right there.” Law’s tone was firm and authoritative as he interjected. “Do you remember what I told you before I got my own test done? That I’m your husband and that I refuse to leave you over an idle issue?”

You dug through your brain’s memory bank, finally settling on the vision of the two of you in much the same position as you were now. You smiled faintly. “Right, the issue that might be resolved.”

Law pinched your cheek in his fingers. “Will be resolved. And do you remember what we promised each other on our wedding day?”

“Law, why are you quizzing me?” you questioned, voice barely higher than a whisper, as you finally lifted your head and made eye contact with your husband.

He didn’t answer you, instead continuing his own train of thought. “On our wedding day, one of the promises we made to each other was ‘in sickness and in health.’ I feel sick to my stomach when I imagine a world where I leave you over this.” His hands continued rubbing your back as he spoke. “No one could have predicted this outcome. No one could have ever expected a reality like this, but it’s a reality that we’re sharing. I’m happy without children just as I’d be happy with children. What matters the most to me right now, at this moment, is that you’re still here with me. Right now, your health and wellbeing is more important than any hypothetical child.”

Law’s words were rapidly provoking heavy, salty tears to well in your eyes, which quickly overflowed down your cheeks and into the fabric of his shirt. One of his hands caressed your cheek, feeling as your jaw shifted and you sniffled away the snot that was also forming in your sinuses at his words. You blubbered, a weak smile crawling onto your weary lips. “How do you always know how to make me cry?”

Your husband’s chest bounced slightly with his own chuckle. “You bring the sap out of me.”

You laughed into his neck. “For someone who claims to be shit with emotions, you’re surprisingly eloquent.”

He responded to your words by placing a tender kiss on the crown of your head. “Well of course. I need to make sure I keep my wife smiling, after all.”

After a few brief moments of gentle caresses, your tears subsided enough for you to ask, “When we get the okay from my doctor… Do you still want to try again for another baby?”

Law smiled. “For as long as you want to keep trying, so do I.”

#fem reader #reader insert #x reader #law x reader #trafalgar law x reader #trafalgar d water law x reader #one piece x reader #op x reader #trafalgar d water law #trafalgar law #i'm losing you

70 notes · View notes

thatsthewrongwallcraig · 9 months

Text

Wait And Bleed

Summary: You clearly are Kappa's favorite, little sheep out of his herd but the questionable prestige comes with equally questionable privileges…

Pairing: Kappa x fem!Reader

Word Count: ~1.3k

Content Warnings: Straight Up Filth 18+!, Substance Abuse (Cocaine), Heavy Consensual Cutting (Mutilation If You Will), Blood Kink, Unprotected P In V, Kappa Being A Menace, Praise Kink

A/N: This fic is based on an ask by @bitchofanewera . Massive thanks go out to @svgarcaine for answering my questions and giving plenty of support. Thank you! 🖤🫶🏻

Tagging the horny horde:

@crypticsewerslut @quicksilversg1rl @cc-luvr @icarus-star @milaeth @roryculkinsgf @spookyorchid @arch1viste @whoareyoi @angelsanarchy @blueberrypancakesworld @rocketqueen-world @r0ttenmess @doddernix @svgarcaine @amayalul @basementgrl222

My eyes are red and gold, the hair is standing straight up

This is not the way I pictured me

I can't control my shakes!

How the hell did I get here?

Something about this, so very wrong

I have to laugh out loud, I wish I didn't like this

Is it a dream or a memory?

- Wait And Bleed By Slipknot

The already pained expression on your face contorted into a grimace, somewhere in between a cry of pain and a wickedly twisted laugh, bordering on the maniacal as you felt the cold, sharp jolt of hurt ripping through the skin of your thigh again. You watched, studied Kappa's face as his erratic, twitchy eyes followed the sharp razor blade cut through, drawing blood immediately.

"Fuck…" He exhaled deeply, subconsciously biting down on his lower lip as he noted how deep red droplets pooled around the incision.

"It hurts…" You felt your body squirming in his touch, stating the rather obvious.

"I know, sugar, I know, but you're being so good for me. I'll make the pain go away, just you wait, yeah?"

You whined out in discomfort as Kappa placed the blade a little lower, closer to the inside of your thigh this time, the sharp edge drilling into the first layers of your sensitive skin already.

"Ouw…" It shot from your quivering lips, head falling back whilst hot tears trickled from your lower lash line.

The wave of wetness covered your cheeks as Kappa adorned your flesh with yet another languid cut, one of many. Tonight barely any spot on your body had been safe from his kink, fetish or just downright godforsaken need to see you bleed for him. The plenty of cuts and incisions were scattered all over, starting at your collarbones and now ending with the newest addition to the collection on the inside of your thigh. You didn’t even dare to look down because you knew that most of your front would be covered in random, sloppy smears of red.

You'd allowed it to happen, agreed to it for reasons you tried to gaslight your rational thinking away from. To the few crumbles of sane reason inside of you, this posed as plain insanity and you just couldn't bear to admit to yourself that Kappa's madness filled a very certain emptiness in your soul, a pitch black hole you refused to acknowledge.

"Look at you, sugar.", With a quick flick of his hand Kappa finally tossed the bloodied blade aside, "So good and so incredibly vulnerable just for me. Such a precious girl."

His bizarre words of praise shot a rush of heat right amidst your legs, pulling a telltale gush of wetness from your throbbing cunt. In that very moment you couldn't help yourself but to feel ashamed. The unbridled embarrassment flushed your cheeks with red at the involuntary reaction of your body.

"Oh, no… don't you cry over that, huh?", Kappa tried to soothe you, his tone awkwardly soft in face of the situation, "Gon' make sure you feel better soon, yeah?"

"Please…" You muttered, begged unto him, your whole body glowing in the heat of sheere pain and perverted arousal.

"There, there…I got you." Without hesitation, Kappa pulled a slender glass vial from the pocket of his worn-out linen pants, unscrewing its top before spreading a small pile of white dust onto the back of his hand.

"Take a bump, hun." He raised his hand right underneath your nose for you to angle your head down just a little.

You knew the process, weren't exactly unfamiliar to it and right now you simply craved to be elevated from your physical suffering. With that, you tiled your chin towards your tits, hovering your nostril right over the back of his hand before taking a deep sniff, feeling the chemical sticking to your nasal membrane before it went straight into your bloodstream.

Within minutes that suddenly felt like mere seconds, your pulse elevated, a comfortably buzzing feeling washing through your every molecule, leaving no trace of the excruciating levels of pain that ruled your body.

"Better?" Kappa smiled at you.

"Uh-Huh.." You couldn't help a wide, uncontrolled grin to spread across your face as you allowed your head to thud down onto the mattress.

"Attagirl.", You heard him humm, "Let me catch up to you, eh?"

Your senses were reeling, pain turning into a warm wash all throughout your body and your physical arousal aching painfully between your legs.

"Ay, that's my favorite girl..", Kappa quipped while you hardly took notice of him spreading a line of coke between your tits, the string of white sitting on your brutalized skin before he put his face to it, devouring it all in one swift inhale.

"Here wo go!" He groaned out in vigor, his nose crinkling a little before he swallowed the back-drip, and pushed the waistband of his pants down, allowing his hard on to slap beneath his navel in a wet thud.

"Gonna make you feel so good, sugar..", Kappa sighed, looking down at you as he fisted his cock to align himself with your entrance, "Been such a good girl for me…"

You didn't question any of his breathy words as you felt the eager tip of his cock prodding against your hot and already clenching cunt. Way before he even pushed in, your body was set ablaze in a wicked state of drug-induced bliss. Kappa eventually drilling deep inside of you was nearly enough to send your thoroughly tortured muscles into overdrive. You heard your sore voice calling out to him in a foggy distance, repeating his name over and over like some sort of holy chant.

" 'M, here, hun.", Kappa moaned against the shell of your ear, his voice guiding your disheveled thoughts, "Taking me so good."

"Hmhmm…" Your lips pursed in a remote, dull pang of hurt.

Right until the tip of his tongue was deep inside one of the many cuts along your cleavage, you didn't notice how his mouth had wandered down rather quickly.

"Issok…", Kappa cooed, "Let me have this…just a bit…"

To distract you from the sizzling pain his saliva caused, Kappa hammered his hips against you, thrusting into you until you moaned out again.

"Fuck, so thight around me already…" He mumbled into your chest whilst fucking into you at a borderline violent pace.

If it wasn't for the heavy amount of chemicals in your bloodstream right now, you'd have been worried about feeling sore by tomorrow.

"Gosh, you're so sensitive." It was way more of a praise than a taunt that oozed out Kappa's mouth as he felt you throbbing around his cock, your cunt clutching down all over his hard one before your every nerve started to spasm and convulse.

Orgasmic contractions washed through your numbed body, trying their best to work their way up to your brain.

"Feels better now, no?" Kappa moaned, obliviously fucking you through a distorted orgasm, "Better bet Imma do that all night, hun."

#rory culkin #kappa x reader #kappa smut #kappa #kappa black mirror #kappa x fem!reader #black mirror 6 #black mirror #black mirror beyond the sea #kappa x you

129 notes · View notes

vyingeyes · 3 months

Text

Project Crown - 1 - Ground Zero

Geonosis was the kind of nightmare that nobody could ever really prepare you for. The Kaminoans had tried, but the divide between training and a real battlefield stretched unfathomably wide, and the only way to bridge that gap is to experience the latter firsthand.

Course was one of many clones deployed to Geonosis. He also seemed to be the only one with a functioning brain.

“48! Get back in formation!” Kyr snapped beside him.

Course didn’t bother turning to see what trouble their idiot brother was getting up to this time, far too preoccupied trying to patch up the unnamed clone that a Geonosian had flung down to their squad from one of the ledges a few meters above them in the canyon. The poor guy was thoroughly dazed from his short flight, but his wounds weren’t serious.

Kyr’s steady presence hovered by Course’s left side. “Status?”

“Stable. He’ll be able to keep fighting as soon as he’s able to think straight.”

The newcomer groaned out something vaguely interrogative, and Course turned to address Kyr head-on.

“Give me two minutes.”

Kyr’s visor tilted toward the ledges, and Course knew he was on the lookout for more bugs. “Hurry.”

There’s not really much I can do to speed the process up, Course thought dryly as their unit moved to block the wounded clone from any new avenue of attack. Nonetheless, he leaned over the clone.

“Break’s over,” he said bluntly. “As soon as you’re up we can get you back to your unit.”

“What… Where…?”

A flash of annoyance flickered through Course, and he tried his best to smother it. It was reasonable that a trooper would be confused after such an atypical experience. It wasn’t his fault he’d hit his head. Probably.

“A Geo dropped you down onto my squad. We’re gonna get you back up to yours.”

“Oh.” The other clone pushed himself into a sitting position, crest waving like a flag as he looked around to try and get his bearings back about him.

“Is he up?” Kyr called from where he spoke with 48.

“It hasn’t been two minutes,” Course reminded.

“I’m up,” the clone announced, pushing himself the rest of the way up.

Course sighed, but offered the clone a hand, pulling him to his feet.

“Myth contacted his unit,” Kyr told Course. “They’re sending down their gunner to help bring him back up. We just have to stick around to make sure no Geonosians interrupt their climb.”

The gunner in question just barely peeked over the edge of the east-side ledge, fiddling with something, presumably in preparation to drop down. The ledge wasn’t too tall, maybe six meters, but the wall was sheer, and the Crown-Green unit didn’t have the gear to scale it even if they wanted to. Fortunately, the unit above them seemed to be prepared for this exact situation, and in moments, the heavy gunner was descending.

Course knew that Green Squad alone could probably handle bug-watching, so he didn’t hesitate to use the lapse of downtime to head directly over to Myth and drag him under an overhang to check him over.

“Wh- Course!” Myth yelped, staggering as Course pulled him along. “I’m fine!”

Course ignored him, opting instead to remove Myth’s upper bicep armor with a quick click and pull of the release mechanism. Immediately, the magnets deactivated and the rerebrace fell away from his brother’s arm in two pieces. Course twisted Myth’s arm to better assess the area where a stray bolt had skimmed him earlier that morning during their first big firefight.

Course removed the hastily applied bacta patch from the sliver of blister-bright skin revealed by the incision in the body glove, and Myth’s hiss through clenched teeth told Course that he wasn’t enjoying it. But the bacta did its job, and as Course applied a new one (more careful now that he had the time to dedicate to it, carefully centered so that the bacta-infused center sat flush with the worst of the burn), he grew confident that it would be fully closed by the time all this mess was over.

“Seriously, it was fine,” Myth muttered, his words just barely making it through the vocoder.

“Don’t be a brat,” Course said. “Infection is one of the stupidest ways you could die. I’ve been wanting to fix that patch for hours.”

“We’re supposed to be watching for Geonosians!”

The sound of blasters firing followed immediately by a bright, “Got it!” from their unit made Course raise an unimpressed eyebrow under his helmet even knowing his brother wouldn’t be able to see it.

“I think they’ve got it handled.”

Myth’s visor dropped toward the ground, and for a moment Course considered poking fun at him for being so petulant, but then Kyr ducked into the cover with them.

“Dral’s back with Orbit-Nexu,” he informed. “We need to keep moving.”

Course latched Myth’s rerebrace back on. “Of course.”

“Of course,” Myth echoed absently, already moving back toward the unit the moment his armor was secured.

“Any problems?” Kyr asked, a hint of his Leader Voice peeking in past the otherwise innocuous question.

Course shook his head. “Just took a second to redress Myth’s graze,” he dismissed. “Didn’t have time to do it properly the first time.”

“Good. Let’s get going, then.”

Together, they headed back toward the unit, where 48 was giving Myth a dramatic retelling of what Course guessed would be the Geo kill that he had just performed.

“—hit it right in the wing, it went spiraling, and I—”

“Alright soldiers,” Kyr interrupted, “break’s over. We’ve still got a rendezvous to make.”

48 threw his head back, clearly personally targeted, but he moved with the rest of them to get back into formation. Kyr and Punch side-by-side in the lead, followed by Myth and Push, then Course and Pinch, Pull and Punt, and 48 on his own at the rear of the group. Comfortable. Familiar. Protocol.

Technically speaking, it was protocol to have infantry at the rear to prevent any specialists from getting attacked from behind. Course knew that 48 specifically got put in that slot to prevent him from getting sidetracked trying to talk to the person beside him, but it felt like a bigger risk that he would get a bright idea and leave the formation, and then none of them would notice until he was already gone. Kyr clearly had more faith in him than Course did.

“8ball is heading back our way,” Kyr announced over local comms as they continued the trek through the dusty canyon. “He says it should be a clear shot to the landing field.”

Kyr did his best to conceal his apprehension, but unfortunately, Course was also familiar with their brother. Just because 8ball thought the path was clear, that didn’t mean that it was by anyone else’s standards.

And, as the Crown-Green unit caught sight of their scout dashing back toward them, a small horde of B1s trailing behind him, Course’s skepticism was rewarded.

Their helmet comms crackled as 8ball connected to the local frequency. “Hey guys! Help!”

Blaster bolts filled the air between the two parties, and in a frankly impressively short moment 8ball found himself barreling into their formation at top speed. He did not slow down once he got past the leads, and Myth and Push jerked to either side to avoid getting run over. Beside Course, Pinch moved to the right. So did Course.

8ball scrambled to slow down in the two meters he had to realize Course was stepping into his path, sending up a spray of dust and grit as he tried to hit the brakes. Course braced. 8ball hit him with a loud CLACK, armor colliding with armor, and Course stumbled backwards to keep them both from falling to the ground.

Course gripped his brother by his shoulders and bodily turned him back toward the droids, pushing him a bit to give himself the room needed to raise his own rifle.

48 shoved his way up to be with the two of them, shooting all the while. “Y’know, 8ball, typically you want to shoot the droids that are shooting at you.”

8ball snarled something distinctly offensive as he fumbled to equip his rifle with its sniper extension.

“Focus,” Course snapped at the both of them. “This isn’t a sim.”

48 straightened up theatrically. “Yes sir, medic sir!”

Course scowled, but 8ball laughed and began lining up his shots.

“What happened to ‘clear’?” Kyr demanded over their comm.

8ball fired off a shot, and Course watched a clanker fall bodily into its neighbor. “I said ‘pretty clear’! And it is! Once we get past these guys.”

There was a laugh from someone in Green Squad at that, and in front of Course, Punch shook his head in the resigned sort of way that most sane individuals did after more than ten minutes alone with Crown Squad. Course would know it. He did it daily.

“Charge primed!” Punt announced behind them, and the unit scattered like clockwork while the ordnance specialist readied his shot. In an instant, the path cleared, and the explosive was flying through the air toward the unit of droids.

Even from the moderate distance between the groups, Course could hear the cartoonish, “uh oh” that came from at least three separate droids when the explosive rolled neatly into the center of the group. The explosion itself was quick and controlled, enough to fill the comm channel with brief feedback from the sheer number of open lines, but not enough to shake the walls of the cliffs on either side of them.

“Nice shot,” Kyr complimented, lowering his gun now that the threat was neutralized. “8ball?”

8ball flitted to the front of the unit. “Yes?”

“What the hell was that?”

“Well, I snuck by them really easily on the first trip,” the scout started, “but then on the way back they’d decided to get in the way and I couldn’t get back without getting their attention, and it’d take too long to deal with them alone, and I knew the SBDs would be too slow to follow all the way back to the group so I thought—”

“Supers?” Punch interrupted, head jolting back the way that 8ball had come and half-lifting his Z-6 like he expected a Super to appear dramatically out of the dust, summoned by the very mention.

“It’s just the Supers now,” 8ball said, a bit defensive now at the tone of the other squad leader. “That’s why I said it was ‘pretty’ clear. It was just two squads of B1s and the SBDs. That’s nothing.”

Kyr went quiet, head tilting, and Course knew he was trying to be patient.

“How many SBDs?” Course asked, shooting a glance towards Kyr that hopefully conveyed it happened, cope.

“Just two,” 8ball said, and the tension drained out of Kyr’s shoulders.

“Alright, that’s workable.” Kyr glanced toward Punch, then Punt. “Do you have enough ordnance to deal with both of them?”

Technically they all had some ordnance, but Kyr would be trying to keep them all as armed as possible for as long as possible, so taking care of these Supers would fall primarily on Punt.

“Easily,” Punt said, waving him off. “Leave the clankers to me.”

“8ball, I want you to be with him,” Kyr said. “You know the drill with B2s. See if you can’t get their plating to crumble before Punt takes his shot.”

Punch examined the group. “It might be useful to have 48 with them, too. I know he knows his way around a grenade, if it comes down to it.”

48 lit up even through the thick layers of armor, practically glowing under the plastoid. “Happily, sir.”

Kyr shot Punch a look, then 48. “It’s not a bad idea,” he permitted. “You three will head in. Course, I want you with them. The rest of us will be behind you to prevent a flank.”

Course wanted to argue against that. It made more sense to keep the medic with the bigger chunk of the group, especially when the men taking point would be ideally staying out of range of the B2s. But it wasn’t his job to question the order, and if Kyr was the one giving it, he’d follow it. Hopefully the rest of the unit would be staying close enough to them that it wouldn’t matter in the end anyway.

“Alright,” he said. At least if he went, he’d be able to stop 8ball and 48 from doing something inadvisable. He didn’t trust Punt to do as much.

Kyr grasped Course by the vambrace and tapped their helmets together for a few short seconds. “Good luck.”

Bastard. “You’re better off telling that to 8ball.”

An amused huff crackled through Kyr’s vocoder, and he gave Course one last pat to the back before moving to give 8ball and 48 the same treatment. The second Kyr stepped away from him, Myth fluttered up to Course.

“SBDs are slow but they hit hard,” Myth blurted. Then, all in the same breath, “Their plating is blast proof but there are weak points at the edges of each plate that if targeted can cause the internal components to be exposed and leave them more susceptible—”

Course shook his head. “Myth. We’ve got it. You focus on keeping the Geos away from us, we’ll worry about the Supers.”

Myth hovered a second longer, arms moving in little aborted jerks like he had more to say, before his head snapped into a nod and he hurried back toward Push and Pull.

An arm slung itself around Course’s shoulders and he tensed, turning his helmet and nearly clacking his helmet against 48’s.

“So… Babysitting duty,” 48 dragged out.

Course blinked slowly. “Yes. Babysitting you.”

“Kyr’s mad at 8ball right now, not me,” 48 dismissed. “You’re babysitting him.”

“You broke formation. He’s mad at both of you.”

“Yeah, but I only broke formation. 8ball’s doing 8ball-level stupid shit. He takes the lead.”

“Alright Crowns,” Punt sighed, pushing himself into their little bubble and grabbing 48 by the strap of his armor. “Let’s go blow up some B2s.”

They steered toward 8ball and, having collected their last stray teammate, set out into the valley that 8ball had scouted.

8ball darted to take point. “They should still be pretty far in, the big ones don’t do well with uphill slopes, if they even bothered chasing.”

“What are we looking for, exactly?” Punt asked, glancing around the steepening cliffs with a wariness that you couldn’t help but gain after having one too many Geonosians appear out of nowhere.

“There’s a gap between the cliffs that we need to go through to get to the landing zone,” 8ball said. “But a little bit before that there’s this place where a bunch of these mountain passes meet at a sort of crossroads. The droids were down the left one when I passed the first time. It’s only a few minutes out. I was thinking we could scale one of the ledges that overlook it and take pot shots from there.”

Course breathed an impatient sigh. “Coordinates, 8ball.”

“Oh. Yeah. Sending them now.”

A ping on the corner of his HUD appeared, and Course accepted it to update his local map with a location marker.

“We should probably start climbing now,” 8ball considered. “It’ll just get steeper the further in we go.”

Nobody was going to argue with a scout about local topography, so they began to painstakingly increase the distance between themselves and the ground, following 8ball as he made occasionally precarious hops between the cliffside’s sporadic footholds. Course’s only regret was that he wouldn’t get to watch the rest of their unit attempt the journey.

Course trailed behind the three of them, focusing his attention on the cliffs around them more than the conversation going on over their comms. Any sudden shadow made by the clouds drifting above them could be a Geonosian gunning for them, if not for the undisturbed quiet of the canyon. Geos typically didn’t run at them, though. All of the ones that Course had encountered thus far flew, and their wings made a distinct droning buzz that had reminded him of the insects they studied in their flash training modules—they hadn’t included audio, but the description couldn’t be like anything else. The Geos were presumably louder than a traditionally sized insect, but so far, he hadn’t run across one to compare them with.

“What do you think, Course?” 48 prompted suddenly over their comm. They were on relatively flat ground, now, and his brother peered over his shoulder back at him.

Course did not know what the topic was, but given the clones present, he didn’t think it mattered very much. He fixed his visor on 48 and stared wordlessly.

“See? I told you Course would agree with me,” 8ball bragged. “Your idea is stupid anyway. There’s no way that you’d be able to—”

Course rolled his eyes. “Stay on task.”

8ball sighed, but if he kept talking, it happened on a comm frequency that didn’t include Course, which was really all he could ask for.

They made it to the overlook in good time. Kyr would be glad, given that their rendezvous was supposed to be in twenty-two minutes and they were already pushing it. 8ball made quick work of dropping to his stomach and propping his sniper while 48 stooped to help Punt arm the grenades.

“Told you. I think they might be stuck,” 8ball crackled through the comm.

Course glanced over the ledge to get an idea of the scene and saw that, as 8ball had suggested earlier, the so-called “super” battle droids did indeed seem to be stuck at the bottom of a fifty-degree slope. Course struggled to think of too many other reasons the droids wouldn’t have gone to reinforce the B1s’ attack.

“Either that or they’re guarding the pass,” 8ball continued idly. “That’s the way we need to go. You need to make sure that you don’t blow up the entrance or I’m gonna have to find a new route and then we’re really gonna be late.”

Course looked past the SBDs and saw what 8ball must be referring to. Half blocked by the hulking frames of the supers was a crack in the cliff face. A clone could probably fit, if they took their time and entered sideways, but an SBD had no hope. Course just hoped that the rest of the pass widened out, if that’s the way they’d be having to go soon.

“Alright,” Course said. “Get to work.”

“Yeah? And what’re you gonna do, watch us?” 48 demanded.

Course knew intrinsically that 48 just wanted to get a rise out of him, but he couldn’t help the slight air of annoyance as he said, “I’m going to watch your six so you don’t get ambushed. Hurry up.”

48 laughed as Course turned and stepped away to watch their flank. Course never did understand the carelessness of his brothers, but he wouldn’t be wasting the time trying to figure it out now of all times.

He was aware, vaguely, of Punt and 8ball coordinating their attack a solid few meters away, but Course examined the rocky ledges above and below them. This planet had an eerie atmosphere— eerie in the way that it seemed to house enemies that could appear or disappear in a moment. On the gunship down, Myth had rattled off a hundred different facts about the planet’s geography, but the one that Course remembered most clearly was that the Geonosians lived primarily under the surface, in dingy caves and tunnels. It made sense, if you wanted to avoid the glaring heat of the Geonosian sun, but it also meant that Course could never be sure that a shadow was just a shadow. The natural texture of the cliffs meant that there could be a tunnel mouth hiding just out of view at any point, and none of them would know any better.

“Ready?” 8ball asked.

Punt’s comm crackled as he spoke. “Go.”

A deafening crack shattered the quiet as 8ball took his first shot, followed quickly by a second. Course looked over just long enough to see Punt lobbing his first explosive down at the droids, a muffled blast following just seconds after.

“One damaged, one staggered,” 48 reported through their local helmet comm. “Eighty, target the one by the wall. Punt, the other one should be easy to finish off, its hull’s warping—”

Another crack as 8ball fired his sniper rifle, but Course didn’t look to see if it hit. Punt said something about the SBDs below, loud in Course’s ears as he fumbled to mute the incoming audio. A high pitched droning echoed in the walls of the canyon, quickly growing louder as its source approached. Where was it coming from?

“Course!”

That wasn’t over the comms, and Course didn’t have time to identify which brother had called out to him before unyielding hands grabbed him and hoisted him into the air.

Course had been trained for a lot of things. Impromptu, uncontrolled flight was one of them, actually, but it had always been in the context of jetkits, not flying enemies. He couldn’t cut the fuel line or unlatch this carrier from his armor. He couldn’t even complete a fraction of a twist, due to the hold the bug had him in, so wriggling his way out didn’t look likely. The droning from before now rattled his skull as the ground shrank underneath him, and he couldn’t hope to hear his brothers even if they somehow knew what to do in this situation—Myth would, but he wasn’t here either way. Course was alone.

Plasma bolts flew into the orange rock around him as the others tried to shoot at the bug, occasionally accompanied by the resounding crack of 8ball’s sniper, but either Course had been picked up by a master of evasion, or they were too afraid of shooting him instead of it. He’d love to tell them to just commit, because he’d much rather die getting shot than by whatever this thing had planned for him. The sound of rushing air muffled the shouts coming from below him, and as Course craned his neck to peer down, he realized that his window for surviving getting away from this bug was closing rapidly. Damned if you do…

Course would take death by falling over a secondary location any day. With that thought in mind, he ducked his chin as close to his chest as he could manage and slammed his head back into his captor with all his strength. He doubted he’d hit it anywhere important—the bugs that were big enough to carry a clone trooper had eerily long torsos—but between the barrage of blaster bolts and the headbutt, the bug loosened its grip enough for Course to jerk halfway out of its hold. The two of them dipped in the air for a moment as the Geonosian fought to maintain its grip on him, but with one arm free, Course was free to wretch the medical scissors out of his belt and stab at the bug until it gave up and dropped him completely.

Hurtling toward the ground was louder than heading up; the rushing air was familiar, and the absence of insectoid wings was more than made up for by the blood that roared in his ears. Somehow, both of those constants disappeared to highlight the sound his armor made as he skimmed the rock wall of the canyon. Course wasn’t sure if it would have been enough to slow his speed, but he had no time to run calculations. If he’d been thinking, he would have counted how long it took him to fall. It would give him an idea of how he should go about treating himself, should he survive the landing.

Unlike the first collision, Course did not hear himself hitting the ground. He could tell you how he landed—feet first, and then crumpling forward onto frantically-outstretched arms—but nothing else. He must have blacked out for a moment, perhaps upon impact? One minute he was falling, the next, he was flat on the ground. He knew how it happened but would be hard-pressed to describe it in any detail.

Sound filtered slowly back in through his helmet. Fuzzy voices of panicked brothers, indistinguishable without focus that he did not have. No more blaster-fire, no explosions, nothing to suggest they were still in danger. He found himself still on his front. The others must have caught up, because Myth or Pull would be the only ones with enough sense through the chaos to tell the others not to turn Course over in case of injury to the spine.

Course ignored the voices for a moment to focus deeply on the feel of his legs. They were in sharp, searing agony, which was nice. It meant that at the very least, he probably wasn’t paralyzed. His arms, too, ached, though not nearly as badly. But he survived, somehow, and although the realization slowly dawned that he hurt all over—no doubt from the events of the entire day, not just his impromptu flight—there was little more he could ask for.

Someone’s arm jostling his shoulder drew him out of himself, and a small sound of discomfort left him at the disruption.

“Course?” Kyr’s Leader Voice, unmistakably, which could only mean that he’d terrified his brother. “Can you hear me, vod?”

Course closed his eyes for a second. Can’t even fall out of the sky without having to do everything on his terms, he thought bitterly. He knew that was uncharitable. He also figured he was more than entitled to a little bit of a bad attitude, at that moment. He took a moment to brace himself. “… Yes.”

A chorus of identical voices broke out, quickly hushed, before Kyr spoke again. “What’s your status?”

Status? Course thought, astonished. That was… an unbelievable ask. He knew, logically, that Kyr falling back on protocol helped him to hold onto some sense of normalcy. His brother was definitely, certainly, very deeply concerned about Course. It still pissed him off. “… Blunt force trauma to the legs. Extensive. Probable minor damage to arms and skull,” he droned. “Recommended course of action is to administer one stim cannister to each leg and continue to the rendezvous.”

The chatter picked up again, and nobody shushed it this time.

“What?” Kyr demanded, pitch increasing in fractions. “You just broke both of your legs. You are not getting a stim and a pat on the back.”

“Protocol says I do.”

“This is an exception,” the Leader-Voice intoned, back in full-force and leaving no room for debate. “We’ve got seventeen minutes to get to the rendezvous. We can’t have you hobbling along behind us slowing us down. I’ll carry you.”

Course’s eyes shot open. “No, you won’t,” he argued, his normally flat tone lilting up with frustration and incredulity. “If you’d just administer the stim, I will be up faster than it will take you to figure out how to get me through that opening.”

“We’ll give you the stim and you can get through the narrowest part of the path,” Kyr agreed, “but once we can, I’m carrying you.”

“That is not protocol,” Course snarled, anger simmering up from his stomach.

“It’ll be faster.” Kyr’s voice held no concern for any potential breach in protocol. “The most important thing is that we make it to our rendezvous. How we get there isn’t so important.”

Course took a moment to process. If Kyr truly refused to relent on this… “Then I’ll be noting your disregard for protocol in my report.”

The quiet murmur of their other brothers cut out suddenly. Nobody said anything for a few long moments. A hesitant voice—who had to be either Myth or Pinch—was the next to speak.

“It’s really not worth it, Kyr. As long as we move now, we can still make it—”

“Write me up, then,” Kyr interrupted, ignoring the input entirely. His words grew sharper, edged in frustration. “I don’t care. I’m not having you walk on broken legs the entire way.”

He did not wait for a response, immediately injecting stim into the gaps between Course’s leg plates. Course supposed Kyr had spent the duration of the argument rummaging through Course’s med kit. A third, unexpected jab at the top of the neck startled Course, and he flinched away from it.

“I don’t trust that you didn’t hurt your back.” Kyr’s voice wasn’t so sharp now, perhaps in apology for the unwarranted extra shot.

Course did not grace him with any further reaction, instead rolling to his side and pushing himself upright. He ignored the influx of brothers at his every side, jerking to his feet with gritted teeth. Every pound of weight he put onto his legs sent screaming agony directly through his lower half, but he would not be encouraging Kyr’s disregard for regulation by doing anything other than breathe through it.

Kyr finally seemed to understand that he wouldn’t be getting acceptance out of Course today. “48, take point with 8ball.” Kyr continued to instruct the unit how they would proceed, fully ignoring the Green Squad Lead two meters away from him.

To Punch’s merit, he said nothing. He looked Course over and gave him a small nod as Kyr did his job for him. Course wondered how he just decided to let it go. Course wasn’t a squad lead. Wasn’t even kind of an officer, in any sense, other than being a medic, and even that being dismissed for what Kyr wanted to do was rage inducing. He couldn’t imagine spending his entire life being trained to lead others and then having some hard-headed ass swoop in and take that away from him.

They progressed to the ground level in a very nontraditional huddle of plastoid, half of them pointing their guns at every shadow on the rocks and the other half hovering around Course like he could turn to dust at any moment. If Course could focus on anything other than the amount of pain he was in, he was sure he’d tell them off so badly they wouldn’t ever look at him twice again.

The charred heaps of scrap that were once Super Battle Droids lay just in front of the narrow crevice that their unit would have to squeeze through. If Course was lucky, it would stay that narrow long enough for Kyr to drop the subject of carrying him.

Course glanced to 8ball. The scout inspected his sniper, uncharacteristically quiet, while 48 spoke lowly by the audio receptor of his helmet. What they were talking about, Course couldn’t say, but after a moment, 8ball nodded and pushed toward the front of the group to take point as previously instructed. He turned to the side and squeezed into the gap between the cliffs. A few steps in, he turned to face the unit again, waving cheerily.

48 went next, followed by half of Green Squad. There was a brief moment of concern where Punch nearly got his Z-6 stuck going through, but with a little pulling by 48, both clone and gun were in.

Kyr gestured Course to go first. Course assumed it was so that he could breathe down his neck the entire time, but bitterly followed the given instruction. Kyr followed close after. Blessedly, he did not attempt to hoist Course over his shoulder the moment they could walk straight.

Once the entire unit was confirmed to be in the passage, they began to make their trek. According to Course’s comm, they had approximately ten minutes before they were late for the rendezvous. Despite himself, anxiety began to bloom in the pit of Course’s stomach. The hard part of this deployment had already concluded—a brief firefight with Geonosian ground forces while the command class troopers and commandos knocked out the big stuff—and the only thing left was to show up on time. What would happen to them if they failed to do something as simple as that?

He knew the others had to be feeling the same stress. Some of his brothers knew how to hide it better than others—he was pretty sure if Myth looked over his shoulder one more time, his neck would break—but every one of their lives hinged on a good combat report. Failure to do the one part of the mission that required them to think on their own feet wouldn’t look good. If they were lucky, they might end up somewhere nice and boring. If they weren’t—well, you don’t send your best troopers to fight on the front lines of losing battles. Maybe the Kaminoans would find the bleakest battle possible and deploy them there as cannon fodder.

About a minute later, the passage widened further, allowing them to pull up into a traditional two-lined formation lead by 8ball and 48 side-by-side. It was then that Kyr walked around Course and blocked his path.

Course fixed his T-visor on his brother. Kyr’s emotionless helmet peered back. He was sure both of them had their jaws set, could almost see the annoyed scowl Kyr must be wearing. He knew all of their faces well, but he knew Kyr’s micro expressions better than anyone else.

Kyr didn’t seem eager to prolong their standoff any more than Course was. “You can let me carry you, or I will wrangle you into a hold.”

Unspoken: we don’t have time for this. Course knew that. At least Kyr didn’t feel the need to spell that one out for him.

Course said nothing for a moment. Reflected on the situation as a whole. Remembered the unspoken message he gave Kyr not an hour before—it happened, cope. He took a breath.

“It will be going in the medical report.”

“Fine by me.”

The air cleared suddenly. Course hadn’t realized it had ever thickened, but he felt it then.

Everyone else had expected him to cause a scene about it. They were waiting for him to dig his heels in and start an argument. Maybe because that’s what most of his batchmates would’ve done. Hell, if Kyr and Course were to trade positions, it was likely what Kyr himself would do. Maybe if they had any more time, Course wouldn’t let it fly so soon, but he knew that they didn’t have time to argue about it any more than they already had. So he let Kyr heft him over one shoulder.

Every step Kyr took, Course seethed. Not only was this a humiliating position to be in, but it was entirely unnecessary. Course had personally told Kyr of how every metric said they should proceed, and Kyr ignored him at every turn. The fact that he had gotten into this situation at all in the first place was ridiculous. There was no reason to send him on the team against the SBDs, except for that Kyr wanted supervision for the squadmates that he felt unable to trust with such a task. Which was stupid, given that all three had stayed on task just fine. Apparently, they even managed to take out the SBDs while trying to recover Course from the grips of the Geonosian. Punch should have been the one to go with 8ball, 48, and Punt. A heavy gunner would not only be helpful against the SBDs, but he would have stood a much better chance at deterring an oversized bug from trying to make off with a clone.

Anger rolled steadily through Course’s chest by the time they got to the rendezvous—with three minutes to spare, maybe Course had had some room to argue. Kyr set Course down just before they were swamped by other troopers. How kind of him. A company’s worth of clones milled about, a sea of shiny white plastoid ever-shifting as everyone tried to keep organized and stay with their squad while boarding the dropships meant to take them back to transport.

Kyr continued instructing their unit like he was the only one who knew what to do. Course listened as a formality, then turned to head toward the transport with their assigned number. They’d all read the brief—not just Kyr.

The troopers managing the transports gave him a nod as he limped up to the open door. Course couldn’t identify them, assuming he’d ever met them, but he did pity them a bit. Administrative tasks like they were doing weren’t the most impressive on a combat report. Might land them a title, but it’d be a title on some low-level base, given they weren’t command-class. It wasn’t the worst thing Course could imagine happening to a clone, but to many, it was world-ending.

Maybe clones were dramatic by nature, and it skipped a generation with him?

The rest of the unit piled into the transport, Greens brushing elbows with Crowns, and in minutes the ship was humming to life. Back to Kamino.

Course looked forward to his report.

-- -- -- --

Tumblr formatting is agonizing but I will learn it. Anything for my boys.

Chapter 2 can be found here

52 notes · View notes

lightvixxen · 7 months

Text

Kinktober day 2-knife play with Unsub!spencer reid

Happy kinktober day 2!

WARNINGS: 18+ mndi, Dom!spencer reid, Spencer actually cuts reader with a knife, mean!spencer, sub!reader, spencer is kinda toxic, NOT PROOF READDD as usualll

Spencer was not a good man, never claimed to be, at least for as long as he’s known you. He had you pinned against a bed in the motel you’ve taken a temporary residence in, a knife placed against your throat. Spencers legs were on either side of yours, the hand that wasn’t holding the knife was next to your head, supporting his weight.

He looked down at you like you were nothing, just the scum beneath his shoe, which you guessed was accurate in a way. You were there purely for his pleasure and leverage. In a best case scenario, you were a hostage, worst case an accomplice.

The knife against your throat was close enough to draw blood, he could kill you here and now, you stared up at him with nothing but love, you were a little ashamed at the fact you could feel a wetness building up in your panties, only a little though. You clench your thighs together as subtly as you can. Of course this didn’t go unnoticed by the man above you.

His eyes drop to your legs, a smirk creeping onto his face as he breathily laughs.

“Really? Your into this? God your sicker than I am, my darling.” Spencer moved the knife away from your throat, moving down so its against your chest instead. His head dips down, kissing the sensitive flesh that was yout throat.

He twists the knife so that the sharp edge is against your clothing, and without looking, he cuts your shirt off of you.

You didn’t even know it was happening until you heard a RIIIIIP sound, looking down you noticed your shirt was in tatters.

“Spencer!” you almost screamed, “That was one of my good ones!” Spencer rolled his eyes, he could care less about what he destroyed, especially if it was yours.

“I’ll buy you a new outfit, just shut up.” He growls, moving the fabric off of you with the knife, he drags the knife down your body, leaving goosebumps in its wake. Spencer takes his time with undressing you, calculated cuts, threatening to knick you each time you so much as whined about him cutting your clothing.

Once you were fully undressed and your clothes laid in a torn pile Spencer raised himself to sit on his knees, admiring his work, admiring you.

“Look at you, so pretty…” He mumbled, running the knife against your bare skin, he ran the tip of the knife against the top of your breasts, slowly slicing the skin there. You hissed in pain, sucking air through yout teeth, forcing yourself not to screamn as tears welled up behind your eyes.

“I should write my name here…Make it so you’ll always have a memory of me, even if I get caught.” He hums, lifting the knife up briefly, “But I won’t, because I actually do want you to go free, if you don’t end up killed.”

“Wouldn’t carving your name into me only solidify the fact I was a hostage-” you gasped, Spencer had lifted your legs so they were resting on his thighs, forcing you to bare your naked cunt to him. You flinched at the sudden cool air against your hot cunt, your thighs were drenched in your wetness. Spencer tsked once he saw the mess that was between your thighs, before moving one of his hands to unbuckle his belt.

“No…They know me too well, I’m a possessive man, darling, I like to mark what is mine” Spencer leaned down to suck a mark into your skin, just above the small incision he made to prove his point. The hand that had undone his belt moved to dive into your soaked cunt. You moaned, throwing your head back as he dipped two fingers into you.

Spencer was no doubtedly good with his hands, and his memory only helped him, he played you like a god damn instrument, he found your g-spot in a matter of seconds, pumping his fingers in and out of you at a ruthless pace. You were hurtling towards the edge in the matter of seconds.

“Spencer! Fuck- I’m gonna cum too soon please-!” You begged him, this was an almost endless cycle, him forcing you over that edge over and over again whenever he got the chance.

“Please what? Speed up? Slow down? What do you want baby?” he asks you, his voice was condenciending, a fake pout crossed his features seeing your eyes well up with tears again. Soon enough your body spasamed as your orgasm overtook you. After a few seconds you finally came down from your high, your body pleasurably numb.

Spencer removed his cock from its confines, you whimpered at the sight, his cock was impossibly pretty, the tip was an angry shade of red, most likely from being confined in the tight slacks he wears.

“Now, I’m going to fuck you and I swear to god if I hear one complaint or scream from you I’m fucking you with the knife, got it?” You nodded quickly, Spencer shot you a look, a silent way of saying he wanted verbal confirmation.

“Yes.” Spencer smiled, satisfied with your answer, before slowly sinking his cock into your sensitive hole. He bottomed out quickly, your last orgams proving to having loosened you up enough to take him with little to no restraint.

Once he was fully sheathed in you, his hand with the knife, that had been forgotten admist your orgasmic haze, brought it so it was resting against your throat once again. You suddenly snapped out of the brain fog that had surrounded you, acutely aware of the cold steel pressed against your throat, threatening to slice it at a given moment.

You opened your mouth to scream, but Spencer pressed the knife closer to your throat.

“Ah ah, It better not be a scream, don’t forget what I told you.” You gulped, and Spencer started moving, he started out slow before ruthlessly thrusting into you. He had a sadistic glint in his eye, obviously enjoying the fact your life rested in his hands.

It wasn’t long before both Spencer and you were cumming, typically he would need to be patient with you, but the adrenaline of the knife pressed against your throat had you closer to the edge of bliss faster than normal.

Spencer released himself into you, painting your inner walls with his cum, you moaned loudly, that being enough to finally tip you over the edge.

After a few minutes you both were a panting mess, and Spencer smirked at you.

“So, knife play? Didn’t think you were that much of a freak.”

#Spencer reid x reader #lightvixxens kinktober #kinktober 2023 #spencer reid x you

75 notes · View notes

phantasm-echo · 4 months

Text

Fives undeath real not clickbait???

(disclaimer: I am not a writer, I got bored, i havent edited any of this)

He’s barely registered the fact that he’s reaching for Rex’s discarded blaster before he feels a sharp pain in his chest and suddenly he’s laying on his back, staring at the crossing beams under the decrepit warehouse ceiling. He’s still disoriented from whatever osik Nala Se had injected him with, so he can’t help but flinch when his blurry vision focuses just enough for him to make out blond hair and worried eyes hovering close to him.

Rex, he thinks distantly.

There’s yelling all around him, but it’s drowned out by his ori’vod desperately pleading nononono Fives not you too you were meant to live I was meant to keep you safe how could I let this happen Fives nonono keep your eyes open it’s gonna be alright- and all he can think about is how wrong it is to hear his brother reduced to this mess when he’s meant to be the best of them, the strongest, the one always in control.

Rex is now clutching at his face and shoulders, shaking him, trying to get his attention or something but all it does is jolt him and suddenly the pain in his chest is unbearable and he chokes out a garbled cry as the world sharpens around him and the events of the past few days floods back to him.

Right. Tup. The chips. The plot…

As the pain in his chest numbs over and spreads gradually to the rest of his body, all Fives can think about is how he’d failed. Getting Kix to contact Rex and General Skywalker was meant to fix things, it was meant to free his brothers, it was meant to help-

He’s slowly dying and he knows it.

Well, Fives thinks distantly, I got my message to them, just thought I’d be there with them when they fixed everything.

His vision blurs again and focuses back onto Rex, who looks even more frantic than before and for the life of him Fives can’t figure out why until he feels that sting again and registers that everything sounds as if he’s underwater and then it feels like he’s underwater too as it becomes more and more difficult to take a breath in and darkness starts to creep up the edges of his vision and all part of him can think of is finally.

He can barely see Rex anymore, he’s nothing but a shaking blonde blur but he can still feel the devastation surrounding him and woah those aren’t his own feelings what the fuck but it’s alright because the darkness around him is pulling him closer, deeper, until he feels like he’s wrapped in the warmest, heaviest blanket in existence and it’s so comfortable and oh is this what it’s like to feel home?

All Fives can feel is relief as he whispers “the mission, the nightmares, they’re finally over…” and his last thought as he’s pulled under is hey since the mission is over maybe he could finally see echo and tup and hardcase and HevyDroidbaitCutup and alltherestofhislostbrothers again and and

He’s at peace as he drifts off.

Because everything is over, and he can rest now.

Right?

A gasp is torn from his throat as his eyes snap open only to immediately be blinded by the overhead lights. It feels like his chest has been torn open and he desperately scrabbles at it and looks down, only to see that oh yeah maybe that’s the reason everything hurts.

His hands are covered in blood, and it looks like one of the staples barely holding the deep Y-shaped incision on his chest closed was ripped out by his scratching. Some part of him must register that holding it closed would be optimal for his organs to actually stay in him, but all pressing his hand to the still bleeding would does is make him hyperventilate as he looks around.

For the first time since he woke up, Fives registers that there are people in the room with him. There’s at least three of them, all humanoid and wearing pristine white lab coats. They’re all staring at him in horror, except for the one closest to him, who is holding a scalpel and is leaned up against a tray of surgical tools, who stares at him in utter wonder and an excited look in their eye.

The overhead light buzzes in a way that makes the pounding in his head unbearable, and as he looks down again he registers the bloodied sheet thrown over his legs and the cold metal table he is sat on.

What the fuck.

Whatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuck

He could have sworn he was d-

But.

Clearly he can’t be.

If he were dead then his chest wouldn’t be heaving like he’d just run a hundred laps with no water, his heart wouldn’t feel like it was trying to tear its way out of his chest through force of will alone and all he can see is red, red that is still flowing from the incisions in his chest, that is leaking through his fingers and further soaking the sheet covering his lower half and-

The humanoid with the scalpel shifts to grab what looks like a hypo and all Fives can think of in the moment is of a different table he was strapped to and the long-neck with a deceptively gentle voice injecting him with something that made his thoughts so sluggish he could barely remember his mission to help Tup and oh god Tup and that made him feel like he was just a skin suit filled with unresponsive flesh-mush and it’s only instinct that he lashes his free arm out at them and suddenly they’re sliding down the far wall in front of him with a trail of blood coming from the back of their head and there’s screaming and he turns to the others in white coats and all he can feel is terror and he’s lashing out again and suddenly blood sprays over him as one’s head implodes and the other is lifted into the air scrabbling at their neck like some invisible force is choking them.

Wait- is there a Jedi? Are they here to get him out? Why is his hand thrust out towards them and and squeezing like he’s the one choking them when wait no that can’t be right what the fuck is happening-

Someone is banging on what sounds like duraglass and yelling for god knows what and it’s making his head feel like someone’s taken a pipe to his brain and lodged it in as deep as it would go but is still pushing so he twists around and watches as they break their head open on the glass and fucking finally shut up.

The yelling doesn’t stop though and he registers that it’s coming from himself but he can’t stop because what the fuck is going on he should be dead he should be seeing all his lost brothers and finally be at peace after the horrors of the joke war he wasted his life on and where is that comforting darkness when he wants it so bad-

He doesn’t realise that the hand still clutching at the wound in his chest has actually gone and ripped into the wound until fire so hot burns through him it feels like he’s being incinerated alive except he can’t be because if he was he would be dead already and fuck but he wants that mercy right now but no he’s still on this metal table, still covered in blood, and he doesn’t know when he closed his eyes but when he opens them again he looks through the blood splattered across the glass and into sickly yellow eyes.

He freezes despite the desperate urge to run as the choking feel of cloying oil surrounds his throat and still heaving lungs, and his head hurts even more and how is that even possible- a darkness overwhelms all his sense except this darkness isn’t comforting at all instead it’s invading his mind and he can’t think anymore of except for the words spoken to him

He hears a muttered “you may yet prove useful” before he is no longer himself and all is Dark.

He wakes up to sickly yellow eyes staring right through him.

He is strapped to a table (again? Nononoonononono) but this time it’s reclined so he’s perpendicular to the ground.

He pauses. This time? He doesn’t seem to remember a previous time, and wonders where the thought came from.

His master (noononononoo not master not ever traitor traitor TRAITOR) is observing him, as if waiting for a reaction of some sort.

He wonders about that. Should he be reacting? Should he say anything? (yes yes YES RIP FREE KILL HIM KILL HIM KILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIMSITHTRAITORBROTHERKILLERBROTHERABUSER)

He hasn’t been ordered to do anything, so he will do nothing. He stares back neutrally and waits despite the ache in his chest and the feel of something trickling down his skin and the growing pain behind his eyes and the feeling that something is wrong he shouldn’t be here why isn’t he doing anything-

He tries not to frown? Why would anything be wrong? He is just waiting for his orders from master.

(NONONOONONONSNAPOUTOFITWHATTHEFUCKAREYIUDOINGYOUREANARCTROOPERGUTHIM)

His master says something, and all is dark again.

This time (this time?) when he opens his eyes it’s because he feels as if he’s been struck by lightning and oh maybe it’s because he has because why else would he be convulsing in his restraints like that, why else would each of his nerves feel as if it’s been set aflame, why else would he see ice blue electricity dancing across his skin?

It’s too much, and he passes out again.

Master still hasn’t given him any orders, so he still lays perfectly immobile when he is stabbed in the leg with some sort of vibroblade but all he can do is hold his screams because he hasn’t been ordered to say anything and watch in fascinated horror as his muscles stitch back together once the blade is removed.

His master is muttering something about how fascinating this is and how of all the creatures the Force would bestow immortality to of course it had to be a clone and how how howhowhowhowhow is he doing that and he doesn’t realise he’s finally being addressed until he chokes on his breath and oily, cloying darkness feels like it’s seeping down the back of his throat and through his nostrils and ears and right into his brain and all he can think about is how he doesn’t know and oh master will be disappointed if he can’t answer and good soldiers follow orders he needs to ANSWERNONONONONONO-

Air flows into his lungs again as his master is thrown back violently before he catches himself in midair, and he doesn’t even have time to take a second breath in before he’s being electrocuted and his vision goes dark again.

#dmw(s)#star wars the clone wars #sw tcw #the clone wars #star wars #star wars tcw #arc trooper fives #tcw fives #inquisitor fives #force sensitive fives #star wars au #star wars alternate universe #star wars fanfiction #sw fanfic #star wars fic #sw fic

47 notes · View notes

herarcadewasteland · 7 months

Text

happy death day IIII

A/N: Purge night.

-SKZ x reader, 18+.

mature content, violence etc. its the purge. skz lowkey yandere. descriptions of violence and injury. mentions of kinks

also thank you @mixtape-racha for helping me with hyunjins scene idea ♥

---------

prev. - next.

-----------

previously on happy death day;

“Let’s see what else I can make you do. It’s my turn now. And you have nowhere to go. Not until Jinnie has his turn with you. Then you’re fucked. Royally fucked. Just you wait.”, he ended with a laugh at your expense, the gesture common from them at this point as he held his hand out to the side for his choice of torture.

Your eyes focused on the item slowly, the lighter and candle being placed in his hand sending you into a frenzy. Your hands tugged against your restraints again, your uninjured leg kicked out as much as it could and your torso twisted uncomfortably. Your mistake. The burn on your stomach had you shouting, back curving and head dropping onto Chan’s toned stomach as you whined at the residual burn.

“Tsk tsk. I thought I told you to hold still, doll.”, his thumb flicked the lighter wheel, “Let’s see where your disobedience got you~”

-------

The lighter clicked a few times, the flame failing to burst forth again until it did. His smile said it all as he moved the lighter close enough to your sliced chest that the heat of it made you sweat. The heat stung your wound more than the pressure of the blade, your eyes narrowing to hide as much of the pain as you could. Your efforts were fruitless as Seungmin pushed the flame against the incision, your throat constricting with a shrill scream as he ran the heat along the length of it.

“Maybe this will stop the mess you’re making, hm? Save Binnie some extra clean up like a good slut.”

You whimpered, muscles clenching as you tried to lean away from all the stimulation, the breath on your ear, the heat of the lighter and the harsh, cold gazes of the men sat and crouched before you. Your thoughts no longer existed, the pain overtaking every single sense, eyes going blurry and ears ringing as you shuddered through the burning sensation that was now doubled on your chest.

“Be a little bit nice now, Minnie, she’s not used to this~”, Minho’s voice grated at your eardrums and soothed you all at once, “Yet. So, go easy. Until she can sit still. Or don’t~”

He was clearly mocking you, your eyes rolling at his playful tone as he watched you, ankle resting on his knee as he sat and watched you suffer through hooded eyelids. His gaze would’ve turned you on any other day, the intensity, the darkness of it and the way he licked his lips as his head tilted slightly. It screamed arousal and seeing the veins on his hand become more pronounced as he lightly scratched at his elevated leg did not help you in the slightest.

Despite the situation, you squirmed in your spot, hoping it would come across as discomfort and not the unfortunate arousal you were now harboring towards Minho as he sat cockily in his chair. Your luck was never that good, his eyes turning darker as he trailed his gaze down your body, taking in the way you squirmed more when he lifted his eyes to look at you through dark eyelashes, his tongue peeking out to run over his bottom lip slowly.

“Oh Minho! She likes that! Her thighs are clenching!”, Jeongin pointed out the obvious from his floor seat, his finger extended to point at your thighs as they indeed clenched at Minho’s actions.

You were laughed at again, the sound making you shrink in on yourself as much as you could with Chan’s arms finding purchase around your bare waist to run his tongue down your neck, following the small path of love bites he had left on that side. Eyes watched you even more diligently, some darker than before and others holding a new curious light.

“Why is she getting turned on though? She’s being tortured. That’s not grounds to be aroused.”, Felix mused aloud, his eyes tracing your body like he could read all your secrets.

“Jinnie. Sungie. Go search her room while Minnie has his fun.”

“On it.”, the two in question stood to head off upstairs, Felix taking up residence in Minho’s lap this time as Seungmin clicked the lighter beside your ear.

Your head flinched to the side, narrowly avoiding Chan’s own as he stood up straight to take Hyunjins spot beside Changbin. The bucket sat menacingly between the two chairs, the smirks on their faces unnerving and distracting until heat flared in your thigh, your leg kicking out as much as it could in response. Seungmin scoffed a laugh at your reaction, the tip of the lighter meeting your skin as he clicked it back on. The pain was too overwhelming at that point, the direct heat of the hot metal and the flame itself causing you to black out. The time you were out was undetermined, the boys taking the time to look over you very closely, rubbing salve on wounds and drying your hair until Hyunjin and Jisung re-entered the room with your diary in hand.

“What is that?”

“You guys were gone for a while~ Make out while you were up there?”

“Just bring it here.”

Hyunjin brought it over to Chan without question, Minho and Jeongin teasing the two for taking so long in your room.

“It’s her diary.”, Chan sounded astonished, his eyes scanning your pretty writing filling the pages one after the after, front and back.

“Ew, who cares? Girls have too many emotions, it’s no wonder she had to write them down so often.”, Seungmin was unapologetic in his opinion as he set the lighter down once his candle was lit.

“No, no. Shut up Minnie. Not that kind of diary.”

“What other kind of diary is there?! Is it a diet log? That’s even worse!”

“It’s her dirty dreams and kink scenarios…”

“What?”

“Let me see!”

“Oh that’s actually hot.”

“Shit, what is she into?!”

“That's… quite dumb.”, Minho was the one voicing his displeasure this time, his eyes rolling in his annoyance despite leaning forward in his chair in curiosity.

“Why would she need such a large book for that? How much does she write in that thing?”

“How many are there?! I have to know how many kinks she has!”

“That seems irrelevant…”

“Shut up, Lixie! You want to know too!” ,Han huffed in return.

Felix huffed as well while they all fell silent, eyes trained on the book in question while Chan flipped through the pages faster.

“60. She’s listed 60 different kinks.”

Whistles filled the room alongside disbelieving, happy claps.

“That’s insane! Is there even that many kinks that exist?!”

“Apparently, dumbass! Read some out!”

The boys leaned towards Chan as he flipped back to the near middle of your diary of horniness, his eyes scanning to carefully choose which kinks he wanted to expose. His eyes met Binnie’s darkened ones as he read over Chan’s shoulder, his hands gripping the seat of the chair as he focused on one in particular.

“Wax play…”

Seungmin made a noise of approval, fingers running up and down the length of his candle as he glanced back at your unconscious form.

“Knife play…”

“YES!”, Felix cheered as he spun in a circle, his fists punching the air at the good news.

“Breath play…”

Changbin growled, his eyes straying back to you as a slow smirk crawled across his pretty lips.

“Fear play…”

Hyunjin and Jeongin let out thoughtful hums, glancing at each other with knowing looks.

“Oh, she does have a daddy kink… or more so a sir/master kink…”

Minho smirked smugly, his eyes still focused on your resting body oblivious to all your secrets being revealed.

“She likes being degraded… and praised… but she also likes impact play.”

Minho laughed this time, Felix’s dark laugh following as Minho’s body fell against the back of the chair in wonder at the knowledge he held on you. Hyunjin and Jisung high fiving while Chan had his own mini celebration as he scanned the page a few times over.

“Oh, Innie… She has a scenario written of being hunted…”, Chan’s dark eyes met Jeongin’s as he registered the words in his head, “She likes to be hunted.”

A round of applause and laughter followed, Jeongin’s smirk growing as he watched you wriggle lightly in your sleep. The thoughtful silence that followed would have been unnerving to you had you not been passed out, the group sending each other glances as they re-thought their plans for the next 6 hours of purge night. They would purge, oh yeah they would. And you would be participating in your own way as you had been for the first half, most of it unbeknownst to you as you had been watching whatever shitty drama was on for those who needed the distraction.

“Oh I’ll hunt you, bunny. You’ll never remember living in peace when I’m done with our little hunt.”, Jeongin walked towards you slowly as he spoke in a slight growl, his eyes narrowed as he placed his hands gently on your burnt, glossy thighs, “I’m going to have so much fun playing the big bad wolf… poor little Y/N-ie~ You have no idea how fast your heart will beat when its me after you next. But you will~”

He stood up from his bent position over your prone figure with slight pressure on your thighs, the action making you whimper lowly as he tilted his head at you with a deep hum that sent shivers down your spine even in your sleep.

“Yah, she can’t hear you. Save your monologue for when you’re hunting her.”

Jeongin huffed out a long sigh that made Felix giggle, Changbin patting his back roughly as he also chuckled at Minho’s words. A comfortable silence filled the room, your sleep riddled breaths calming them all as they talked quietly amongst themselves, Hyunjin grabbing the book from Chan to sit on the kitchen counter, flipping through the worn pages for himself. His sharp eyes scanned each word, absorbing what each meant for his turn until he landed on a scenario that made his heart race. Hyunjin’s eyes met Seungmin’s briefly as he looked over to your figure in the chair, the click and fizzle of the lighter adding some background noise as they all became absorbed in you once more.

“It’s time to wake her up. Who wants the honor?”

Glances were cast around the room in curiosity, most landing on Felix as he was already sauntering towards you in preparation, hands rubbing together like a fly as he bent to place his lips against your ear softly.

“Wakey wakey~ It’s time to wake up~”, his deep voice echoed in your subconscious causing you stir slightly as he repeats in your ear, soft lips brushing the shell of your ear until his words woke you with a start, your head flinging away from him as your body jerked in the chair.

A light scoff sounded from farther in the room, Hyunjin’s eyes meeting yours for a solid second before Felix was chuckling in your ear and drawing your attention to the significant ache in your thighs. Glancing at your thighs, you let out your biggest gasp of the night, blisters and red spots littering your flesh. Seungmin was smiling proudly at your feet, his lips parting slightly with proud breaths as he watched your reaction.

“Don’t get too comfortable now, pretty, Binnie wants a little more time with you before we send you off for Jinnie.”

Hums of agreement from Minho and Han confirmed your fate, Hyunjin meeting your eyes with a bored look until smirked at the way your eyes flickered across his face and body at almost inhuman speeds. Your attention was snapped away from his magnetic energy as Changbin stood to head back to the sink with the bucket, the water turning on and sending tingles across your body as you trembled slightly.

Mentally preparing yourself for your next make-shift swim, you closed your eyes tightly and took shaky breaths through your nose to get used to conserving air when you were under. Unfortunately for you, the boys knew your plans, a rough hit jarring you from your nearly meditative state, coughs jolting your wrapped leg painfully as your eyes focused on Chan, his fist still clenched and ready to send your air from your lungs with another hit in mere seconds if you dared to try and outsmart them and prepare yourself for something that they knew you enjoyed deep down.

A light spritz of water hit you and you looked around in slight anger, who the fuck just sprayed you like a bad cat? The covered laughter of Minho and Jeongin answered your question, the spray bottle in Minho’s large hand sending you into a blind rage, disregarding any further danger it may have put you in.

“What the fuck?! How dare you? I am not a misbehaving cat! And I am absolutely not a plant in need of watering so pray tell why the fuck you just sprayed me like both of those things!”, you panted for breath, your outburst taking more energy than you thought as you didn’t take a breath through it all.

The dark eyes around the room narrowed and filled with mirth, watching you seethe in your place. All but one. Hyunjin was furious now. His sharp eyes darker than you had seen them that night as he slid from the counter, your diary in hand as his steps rattled your bones as he made his way to you, the boys going silent and deadly serious as they moved out of his way.

“Do you want to fucking repeat that, darling?”, Hyunjin’s voice was deep, darkness seeping from the edges as he lowered himself to your level, “I don’t think you fucking do, so don’t you dare continue with your petty attitude.”

He stood up from his bent position, his mesh covered abs meeting your eye-sight as you growled back at him.

“Who are you to tell me what to say? They were calling you Jinnie! You think that’s fucking scary to me? It’s about as scary as ‘Lixie’ and ‘Minnie’ and ‘Binnie’ which is not at all! So clean up your own attitude, Jinnie, before you try to tell me what to do!”

The silence was deafening, no gunshots from outside seemed to exist. No more screams filled your ears from the distance. No water ran in your sink, no lighter clicked on and off in large hands. There was nothing but your breathing and Hyunjin’s dangerous stare as he lowered himself to your level once more, pretty veined hand gripping your jaw tight enough to break it if he wanted.

“I fucking dare you to say that again. Go on. You had enough nerve seconds ago to mock me like a big girl. Own up to it! I'm waiting.”

The heat and danger in his eyes told you he was testing you, you should stay silent and shake your head. But you were stubborn and a little too dumb to be good enough at keeping your mouth shut when you needed to.

“You’re such a dickhead! How big is your ego, huh? I think it takes up your whole being, no room for rational thought past your unending god-syndrome and self-praise! How pathetic is that? The fact you need your ego to even like your-”

Slap.

Swoosh.

Crack. Stinging.

Slap.

His hand hit your cheek repeatedly, a belt lashing from Felix being added in for a moment as he seethed for Hyunjin. The man in question was staring you down with an even darker look in his eyes, the anger behind it giving you goosebumps as he heaved for breath through his anger. His hand gripped your jaw tighter, the bone aching as his fingers dug into it harshly, his thumb tugging down your bottom jaw as he leaned down to stare into your eyes from around the height of your forehead.

Twah. Twah. Twah.

You flinched with each hit of his spit against your tongue, your eyes closing as he shut your mouth roughly, teeth clacking together painfully as your eyebrows contorted in disgust. His gaze held firm as his hand shifted to pinch your nose closed, the action forcing you to open your mouth and drool everywhere or swallow and breathe normally again. Your choice was decided quite quickly for you as Hyunjin raised a single eyebrow, his free hand reaching into the waistband of his dark jeans to pull a pistol from within. Your eyes widened but you weren’t that surprised seeing he had one on him, all of them probably did. What caught you off guard was the click of the safety and the press of the gun against your throat.

“I suggest you fucking swallow if you don’t want me to blast out your pretty throat with something other than my cock.”, Hyunjin was growling now, his voice surpassing Felix’s deepest tone as he cocked his eyebrow higher, a small mocking smirk curving his pretty lips, “That would be such a shame wouldn’t it? Yeah, I think it would.”

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

taglist: @extremechaoswarning @mixtape-racha @artisticbirb

--------

next.

55 notes · View notes

jackhues · 1 year

Text

i promise - jamie drysdale

request: i love your jamie drysdale fics i just love him he’s one of my favourite players. i was wondering if you could write something where the readers insecure, and he just comforts her

requested by: anon : )

notes: tbh, idk how i feel about this, like i'm sorry it's so short, but it's still kinda cute. hope you like it, thanks for requesting <3

tags: @woodruff-edwards , @austinbutlerscaresme , @zegras2crosby , @l0veforhugh3s , @hockeyboysarehot , @ratkingbunting , @mysticaldonkey , @lam-ila , @babydollmarauders , @starjoyyy , @kjohnson-91 , @gavinbrindley @huggyhugh , @jackhughesily , @panarin10 <3

join my taglist!

gif not mine!

you ran your fingers over the scar.

running down the back of your right leg, it marked where the incision for your tendon repair surgery had been. finally free of the stitches and leg brace, you were now left with a scar that ran down the bottom of your leg.

it was thick and ugly, the skin still a little red considering how new of a wound it was. the doctor told you it would heal over time, but it’d always be a little visible.

you sighed miserably at the thought of the swimsuit you’d bought a week before the tendon had snapped. you weren’t sure when you’d be able to wear it now.

you knew it wouldn’t be anytime soon.

with the ugliest scar to exist running down your leg, you didn’t want to torment the rest of the world. seeing people try to hide their laughter would be worse than laughing outright.

you pulled your sweatpants down to cover the scar as footsteps padded down the hall. you lay on the couch, a barely touched book on your lap and the t.v. remote somewhere underneath you.

“morning,” jamie kissed the top of your head, stretching out as he made his way to the kitchen. “you want waffles or pancakes?”

you shrugged, half paying attention, “either’s fine.”

jamie turned on his heel immediately, furrowing his brows at your answer.

“what?” you asked, curling in on yourself. the look he was giving you was doing absolutely nothing to motivate your self-consciousness.

“are you okay?” he asked, looking you up and down, almost as if he could diagnose you by a scan.

“i’m fine,” you told him. “this better not be a way to get out of making breakfast.”

“it’s not,” he put a hand to his heart as if he was actually offended. jamie walked closer, kneeling on the ground in front of you. “it’s just, you always have a very strong opinion on either pancakes or waffles. every single time. the fact that you’re saying either is making me a little concerned.”

“i’m just a bit tired,” you tried to smile. “um… i think i’ll take waffles today.”

you patted jamie’s head, hoping it would be enough to send him away. but of course, jamie was a little too attentive sometimes.

“y/n?” he sat down in front of you, taking your hand in his. “i’m not gonna force you to talk, but i’m not an idiot. i know something’s wrong. if you don’t want to talk, i’m gonna respect that. but you don’t have to shut me out, i’m here for you.”

maybe you were absolutely done with all the shit you’d been through ever since your injury, or maybe it was the way jamie was so gentle with you, but before you knew it, you were sobbing in his arms, crying about how ugly your leg looked.

“and i hate it so much, jamie,” you sobbed, sticking your face in his shoulder. “i hate it.”

“hey, breathe,” he rubbed your back, holding you close. “breathe, y/n.”

you took a shaky breath, wiping your eyes as you pulled away.

“i’m sorry, it’s so stupid,” you muttered, shaking your head.

“don’t do that,” jamie muttered. “don’t discredit how you’re feeling. you don’t like it, and that’s fine. but it’s not ugly. not to me, i promise.”

“you’re just saying that because you’re my boyfriend,” you muttered miserably.

“y/n, look at me,” jamie said, tilting his fingers under your cheek to get you to look up. he brought your hand near his back where a scar lay. “you’ve always said you’ve loved my scar, even when i’ve always hated it.”

you began to tear up a bit as jamie continued speaking.

“i promise, y/n,” he kissed your hand, “that your scar is nothing to be ashamed of. if i have to spend the rest of my life loving it, showing you how to love it, i will. i promise.”

234 notes · View notes

ashtonisvibing · 6 months

Text

"I dare you to..."

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Alternate Universe: None

Ship(s): Intrulogical

Character(s): Logan Sanders, Remus Sanders

Warning(s): Dissection, mentions of cannibalism, possible actual cannibalism (depends how you look at it)

Originally Published: Nov. 15, 2023

Author's Notes:

wowowow, sanders sides! i've finally added them to my roster, wowie!

intrulogical fanfic cuz i love my favorite lab rat x mad scientist couple :}c

side note, the cannibalism tag is on a technicality... and also as a "just in case". you'll understand when you read, but if it doesn't ACTUALLY count as cannibalism please let me know!

also... i have no idea how a dissection works, only time i dissected something was during biology when we dissected rats, and i barely remember how we did that. but hey, i think a messy and improper dissection is perfect for these freaks (affectionate)

pronouns check:

logan - he/him

remus - he/it

if you liked what you read, consider giving this a reblog, please! it'll let more people see my work!

[plain text: if you liked what you read, consider giving this a reblog, please! it'll let more people see my work!]

Full Story:

The squelching of blood and organs mixed with Remus' mindless chatter was always a mix that Logan enjoyed during their "dates", if one could consider cutting into your boyfriend and dissecting him a date. The duke was talking about his most recent idea to prank Roman, arms gesturing around as he tried not to interfere with Logan's careful slicing of his skin. The last time he accidentally got in the way he nearly lost a finger. Not like he hadn't caused himself to lose more than just that before, placing his dismembered limbs around the Mindscape was a real treat when he heard Patton and Roman's terrified screams.

"So, what surprise do you have for today's escapade?" Logan interrupted his boyfriend's endless chatter, having made the incisions and waiting to get any sort of hint for what could be under the nearly deathly pale skin. It was always something new with their dates. One time the duke had replaced everything inside of his chest- bones, organs, even the veins and muscles and blood- with globs of clay. The nerd's first sign that something was amiss should have been the fact that no blood had surfaced when he inserted his scalpel into the skin.

Remus simply gave a chuckle as he looked up at Logan. "What, you really think I'm gonna tell that easily?" He then made an attempt at wiggling his upper body seductively. To anyone else it would look awkward, the laying position he was in certainly didn't help. For Logan and his visibly blue with blush cheeks it did the trick quite well. "C'mon Mr. Scientist, crack me open and rearrange my insides like you did last night~" And that blue blush was quick to become the nerd's blue face, to which Re cracked a smirk. It wasn't hard to fluster his boyfriend, he had learned how to make his innuendos obvious enough for Lo to understand while still being able to have fun with the wording.

Logan cleared his throat as he adjusted the goggles on his face; he insisted on wearing eye protection, just in case he was splattered with any sort of substance once again. "The difference here being that I may have to gag you this time if you keep speaking like that." Dating Remus certainly had its ups. The innuendos and suggestive flirting was something that had rubbed off on him. And the duke absolutely loved it.

"Aww, don't threaten me with a good time, sir~" Remus laughed. "'sides, I know you can't resist all the sounds I can make~"

"Do you want me to literally open you up or are we doing something else now?" The nerd hummed as he looked at the man below him. Admittedly he didn't want this date to switch over to anything else so quickly. While it might not be obvious to anyone else who didn't know him well enough, Lo was excited to see whatever surprise awaited him in the chest cavity he had created in Re. He didn't want to have to sew his boyfriend up without even getting to see anything. Remus was honestly the only one who knew Logan well enough to see that excitement in the other's almost midnight blue eyes. How could he possibly pull his boyfriend away from this just for some sex, especially when it was obvious that he wasn't in the mood.

The duke gave a smile as he set his hands on either side of his abdomen, as if he was presenting whatever was in there to the nerd. "Open me up, berry. Think you'll be surprised by this round." He chuckled softly.

On that command Logan grabbed a couple pairs of retractors to pull the skin flaps back and hold them in place. And what he saw in the cavity was... Quite normal. Heart, lungs, liver, nerves, everything seemed to be there. There wasn't any discoloration, no weird textures. Everything was as red and pink and fleshy as it all should be. Lo raised an eyebrow as he looked around for anything that could be out of place. Maybe bugs were about to start crawling out from who knows where? Maybe a strange creature would pop out Alien style? But nothing happened. "Is this it?" Logan finally asked as he looked at his boyfriend's face. He couldn't help the bit of disappointment in his voice, Re's strange antics were why he loved these dates.

Remus simply shrugged in response. "Eh, not feeling that creative today." Before the nerd could retaliate the duke kept speaking. "How 'bout we play some truth or dare while you look around in there?" He let out a giggle. Now Logan was even more confused.

"Truth or dare..??"

"Yeah!" Re's giggle turned into a laugh as he nodded, his hands shooting up into the air. "That's what can be different this time! Playing a fun game together! Please, berry?"

Logan could never resist when his boyfriend pulled those puppy eyes, they made him completely melt. How could he not when the other looked as cute as he did? So he gave a sigh and nodded, picking up a scalpel to begin his dissection. Might as well do something while they played truth or dare. "Alright, alright. Who's going to start?"

"I will, I will!" Remus continued to laugh as he clapped his hands over his head. "Truth or dare?"

The nerd took a second to think his choice over. "Truth."

"Is it true that you looooove me~?" Re's question was ended in a snicker as he looked up at his boyfriend, cheeks a slight green. He was rarely ever corny with his flirting, preferring to be more sexual and gross. But he had his moments when it was just the two of them. And those moments always managed to bring a smile to Lo's lips and a flutter to his heart.

"I wouldn't be dating you if I didn't love you, you rat." Logan chuckled softly as he not-at-all carefully broke off one of Re's ribs to get a better look at it. He was still convinced that he would find something unusual about the other's insides. It happened with every other dissection. Why was this time any different? "Truth or dare?"

"Hmmmmm... Dare. Gimme a good one, a real... Creepy one." Remus chuckled softly, his arms crossing behind his head to prop it up a little.

Logan set the rib on a separate table beside him, where he'd keep anything else he'd pull out. They'd be placed back inside his boyfriend later. "I dare you to pull your eyes out."

Re's response was to blow raspberries at the nerd before easily pulling his vibrant green eyes out of their sockets with a comical pop, a black ink-like substance now oozing from the holes. He didn't seem very pleased by this dare. "C'mon Lo, pulling my eyes out is the oldest trick in my book! I did this a couple'a days ago to put them in Virgin's soda! Should've seen the look on his face, if he was Patton he would've vomited right then and there!" He gave a triumphant laugh before putting his eyes back where they should be, and the black substance stopped dripping. "Shame he's got a stronger stomach, but he went even paler than even my skin!"

"Apologies, I would have given something more horrifying, but..." The nerd drew out his sentence as he cut and pulled out one of Remus' kidneys, showing it off to his boyfriend. "I'm occupied with something else, as you can tell." The pair shared a chuckle - from Logan - and a laugh - from Remus.

"It's fine, berry. Just try to gimme something better." The duke smiled, taking his own kidney from the other to hold it in his hand and get a closer look. "Ain't nothing too gross for the Duke of the Macabre!"

"Of course, how could I forget?" Logan chuckled again, taking a pause from his work to take one of Remus' hands into his own, placing a soft kiss on the back of it. He couldn't help his smirk when he looked over at his boyfriend's face and saw the other's cheeks were a bright green. Some may think it hard to get the duke to blush and become flustered considering his crude and smutty way of flirting. Lo knew that all it took was gentle affection and the duke was putty in his hands. He just had to make sure no one else was around, but he was fine with keeping such moments private. It was his own precious secret.

The pair went back and forth with their little game for a while, the truths and dares getting more and more wild as the rounds went on. Until Logan asked for a dare, a shift from his truth preference, and Remus gave one

"Dare you to take a bite out of my intestine ya got there."

Sure enough, the nerd was holding his boyfriend's small intestine in his hands. The cavity was nearly empty by now. Only the heart, lungs, and small intestine having been left in. Logan did know that logically Remus would be able to survive without his heart and lungs, but he was still hesitant to take them out lest something go wrong this time.

The dare made him take quite a pause as it registered in his brain. He glanced at the organ in his hands, then at his boyfriend, then at the organ again. "Are you suggesting cannibalism?"

Remus gave a simple shrug in response, his eyes closed and arms once again crossed under his head. "Cannibalism, having a little snack, call it whatever ya want." He then snickered as his eyes opened to look at the other. "C'mon, don't chicken out now. No one else is here, they'll never know. We're technically not even real so, like, it's not really a crime, right? Don't gotta worry about infection, either! Promise I wash my insides every other day!" He then propped himself up by his elbows as best as he could so he could be closer to the other, those vibrant green eyes full of their usual mischief and chaos. "'sides, you're really gonna tell me you've never thought of it? What it might taste like? If it might gush with blood the moment you bite down into it, or how tender it might be. I'm not Janus but you can't lie to me. You're dating the Duke of the Macabre after all, you've gotta have some fucked up thoughts sometimes."

It honestly wouldn't be a lie to say that the thought had crossed Logan's mind a couple of times before. Of course Remus of all things had eaten human flesh before, mostly as a prank. Last Halloween he had tried to set out a bowl of assorted dismembered fingers and eyeballs and even tongues, and to try to prove his point that his bowl should stay among the actual candy, he pulled out one of the fingers and just ate it like it was a chicken leg. And while everyone else - save for Janus, the only other person besides Logan who was used to Re's antics - was utterly horrified, Lo couldn't help his thought of joining Remus to see just what it might taste like. Knowing the duke there was a chance that the bowl wasn't actually filled with body parts, only food made to look like such. But... Maybe they were. He now would never know, until now. He could satisfy his curiosity.

And so, after a surprisingly short think over, the nerd closed his eyes and bit into the intestine in his hands.

"... Blueberry-?" Logan spoke with the biteful still in his mouth, and with his eyes now opened he could see that... The intestine had turned blue, and had a gummy-like appearance to it. And sure enough when he started chewing, it was just like chewing a giant gummy worm. There was confusion written all over Lo's face that made Remus erupt with laughter.

"And that's the surprise! Gummy insides!" The duke sat up and reached over to the table where the assorted guts and bones sat, and all of those had turned into different colored gummies as well. He took a now orange stomach and bit into it with a happy smile. "Mmm, citrus... Think it might be grapefruit, can't quite tell." He shrugged before taking another bite, this time speaking with the candy in his mouth. "Figured I'd make this round more surprising by revealing it later." He swallowed his bite before continuing to speak. "Though I'm surprised, you didn't think over your dare that much before you took a good bite. Maybe you really are as fucked up as I am." He snickered.

Lo continued to stare at his boyfriend with that intended surprise before chuckling, hopping up onto the operating table. "Well, I am dating you after all." He took out the other end of the small intestine and handed it to Remus. "I'm sure I have to be... Fucked up, as you put it, to date you." Remus' smile grew more as he took the other end. Eating his gummified small intestine Lady and the Tramp style with his boyfriend wasn't a prediction for today, but it was certainly something he'd welcome with open arms.

"And that's why I love you, berry."

#ashton is writing #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #logan sanders #remus sanders #intrulogical #tw dissection #tw cannibalism

34 notes · View notes

flatoutin-eaurouge · 9 months

Text

Clotted blood and Damp Tears

Part 1 of Loneliness and Disputes

Pairing: Mika Häkkinen x Michael Schumacher

(X)

The first time it happened Mika was out of his mind with fear. It was as if he was reliving his crash and the very graphic aftermath of it.

Everywhere he looked was blood. On the rug, on the bathroom tiles, on his pyjamas. It could be any moment now that Dr. Watkins would rush in to re-open the barely healed incision in his throat to push another breathing tube in, to prevent him from drowning in his own blood. It had happened a few times more the last week, but Mika would never get used to it. He lifted his head from the toilet bowl and stared at the crimson blood coating the porcelain inside. The shock still visible in his eyes and the tears still wet on his cheeks. Perkele!

He had quietly shuffled to the toilet on his still wobbly legs, because he didn't want to wake Michael whom had dozed off in his visitor's chair. And now here he was. Sitting on the floor, his head in his hands and a fine sheen of shimmering blood coating his lips. He didn't want this anymore. It was as if his injured body was posessed by a demon, who took great joy in torturing him. Throwing up your own blood was something Mika had only seen in horror movies. He had no idea if the reason he had been throwing up was because his body wanted to get rid off the clotted blood inside of him or that his ongoing migraines had caused the nausea.

Mika cradled his arms around his aching body and stared into the void while his tears left damp trails on his cheeks. He barely remembered that Michael came to visit him in the evening. He was so astonished that his rival cared enough about him to pay him a visit, but at the same Mika had barely been able to keep his eyes open, consumed by pain and tiredness. And now he regretted that. He wished he would've stayed awake to properly thank Michael. To tell him how much it meant. But he was a disabled loser, that couldn't even keep his tears from rolling down his face.

All of a sudden, there was a knock on the door of the hospital bathroom.

"Mika, are you in there?"

It stayed silent on the other side of the door. Mika knew it was Michael and he didn't want Michael to see him like this. He didn't want to be ridiculed by his childhood rival who was, in contrast to him, actually succesful in F1. Even though Mika knew it was a puncture that had caused his crash, he still felt like a failure in contrast to his peer.

"Mika, are you alright? Do I need to get help?"

"No." Mika wiped his tears with the sleeve of his pyjama top. Although Michael's words sounded sincere, he didn't want him too close. "I am fine, just throwing up some blood. Nothing out of the ordinary." Now didn't that sound ridiculous! Mika thought.

"That doesn't sound good. You should have woken me! Can you open the door?" The knocking increased. "Mika please. I am worried about you."

"Uhm..." Mika tried to look for excuses to have Michael leave the room. Why not just ignore the question and change the subject. "Michael, could you please get me an orange juice from the shop downstairs, for the metallic taste in my mouth?"

Michael didn't reply at first. It was as if he was contemplating kicking the door open to come to Mika's rescue. Mika heard him sigh. "Sure, just don't do anything stupid while I am away!"

After Michael had closed the door of the hospital room, Mika counted to ten before he unlocked the bathroom, to make sure Michael would not return to witness him pathetically limping to his bed. Mika hated the unsteadiness in his legs. His fine motor skills on the left side of his body had really been damaged by the impact of the crash and were healing so irritatingly slowly, although Mika was lucky to be alive.

On his way to the bed Mika limped past his stupid wheelchair. He needed the thing for long trips through the corridors of the hospital. Most of the time when a nurse gestured at his wheelchair it meant something unpleasant was coming up. Often it hinted at a traumatizing test with needles and lots of pain involved.

Coming to a halt at his bed, Mika lifted himself on the mattress with a pained frown. His muscles were shaking and hurting so badly from the movement, and he felt so weak. He quickly started to work on making his face look like he hadn't cried like a toddler. Runnig the fabric of his pyjama shirt over his eyes and cheeks until it hurt.

When Michael returned Mika was sitting upright in his bed, trying to muster a smile. Michael swallowed when he saw the Finn's blood-red teeth. He also noticed Mika's upper lip tremble, as if his rival was trying to hold back his tears. Michael clenched his fists, almost crushing the orange juice box in his hands, as he fought the urge to envelop Mika in his arms. The poor boy had to endure so much at this young age and he was trying to come across as a tough cookie, but Michael knew that inside Mika was hurting really badly.

To be honest Michael felt as broken as the Finn. To celebrate your championship while your childhood rival was in the hospital fighting for his life, had hurt him so badly. Michael had felt sick to the stomach appearing at the start that Sunday afternoon without Mika and his McLaren MP4/10. And now the boy was sitting opposite to him with a trembling upper lip and drops of dried blood on his pyjama top.

He couldn't. He really couldn't bear the sight. From the very first start of their rivalry Michael had a weird soft spot for Mika, a sudden unexplained fondness, that made Michael question himself. Why was this guy making my heart flutter? Even at the time they were both lanky teenagers with mullets, Michael and Mika had an unspoken attraction towards each other. That was exactly why this sight hurt him so much. Mika needed a competive car to battle against him. Not Damon Hill. Only Mika.

Mika was staring into Michael's green orbs, trying to keep up his act of aloofness. He couldn't show weakness to the guy he shared such an intense history with. The Michael. The German had always been an object of his interest. The way he carried himself in the paddock. The image of a rising super star. In contrast, Mika felt like he himself was "just a guy".

Mika looked at Michael again to make sure, he didn't notice the tears pricking behind his eyes. Until he really started to feel his vision blur. Please don't start crying now, you weakling. Mika crumpled the bed sheets in his fists, until he felt two soft hands enveloping his tensed wrists in sudden warmth.

Before he knew what he was doing, Michael untwisted those trembling hands from the bedlinen. "Don't, Mika. Take it easy." His arms snaked around the shaking Finn tightly but gently, to make sure he wouldn't hurt Mika's aching body. "Come here. Don't be so hard on yourself."

Mika gulped in a startle. The welcome warmness feeling very sudden and foreign coming from a source he would never dare have dreamt of. He felt Michael's fingers in his hair, gently caressing his blonde locks. He didn't know what to say. He didn't even notice how his tears started to stream down his cheeks like small waterfalls. Drops falling on the sheets between them.

Michael hushed him, overcome with his own emotions. "Let it all out, Mika. It will feel like a relief." He caressed Mika's back and felt the tremors running down his spine. He bit on his cheek when he realised how ill the Finn actually was. He could feel the weight loss through the thin material of Mika's pyjamas. He could have lost him. It dawned on Michael like a dark thunder cloud, and it caused him to thighten his hold around his rival.

Mika felt the sincere affection, and reveled in it. Quickly embracing the once so foreign gesture as one of the most normal things in the world. His tears started to dry up.

Michael stared into Mika's ocean-blue eyes in fondness and gently caressed the stray tears from his cheeks. "Now that you let them all out, you need to relax". He guided the Finn with a hand on his back to lie down on the mattress.

Mika lied down willingly and squeezed Michael's other hand. "Michael, will you still be here tomorrow morning?"

"Yes, Mika. That's a promise."

#tw blood #for my hard working makkinen girlies #mika häkkinen #makkinen #mika hakkinen #f1 fanfic #f1 #formula 1 #f1 fic #flatoutin-eaurouge #michael schumacher #f1fanfic

35 notes · View notes