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sunderingstars · 6 months ago

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don't be a coward, roll the dice 🎲

✩ ‧₊˚ ⌞ DICE ROLL #43 — A BLOODY KISS ⌝

based on this post!

word count: 1.4k

what the stars reveal: boothill x reader, gn!reader, boothill calls reader "darlin'," slight mentions of blood, i'm allergic to not putting a Narrative™ in everything i write

— thank you for the excuse to write angst cheerisse >:3

Three days. That’s how long it had been since Boothill told you he’d return. Three long, grueling, torturous days. You thought you’d be used to it by now — the stretches of time he went radio silent for one reason or another, flickering out of your life like a candle. Yet, it was impossible to truly release.

Despite occupying such an important role in his life, a partner in all its meanings, it was so easy for him to dissipate, to leave wisps of smoke behind as his flame dwindled. It was the fleeting nature of a Galaxy Ranger, you knew, but you couldn’t understand. What was the point of making you worry? What was the point of those sleepless nights?

On day one you had forced yourself to be patient. Quiet. You molded yourself to the chair at your workstation and sat, eyes roaming over the bits of machinery and time-worn tools scattered about. Once in a while, you’d even let yourself tinker with a piece or two, just to make sure everything was ready for his arrival. You had an important job after all; not just the maintenance of his body, but of his soul and mind. Nothing was quite as sweet as the moments your eyes met while tuning him.

But the second day began to gnaw at you. Twist, in your stomach, like snakes. Their sour venom began to leak into your mind, swirl your worries in a cocktail of potential tragedies, and you contemplated sending him a message. Just one. Enough to ease your mind, to let him know a small blip of you was waiting for him back home. After a few hours of pacing back and forth in your shared kitchen, you worked up the determination to do it.

… No response. Not at dinnertime, not in the evening, and certainly not in the early hours of the morning — most of which you lay painfully awake during. Only the cruel static of a blank screen remained, blinking once, twice, as it tried and failed to reach him among a sea of stars.

The third day was the worst. Everything seemed to compound, balloon out in your mind to the point it began to seep into other parts of your being. You bounced your leg, bit your fingernails, peeled at your lip without even registering it. Eventually, you made your way to the storage closet for some whiskey, if not to take the edge off then to at least give your mouth a diversion.

You had just popped open a bottle when you heard a clank. Immediately, you stilled. Listened again. The bottle, prone, hung in your grip.

Clank.

It was outside, not in.

You were out the door faster than you could blink, legs weaving around rocks and brush as you trampled anything too small to get caught on. The sun was beginning to set, casting the arid landscape in darkening hues of pink and gold, but you knew this place like the back of your hand; the lengthening shadows did nothing to stop your pursuit. Under normal circumstances, you’d be more concerned about threats — wild animals, loose tools, even the stray IPC guard who managed to track down your location, but you didn’t care about any of that now. Not when Boothill was on the line.

So you persisted. Drew closer to the noise as much as you could, eventually picking up an increase in frequency and the soft humming of a tired engine. You squinted. Then, you almost collapsed in relief; trundling down the paved dirt road was a motorbike. Boothill’s motorbike. It was a ghost of its former self, laden with loose parts and constant stuttering and a headlight practically severed from the rest, but it was his.

Not wanting to waste any more time, you picked up your pace with a clear destination in mind. It’s not like he could properly run you over anyways. You were surprised the thing was even moving.

“Boothill?” you called into the dusk. Out-of-breath and ragged, your mind began to filter through your fears, fearing silence, fearing stillness.

However, as the silhouette slowly resolved into familiarity, so too came a voice that pricked tears at your eyes.

“Yes, darlin’?”

Whatever sharp spark of anger coasted through your chest at the causal response fizzled into nothing once you laid eyes on his face. That signature smile, those red-tinted eyes, all backlit against the rays of a dying sun. Healthy. Whole. Alive. Once again, you felt as though your legs might give out.

You made it just far enough to lean against the shuddering fuel tank before using the last of your willpower to vault yourself towards the open embrace of Boothill’s chest, wrapping your arms tightly around his torso. A hearty laugh sounded against you.

“Missed me that much, huh?”

You mumbled an unintelligible response. The loud hum of the bike became an irrelevant backdrop to the soft hum of metal and leather, the feeling of machinery quietly whirring against the skin of your cheek. No stutters, no pauses. Unlike the dying corpse below, Boothill was running smoothly. You breathed a sigh of relief.

“Why…?”

You didn’t have to finish your sentence before a sigh crested against the crown of your head. A hand, firm and comforting, came to rest on the back of your neck. “’M sorry, darlin’. Damn phone got busted. I knew you’d worry, but tryin’ to make a call in IPC territory was too risky.”

“It’s okay,” you mumbled, breath hitching in a vain attempt to keep tears from falling. “I’m just happy you’re— you’re safe.”

In your arms, the leather of his jacket shifted. A warm weight pressed to the small of your back.

“Aw,” he cooed, breath fanning across your cheek as he shifted you into a more comfortable position, “it’s alright. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

Something about the combination of his words and actions, the familiar smell of gunsmoke and malt clinging to him like home, made it all bubble over. Before you knew it, you were tilting out and up, cupping your hands against Boothill’s cheeks, bringing him home. In the last painted rays of the sun, your lips met in a stroke of vibrant color.

It felt like everything you had wanted over the past half-week — brightness, relief, the surety of something alive and warm against you. An immeasurable weight left with the tear-tracks down your face, each fear dissipating with a new round of wetness. His lips slotted against yours with the ease of practice. Drifted with purpose to wash away your worry. By the time you tasted tang, you thought it must have been you. It wasn’t uncommon for a part of your lips or tongue to get caught in Boothill’s sharp canines, rupturing the skin ever so slightly to form a pinprick of blood. However, it became clear this wasn’t the case when you surfaced for air.

As your eyes adjusted to the growing darkness, you began to make out faint, dark splatters against your partner’s face.

Fear returned to you in a rush. You hadn’t even checked for flesh injuries when you first saw him, too caught up in the relief of seeing him again.

“Boothill—” you said, fingers tracking carefully along the edge of his mouth where you could see a blossom of dark blood emerging, “—Boothill!”

The man in question hummed in confusion. Slightly frantically, you traced the pads of your fingers along the edges of the splatter. It was fresh. Oh, Aeons, it was fresh, and you hadn’t even thought—

“Woah, hey.” The low timbre of Boothill’s voice brought you out of your spiral. The hands on your back rubbed soothing circles, the kind he used when trying to calm a horse. “It’s nothin’, darlin’.”

“‘Nothing?’” you asked incredulously.

“It’s not mine, if that’s what you’re askin’.” He shot you an infuriating smile. “A few folks from the corporation got on my nerves, that’s all.” Then, when your skepticism remained: “Promise.”

You bit your lip, trying to tamp down the fluttering revival of fear in your chest. You couldn’t deny it, though — even in the night, the drying splatters clearly arced in a passing motion rather than a bleeding one. For what felt like forever, you focused your eyes on the spot near his mouth, burning it into your mind until it dispelled any doubt.

Eventually, you slumped, more out of fatigue than anything else. “Okay.”

“Alright?”

“Okay,” you repeated, “but we’re going inside first. And I’m still checking you over.”

Boothill chuckled. “‘Course. Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Then, he smiled, and you found yourself silently glad for the darkness, for the ability to see the radiance of the man before you in place of a sun.

It was beautiful.

#⌞ ✎ sunder.writes ⌝#⌞ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ⭑ ⋆⁺₊⋆ constellation: cheerisse ⛵️ ⌝#fanfic #boothill x reader #hsr x reader #gn!reader #boothill #hsr #boothill hsr #honkai star rail x reader #honkai: star rail x reader #x reader #boothill hsr x reader #boothill x you #hsr x you #honkai star rail x you #boothill x y/n #hsr x y/n #honkai x reader

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liloinkoink · 3 months ago

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last night i asked if people would be interested in me posting a backstory piece for Martyn from the hero/villain / yellow rose au i’ve posted a single oneshot for despite the fact the backstory piece doesn’t seem to outwardly relate to the posted oneshot. no one outright shot me down so. here you go

for some context, the powers in this world of yellow rose come from a catastrophic event that took place almost 20 years prior to the start of the story, which wiped out a lot of the world’s cities/towns and gave many of the survivors powers or mutations

backstory takes place when Martyn is 0-10 years old (he was born shortly before the aforementioned catastrophic event) and focuses on an OC parent character / martyn’s relationship to said parent

anyway. yellow rose is an au made w @cherrifire. time for you all to meet robot dad

It’s hot on the day the world ends. This is not the only thing it remembers, but it’s one that still stands out, even years down the line.

It’d been dealing with a patient with symptoms of heatstroke, the third it had seen in an hour. Heatstroke is an easy enough ailment to give to a nurse bot to treat, so it gets the job. It had stepped out of its patient’s room and run into a doctor, who had asked it to fetch something from the basement storage.

This is why it had survived, it thinks, looking back. It had been in the basement, and by some stroke of luck, the building had not collapsed so completely as to destroy it alongside the rest of the building.

It had not had a concept of luck before that moment, before the shaking had stopped and the dust had cleared, leaving it mostly in tact. Once it had forced its way up the stairs, it found it was not sure whether surviving the collapse was good or bad luck.

When the nurse bot tried to ring its network for help, it found the line inside its head had gone dead. When it looked to the surrounding street, it found hundreds of buildings similarly smoldering. When it called out, it found only its own voice returning to it.

The nurse bot had tried to comb through the wreckage of its practice, looking for survivors. It found nothing, heard nothing, but it still attempted to sift through the rubble, to search for the people it had been built to assist.

A nurse bot’s arms are not meant to move stone and iron, however. It was not used to the strange things that happened in its processing when it thought about what might be under the wreckage, and did not know how to handle them. It made a mistake, lifting things it could not, and when the wreckage in its grasp had buckled…

Well. It had thought itself lucky, distantly, that unlike humans, robots are not generally “handed” in one way or the other. Statistically, it would have preferred its right hand, and it would have been much worse off when the debris crushed its arm, taking its limb from the elbow down.

Ah, and pain, of course. It would have been quite bad if it had been able to feel pain, or bleed. It probably would have died, had this fallen on it, or had it lost a flesh and blood arm.

It… does not look in the wreckage any longer.

The nurse bot did not know what to do, with the practice it had spent its whole existence in destroyed. It had never been outside before—at least, not while activated. It had never left the walls of the hospital it was built for. It had not been intended to function without direction.

It knew its purpose, though, direction or not. The nurse bot had been built to heal. It knew, direction or not, how to do this, and that it must do this. And certainly, if it looks, it would fine someone out there who needed it.

When it comes to matters of health, time is of the essence. With its direction decided, the nurse bot begins to walk.

It finds people, rarely, stumbling and unharmed, or nursing small bruises or minor sprains. It helps these when it can, and gives advice when it cannot. It finds bodies, often, and it looks away, as it has never seen a funeral, and it does not know to help the dead except to assist the living.

It finds a woman soon to be a body, despite its best efforts to help her. It lacks supplies to stop the flow of blood from her wounds, and the woman lacks any hope without stitches or bandages.

It offers her sympathies, and it holds in its one hand both of hers. There is little it can say to her, but it tries, quiet promises of I am here and I will not leave you and you will be at peace soon.

She holds its hand with all the strength in her body, knuckles white as paper, a stark contrast against the dark blood staining the rest of her body. It feels as the strength fades. It watches as the light in her eyes fades with it. She lets it go, and it closes her eyes.

The nurse bot keeps walking, keeps looking, until it hears crying. The sound is loud, a desperate sob of a young child, and it seems to stem from a building sagging in three places, roof and door and floor all ready to give in.

If it were human, the nurse bot may have thought the place too risky to enter. But it is not, and so in it goes, pushing the door open with one hand.

It finds the boy lying in his crib, a round-faced infant wrapped in a patterned onesie and kicking away a thin blanket. He cannot be more than a year old—the nurse boy would guess him to be maybe six months. The fact the boy and his crib have survived the destruction of the city is a miracle, one not offered to the rest of the home.

It reaches down into the crib, brushing its hand over the boy’s face. His sobs stumble, a bit curious, but the baby ultimately doesn’t stop crying.

The nurse bot hadn’t worked with a pediatrician, but it knows about children, as any nurse bot would.

“Are you hungry?” it asks. He doesn’t answer except to cry more, which is understandable—this is what babies do, it knows, and besides, this has been the chosen course of action for most of the people it saw today.

It could not help those people, but it can help with this.

The nurse bot steps away from the crib to examine the boy’s room, though the boy cries louder when its face disappears from his view.

“I will return shortly,” it tells him. This assurance does not calm him down.

It finds what it can in the rest of the home—food for the baby, a warmer blanket, a box of diapers. It finds the living room, where living is not what his parents are doing, and gingerly shuts the door. It finds a photo album and flips through, searching for the information it needs: delicate handwriting next to an image of the boy, held in the arms of the woman on the floor a room over.

April 7th, 20XX: Welcome to the world, Martyn!

His name is Martyn. His birthday is April 7th. The nurse bot usually keeps these things on file about its patients, and so it files them away.

When it returns to the crib, the baby inside is no longer crying, having worn himself out. It reaches down again, face blank.

“Hello, Martyn,” it says, “I am going to be your caretaker for now. I hope we will get along well.”

— — —

They don’t stay in the house. It finds a baby carrier in a closet and a duffle bag in the bedroom, and it packs what Martyn will need and carries him out of the collapsing home.

Martyn laughs a lot. Once he’s been fed and changed and has slept, the nurse bot finds he laughs all the time.

He doesn’t know, it thinks. He must miss his parents, probably, but he doesn’t know. He isn’t old enough to understand any of this. He watches the broken and bloodied street with awe—has he ever been this far from home before? This is all a big adventure to him.

It doesn’t tell him.

— — —

It stops three times a day to change and feed him, and to let him crawl around in the cleanest and sturdiest places it can find.

“Movement is good for development,” it tells him, watching him play with a piece of rubble.

It doesn’t stop to rest at night—it doesn’t need to, and the rocking motion of his continued steps helps Martyn sleep. When that isn’t enough, it tries to replicate the songs it has heard playing in the clinic’s waiting room, or seen mothers and fathers sing in the clinic to calm their children. Martyn seems to like that.

He likes the nurse bot’s hair, too. He tugs on it all the time as the nurse bot walks, held close to its chest, close enough to its head to access it. It lets him—it doesn’t hurt, and besides, it has few other ways to entertain him.

— — —

Martyn grows. He starts to babble, and to toddle. He becomes too big for the bot to carry him, but by then it has become adept at finding places to hunker down for a while.

“Your name is Martyn,” the bot tells him, pointing to his nose.

“Ma,” he tries.

“Very close,” it says. He grabs its hand, tugging, and continues to babble.

“Da,” he says, and it knows that he doesn’t have a concept of fathers or parents or the English language, and he is only making sounds.

“That is me,” it says anyway, and Martyn continues to babble.

— — —

“Dad,” Martyn tugs on its arm, barely tall enough to reach its fingers. “Daaaad.”

“Hello, Martyn,” it says, “What is it?”

“I’m bored,” Martyn says, “And I’m hungry.”

“We still have some food left for you, though I should start a fire soon,” it says, “We will need to move soon. Children your age need a variety of foods to—”

“Grow up healthy, I know,” Martyn whines, “That’s boring. I’m bored.”

“What would you like to do?” it asks, and he lets go of its hand, running off. It stands to follow, but then he’s back, holding a battered old book—some kind of short novel, something with a torn cover that used to have a dragon on it. The title is gone, as is the dragon’s head.

“Read this,” he says. Martyn is learning to read, but he hasn’t quite got the grasp to read a real book on his own yet.

This hasn’t stopped Martyn from searching for them, though, nor from presenting them to his father to read. It had started reading one aloud to Martyn to entertain him when Martyn had come down with a fever last year, and he hasn’t stopped asking to hear them since.

“After you eat,” it says, and Martyn cheers.

—

There is a group of survivors picking their way through town. The bot sees them before they see it, watching the street from a window. It does not know their intentions, and it doesn’t plan to find out.

It crouches down in front of Martyn, putting its hand on his shoulder.

“Hello,” it says, “We’re going to play a game, okay?”

“Okay,” Martyn says, and it nods, once.

“It is called hide and seek,” it says, “There are some people who are looking around town, trying to play, and we are going to hide from them. We will win if we are not found.”

“That’s a dumb game. Why don’t we play something else?” Martyn asks.

“It is their favorite game. We are going to play because that is what they like to do. But we are going to be very good at it and hide very well,” it says, “You can hide with me, okay? If we win, there will be a special prize.”

That’s all it takes to convince Martyn, who smiles and nods and follows it as it ducks away into the closet. Its legs creak as it sits down, and then it opens its arm, letting him sit in its lap. It can’t be comfortable, all cold metal, but Martyn wraps his arms around its torso and settles right in, content with the hand on his back.

“Now we must be very quiet,” it tells him, “I will tell you when we can talk again.”

Martyn nods, and it puts its hand on the back of his head, and it waits.

When the strangers leave, it asks him what he would like for his prize.

“Hug me again!” He says, and it obliges for as long as he wants.

— — —

Halfway through its sentence, the bot’s voice cuts out.

That has not happened before. Martyn seems unfazed, especially when it begins to talk again, but it takes note of the error.

— — —

It happens more. Its voice cuts out, stutters, corrupts. Martyn really only complains when they’re reading, but it starts to fear the worst.

It sits Martyn down, crouching down to meet his eyes.

“Martyn, I have something very important to tell- to tell- to tell you,” it says, and if it could, it would wince.

“Yeah?” Martyn asks, “Are we moving again?”

“Soon,” it says, “But that is not what I want to tell you.”

“Oh,” Martyn says.

“I am… sick. Do you remember what being sick is?” it asks. Martyn nods, reaching up to put his hand on its forehead, the way it had for him when he had been feverish.

“You feel warm,” Martyn confirms, “It’s okay. I’ll read to you until you’re better.”

“Thank you, Martyn. You are very kind,” it says, “But that is not the kind of sick I am. There are many kinds of sick.”

“Oh,” Martyn says, “Then what kind of sick are you?”

“I am… robot sick. I am- I am- I am- I am- getting old,” it says, “And my voice is starting to… not work properly.”

“I know that,” Martyn says, “You talk funny now and you keep messing up reading.”

“Yes, that’s right. You’re very smart,” it confirms, “But it might get worse. I might not be able to talk anymore soon.”

“But you’ll get better, right? I got better,” Martyn says. It shakes its head.

“I might, but I might not. Robot sick is different,” it says, though it knows it is lying. “I just wanted you to know. If you talk to me and I do not respond, I am not ignoring you. I am still listening. I am just sick, and my voice- my voice- my voice- my voice—”

It shakes its head, the way humans sometimes do, to clear the sentence. When it looks at Martyn again, he seems thoughtful.

“Will you still read to me?” he asks.

“As long as I am able,” it promises. And, for good measure, “I love you, Martyn. Do not forget.”

“I won’t,” Martyn says, “I love you, too.”

— — —

It makes a point to show him how to read. He had already been learning it, but it doubles down when its voice begins to waver.

It picks up novels and reads them to him with Martyn in its lap. It holds its arm around Martyn’s waist, and Martyn holds the book for it to see, and it reads the words Martyn points to, so Martyn knows what they are.

It doesn’t want him to lose this. It doesn’t want him to lose his fun, his creativity, his imagination, just because it cannot read to him anymore.

— — —

It loses its voice for good while it is reading to Martyn.

— — —

Its voice is the first thing it loses, but it is not the last.

Control of its fingers becomes… tricky. Martyn has to help it, doing things that require finer movements.

“Is your hand sick?” he asks, and he sounds afraid. It nods, because it knows it shouldn’t lie to him, even if it wants to.

It loses what little control it had over its face next. Then its neck becomes stuck. It doesn’t seem able to walk as fast, though that might just be due to Martyn getting faster—he grows older still, full of energy, constantly wanting to run and jump and play on his longer legs. It tries its best, but it cannot keep pace like it used to. It used to sing and walk all night, and now it cannot do either.

Martyn is as patient as a six year old can be, which is not very. He gets frustrated and bored, and he complains often. It does not blame him for this. He is doing his best, too, and that is all it can ask.

— — —

There are people. It tries to hide—pulls Martyn into a closet, tucks him close to its chest, pets his hair with his hand—but Martyn doesn’t like to play hide and seek, and he doesn’t know he has to be quiet.

“My name is Martyn!” he tells them, once the closet door opens, “This is Dad. He’s sick.”

They’re nice enough, a woman and her teenage son. It—he, now?—releases Martyn to talk to them, and climbs out of the closet. He hovers at Martyn’s side when they climb out, a hand on his son’s head.

“Why were you two in the closet?” the mother asks.

“We were playing hide and seek. That’s what Dad said other people like to do, but I don’t like it very much,” Martyn explains. She nods.

“Most people do like to play that game,” she says, because, as a parent, she must understand his fear. “But we don’t, either. Do you want to travel together for a little while, Martyn?”

“I want to!” Martyn says, and he looks up at his father, and his father would sigh if he could.

He nods, because what else is he meant to do?

— — —

The teenager entertains Martyn, reading to him the book his father never did get to finish. The mother cooks, and she takes a look at his hands.

“I used to be an engineer,” she says, “You’re a bit above my pay grade, but I could take a look, if you want.”

He doesn’t let her crack him open or anything, but she inspects the pieces of his wiring she can see. He’s reminded of his old clinic, though he can’t tell her how ironic this is.

Her prognosis is… grim.

“You probably only have a few years left in you,” she admits, “Your model was supposed to go for regular updates, replacing parts and…”

He doesn’t listen as she explains the old process, his focus instead on Martyn.

Only a few years? What will happen to Martyn? Who will take care of him?

Humans need care until they are eighteen.

Martyn is six.

“I could try and make some minor repairs for some of the obvious damage, but I don’t have tools for anything more. I can also try and tell you some things you can do to try and stretch that time out,” she says. He nods, understanding, grateful, as she does what she can.

He had been in her place, once, years ago, and so he understands, too, when she offers sympathies, when she holds his hand.

— — —

They split off from each other eventually. The other two are traveling to a place they claim never fell. He does not believe in such a place, and so he does not go with them.

Martyn cries. The mother hugs him, as does her son, and they are gone.

As they walk away, he holds Martyn’s hand, and he does not let go.

— — —

He teaches Martyn how to do… anything he can. He is too young to understand how to hunt or set a trap or clean an animal or cook or treat a fever or start a fire or boil water, and it is very difficult to teach when he cannot speak. He’d wanted to wait until Martyn is older, he does not have the luxury of time anymore.

Martyn is clever, is bright. He takes to the skills as well as a six, eight, ten year old can, and it is only partly due to the fact he has no choice.

— — —

He knows he is dying.

Martyn does not.

He picks up a stick, waving Martyn over. There is a patch of dirt that is mostly clear, and he crouches in front of it.

I AM SICK he writes, and Martyn reads it, and he frowns.

“I know that,” Martyn says, and he shakes his head. The dirt is soft, and so he clears it, trying again.

I AM VERY SICK he writes. Martyn reads it, and he frowns deeper.

“What does that mean?” Martyn asks.

I WILL SLEEP SOON he writes. He wants to be delicate, but he can’t—the patch of dirt isn’t very big.

“Oh, well, that’s okay. I sleep all the time,” Martyn says, “That’s how you get healthy again. It makes you feel better. You told me that.”

He wants to nod, but he can’t. This is the bit he was dreading the most.

I WILL NOT WAKE UP he writes.

For a long moment, Martyn doesn’t say anything.

“What if we get you medicine?” Martyn asks, “When— when I was sick, you found medicine. It made me better. It would make you better.”

NOT FOR ROBOTS

“That… that isn’t fair, though,” Martyn says, “Are you sure? We could get some and try it!”

I AM SURE he writes, and then he erases it, I LOVE YOU

Again, Martyn says nothing. He isn’t sure what Martyn is thinking, and then Martyn charges him, hugging him around the stomach.

He has more he wants to say to Martyn—he wants to teach him so much, to tell him to be careful, to tell him he’ll be okay.

He drops the stick, wrapping his arm around Martyn as tight as his failing joints will let him.

— — —

His goal is to find somewhere safe. An old house, maybe, somewhere where Martyn will be able to survive on his own for a while.

He looks, and he does not find it. He’s been looking for ten years, after all—of course he wouldn’t find one now, just because he is dying.

Other than that, his life does not much change. He holds Martyn’s hand as they walk, and Martyn talks to him about birds and books and whatever else he can think of. Martyn has become very good at filling the air for them both. Neither of them let go of the other’s hand.

He doesn’t actually know when it is going to happen, just that it will be soon.

When the moment finally comes, he does not realize.

They stop to rest for a night. Martyn is tired, as he is a child, and his legs can only carry him so far. He is tired, too, but he does not have it in him to think about why, or how strange that is.

It’s nowhere special, where they stop. A random house that has kept its roof, somewhere safe from rain and sun. Martyn finds a place to roll out his sleeping bag, and when he lies down, his father lies with him.

He does not let go of Martyn’s hand.

#lew writes #yellow rose au #robot dad #top hits

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sanguineterrain · 1 year ago

Note

Hi I’m back because couples who aren’t together just yet are EVERYTHING

And the new theme?? The icon?? Sanne 😍

May I request “you matter so much to me” with Dick? A little angsty if you’re feeling it?

hey there!!! thank you hehe i felt it was time for a theme change bc fall ❤️ hope you like it! thanks for sending a request 🥰

dick grayson x gn!reader. tw: reader is injured but not much description of the injury, mention of bombing, dick being a protective sweetheart, love confession.

****

You're probably being paranoid.

You probably don't need to call Dick. He'll definitely be busy right now. And you call him way too much as it is.

Wally had asked last month if you two were dating, which had been a humiliating conversation, so you've been vigilant about not clinging to Dick so much. You're just friends. That's all you'll ever be.

These two guys at the train station are really freaking you out, though. What do all the posters say? See something, say something?

You take a deep breath and dial.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Dick," you say tentatively.

"Hey!" Dick says, sounding slightly breathless. "Hey, how are you? I've missed you, what have you been up to?"

The smile in his voice makes you ache. Fuck. You should've just called an Uber.

"Hey. I'm okay. Sorry for not calling, I've been, uh, swamped at work."

"That's okay. It's nice to hear from you."

You melt. "It's nice to hear from you, too."

One of the guys across the station tosses a duffel bag inside of a storage closet and closes the door, then locks it. Right. Back to why you called.

"Dick, I think these two guys at the train station might be up to something. I could be wrong! I-I'm probably wrong, but—"

"What are they doing?" he asks, and you can hear him shifting to Nightwing Mode.

"They threw a duffel bag into a closet, but they don't look like workers. And—"

One of them lifts his coat, and you see a holstered gun. Shit.

"Oh my God," you whisper. "One of them has a gun."

"Get out of there," Dick orders. "I'm on my way. I'll pick you up. Meet me on the corner of Mason and Jewel."

"Okay," you say, heartbeat rabbiting. "Okay, um, Mason and Jewel. Got it."

"It'll be okay," he says, a little gentler this time. "I won't let anything happen to you, alright? Go somewhere where there's a lot of people, and stay on the line."

You take a deep breath. "O-okay. I trust you."

You head for the stairs when the ground rumbles under your feet. People begin to shout and you run faster, trying to make it out of the station.

"What's happening, honey? Talk to me," Dick urges.

You hardly register the honey in your panic.

"The ground's shaking. Dick—"

Something knocks into your back and you crumple to the floor, phone falling from your hand. Everything goes black.

****

You open your eyes to blackness, and for a moment, you're afraid you've lost your sight. But then the shadows become clearer, and you can make out distinct, albeit dimly lit, shapes.

You try to form a word but the air has been sucked out of your lungs and it sounds more like a wheeze.

The surface beneath you is soft and firm. There's a blanket over your shoulders.

You rasp out a sound that's an attempt at 'hello.' Your lips are cracked, and your throat feels like you chugged cement.

A hand rests on your forehead. You try to sit up.

"Easy, easy. Don't try moving just yet."

Dick is in his Nightwing suit, but the mask is off. You blink at him slowly. You'd almost forgotten how blue his eyes are.

"Can you tell me your birthday?" he asks, continuing to stroke your face.

You tell him your birthday. Your throat feels like sandpaper, and a straw is pushed to your lips. You drink the water greedily.

"Wha' happ'd?" you ask.

"There was a small bomb. Half the station collapsed." Dick sucks in a deep breath and seems to steel himself. "You, um, you hit your head pretty hard. I found you and brought you back to the Batcave. I want to monitor you overnight just in case."

Your eyes widen. "Batcave?"

Dick smiles. "The one and only. I'll give you a tour later."

You frown. "Shouldn't you be out there?"

"Oh." Dick rubs his neck. "Well, uh, the others have got it pretty much covered. But I can give you space, if-if you're tired or something. Uh, Alfred's upstairs if you need anyth—"

You shake your head. "Not kicking you out, Dickie. Just don't wanna keep you from important stuff."

Dick leans in, looking at you intently.

"You're important."

You smile and look away, belly swooping at his seriousness.

"Oh. Thank you, Dick."

"I mean it," he says fiercely, then swallows. "You are... you're one of the most important people in my life. You matter so much to me. I should've said so earlier, and I guess today was the kick in the pants I needed."

You turn to him, eyes wide. "What are you saying?"

Dick slips his hand into yours, rubbing your knuckles with his thumb.

"Every day, I see how fragile life is," Dick says. "Witnessed it for myself, too. I can't—I don't want to pretend that I don't care about you as much as I do. That I don't wish we were more. And if you don't feel the same way, then that's okay, but I needed to say something before—"

"Dick," you murmur.

He stops. "Yeah?"

"Kiss me."

He blinks once, twice, then wastes no more time. Dick cups your jaw with both hands. It's almost overwhelming, the way Dick Grayson kisses you like you're the only person in the universe.

His hair is just as soft as you imagined, and you tangle your other hand in it, massaging the base of his neck. Dick makes a quiet whine in the back of his throat, and you hungrily swallow the sound.

"Ahem."

You flinch apart, and Dick covers his mouth. He glances at you through his lashes, and the look promises that he's not finished with you.

All excitement about said promise self-destructs when you see Batman standing ten feet away. Even under the cowl, he looks unimpressed.

"Nightwing," he says. "Taking care of our patient?"

Oh God. You're never setting foot in Gotham again.

"Excellent care," Dick says, apparently used to Batman's cheek.

"Hn. I expect a report of the station incident tomorrow."

"Of course. Do you need me out there?"

"No. It's handled." Batman looks at you. "You are welcome to join us for dinner."

He swooshes away with a truly unnecessary jump into the Batmobile. You wait until he's gone before groaning and putting your face in your hands.

"Oh my God, I just made out with you in front of Batman. I can never face him."

Dick pulls you into his arms, kissing your temple.

"Are you kidding? He basically just welcomed you into the family. I knew he'd like you."

#dick grayson x reader #dick grayson x you #dick grayson x yn #dick grayson fanfiction #nightwing x reader #nightwing x you #nightwing fanfiction #batman fanfiction #dc fanfiction #inbox #blurb

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fishsticksloser · 2 months ago

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Mobility Cane

RotTMNT x gn!reader

Warnings: mobility cane, slight angst?, comfort, fluff, post movie stuff

A/N: Kinda used what injuries I think they have/what I plan on giving my present boys later in my au

Donnie

Upset because he knows how helpful and important it is

So what does he do?

He makes you one

It's similar to his bō staff

It collapses for easy storage

Its incredibly strong, made out of high-grade titanium

He even made one to carry around himself in case you forget

Donnie constantly tells you that there's nothing to be embarrassed about

You need it

You're not lying about your disability/struggles

Though he gives you plenty of lifts on his battle shell whenever you ask

Leo

Really upset

He used crutches for a while but now was using a cane

He carries around a spare for you (asked Donnie to make you one)

Leo is constantly doing tricks with his cane to try and show you that there's nothing to be embarrassed of

While there are plenty of assholes out there who will believe you're faking, he and you know you're not

He tells you how amazing you are, how much he loves you

And explains that you need to use your cane

Both as your boyfriend and as a medic

Mikey

Pouting

He's worried when you don't use it

Always reminds you to bring it

If he's meeting you somewhere, he stops by your place really quick to grab it just in case

Mikey is always quick to make you feel better about using it

Mentioning Leo who doesn't mind it (Leo actually hates using a cane but doesn't want to get yelled at)

He decorates your cane in hopes you use it more

Raph

Very confused why you're not using it

If you forget, that's okay, he can remind you

But if it's because you're embarrassed, he doesn't understand

Why would you be embarrassed by using a cane?

It's necessary for you

Anyone that has an issue can talk to him and he'll tell them what's up

Raph is overly protective of you, always wanting you to be happy

He'll do whatever he can to make sure you are

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nuria-schnee · 2 months ago

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Hi everyone! ❤️ In this week's sneak peek, I bring you a bit of one of Crystal's scenes in the first chapter. She seems to be onto something...

Crystal almost fell asleep in the lift. She’d had to escape a swarm of monstrous iron-stinger wasps and neutralise a poltergeist that night, and Jenny scolding her had been the last thing she needed. Not that she exactly disliked it. She knew it was her way of showing she cared about her well-being. This was the part she hated the most. Facing the door of her flat, getting the keys out of her pocket. It shouldn’t fill her with dread, but it did. She always hesitated for a second before opening the door, fighting against the delusional hope that bloomed under her skin. What Crystal wanted was to open the door and find someone waiting for her inside. To be welcomed by the sight of a warm, cheerful smile, one she couldn't help but miss. Instead, only the silence and the obvious emptiness of her new home welcomed her when she returned. Everything was as she'd left it, and she hated it.

Read the rest of the scene under the cut!

[...] Crystal stepped into the flat, closed the door, and collapsed back against it. Letting out a tired sigh, she closed her eyes and dropped her bag on the floor. She was cold and every part of her body ached after such a long night of running around solving cases. The feeling was gratifying, even if it wasn't physically pleasant. It reminded her for a little while that she wasn't alone, that she had a purpose now. That knowledge kept her sane when she was by herself. Made sleeping much easier, considering how plagued by nightmares and fears her nights were since Niko died. A continued feeling of loneliness had taken roots in her mind, every empty corner of the flat a reflection of it. She hadn't bothered about buying furniture and decorations yet and still hadn't the energy or the time to do it. In the end, she had more important things to take care of at the moment. She breathed in and out, and pushed herself away from the door. Dragging her feet, she crossed the empty living room. Jenny had blamed the boys for her lack of energy and sleep, but they weren’t truly at fault. They weren’t forcing her to come along at night, or asked more than she could take. It was another thing entirely, what had been exhausting her. Because— The most logical thing to do after such a night was collapse on the bed and sleep. And she didn’t do the most logical thing most nights. That flat only had one other room, aside from the bedroom. It was narrow and dark, without windows, probably meant to be a storage room. She liked to think of it as her own private study, her little agency, if only to make it less bleak. She was working on a case of her own, in the end. Her investigation, the process of trial and error, was probably taking longer without the boys’ help. Even so, Crystal couldn’t tell them what she was doing. In fact, what scared her the most was Edwin finding out. Charles might be excited, would want to help, no doubt, and would worry too much, for sure. Edwin, instead— She had got to know him pretty well, in all those months since they’d met, and they still argued and metaphorically head-butted most of the time, but Crystal cared about him. He was her friend, and she wanted to be a good friend to him. So, she was worried Edwin might stop trusting her, or resent her, if this didn’t go well. When they met, she wouldn’t have guessed she’d end up craving his acceptance. Not in a million years. In the security of her mind, she didn’t mind admitting it, since it was the truth. The thought of breaking Edwin’s heart perturbed her greatly. Even if she couldn’t read him, being a ghost and all, she didn’t to. Not to know he had suffered losing Niko more than he’d allowed them to see. He'd busied himself with work, was all day thinking, pondering, trying to find the reason for the influx of missing ghosts' cases that had been flooding the agency. So, it was in brief moments, easy to miss if she didn't pay attention, that she could see the sadness in him. So, for now, this was her secret.

#dead boy detectives #painland #payneland #edwin payne #charles rowland #crystal palace #niko sasaki #dead boy detectives: the night of nights

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ebongawk · 5 months ago

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hii !! i hope you’re well - number 6 and hellcheer for the kissing thing when you have the time please 🫶🫶

6. A Kiss of Relief

Look. He hadn't gone into this whole thing with the expectation of dying. To say he had any expectations at all would be an absolutely asinine claim of which he'd never take ownership.

And yet, as he looked up at Dustin through the portal in the ceiling of the boys' locker room, all he could think was, it has to be me.

There isn't enough time. I won't let her die.

The knifepoint of his spear sliced so easily through the climbing rope they'd dug out of the school's storage locker. Dustin's shout of disdain mostly lost in the screaming bats that had broken through the gymnasium windows.

He'd ask himself when he became the sacrificial beacon of the group, but that, too, would be a stupid question.

Eddie remembered the exact fucking moment.

The group had poured in through the trailer door, exhausted not even beginning to encompass the weight of the entire world that rested on their weary shoulders. Everyone had all but collapsed onto the nearest soft surface, and Eddie gave up his bed so Nancy, Max and Chrissy might have somewhere to sleep. Promising to take first shift, to make sure the music kept playing.

Because it was music that kept Max and Chrissy from literally floating to their deaths.

He'd accidentally discovered that with his ass.

Mere days before, when Chrissy had come over to buy special K and had instead fallen under the lich's spell. When she'd risen off the ground, his pleading screams of her name lost to the impossible trance inflicted by her attempted murderer.

When he'd bumped into Wayne's shitty old record player in his retreat, the needle scratching against Rumours and Fleetwood Mac's Songbird starting up.

Rumours had a home now in Chrissy's Walkman, and Eddie offered to make sure Stevie Nicks kept up her soft lullaby for the first few hours.

He didn't wake anyone else. Instead, sat on the floor beside his bed, he absorbed the way Chrissy's hair spilled across his pillow like a sunrise. A firestorm quieted in the night, softness punctuated by the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest as notes and lyrics kept the nightmares at bay. She let out these tiny little sounds every now and then, a song pulled from the back of her throat as much needed rest finally fell through her bones. Maybe the thought shouldn't have felt so insane. But still, he took himself aback when he gazed at her and a new realization dawned across the horizon of his consciousness.

I would die for her.

Shocking, yeah. But, as it settled like creeping fog across the forest floor of his brain, it felt right, too. And Eddie, terrified of that ridiculous fucking implication, had written it off as exhaustion.

As he pedaled away from the school as quickly as he possibly could on that blackened bike, though, he realized just how true it was.

Goddamn it.

The bats swarmed, screeching their ear-splitting song as they dove and gnashed their nasty little teeth. They dove, sending the bike flying, and Eddie didn't remember the tumble. Only that he was on his feet again, spear and shield gripped in sweaty hands as he turned toward his reckoning.

He didn't even feel the first bite. Heart pumping adrenaline through his veins, time slowed down as he pushed his body to the limit. Spear swiping and stabbing, shield held aloft and flung.

But there were so many of them. And he was so fucking tired.

All it took was one slip. One wrong step of his boot. Suddenly, he was down on one knee, and the bats saw his partial collapse as the opening it was. Raining down on him like the most ridiculous fucking storm he had never known to expect experiencing.

Every subsequent bite after the first wasn't as easy to ignore. They dug into his ribs, his arms, his legs, tiny teeth like razor blades slipping past flesh. Eddie ripped them off of him, but for every one he managed to tear away, it seemed three more took their place.

Over the screeching victory of his tiny assassins, though, he heard another scream. Just before a firestorm erupted overhead, it pierced that rolling red thunder nearly close enough to touch. Sunrise. A fireball tore the sky asunder, the bats all shrieking in agony. Gross, paper-thin wings catching the flames and spreading like they'd been doused in kerosene, the little fucking monsters ran away from the heat pouring overhead. Eddie rolled to his knees, nearly gagging on pain as he looked up at his savior. Divinity in human form, Chrissy rushed to his side, a can of hairspray in one hand and his lighter in the other as she scorched his attackers with her homemade flamethrower. Finding some reserve of strength buried beneath his stomach, Eddie took his spear in hand again, standing at Chrissy's back and guarding her from anything that might get close enough to rip her weapon away. Throwing himself back into the fray, because now he needed to protect her as she protected him. It felt like a lifetime but was likely only a few seconds later when all of the bats squealed in unison, lifting up a dozen feet in the air before they all came falling like rocks to the ground. Eddie tucked Chrissy into his body, holding his shield above them to keep anything from hitting her.

Panting, it was as though, as soon as he stopped moving for longer than a moment, all of the pain rushed in at once, and Eddie collapsed to the ground. Barely catching himself on his hands and knees.

"Eddie!" Chrissy shouted, falling with him. Further dirtying the grimy pink pants she'd borrowed from Nancy as she carefully pulled him up to a kneeling position. "Oh my God, are you okay? You're-- You're bleeding, God, Eddie, why did you do that? Why didn't you run, you said you would run!"

Hardly able to breathe around the pain - Christ, it felt like his entire body was covered in fucking paper cuts - Eddie still managed a grin.

"You needed more time," he answered, groaning as he sat back on his heels. Jesus, it felt like those bastards had taken a chunk out of his ribs, but, after carefully poking around the area, he deduced that it wasn't as bad as it felt. "What, Cunningham, were you worried about me or something?"

"Yes!" she cried, cupping his jaw in her hands and forcing him to meet those insanely gorgeous storm cloud eyes. "God, Eddie, I-I came rushing back here because I had this insane feeling that you were going to do something stupid. And you did! Why would you do that?"

Did she really have to ask?

"Because you needed more time," he stressed, wrapping his hands loosely around her wrists. Holding her in place, holding the heat of her palms against his face like she alone was the balm to all those scrapes and bruises now littering his body. He looked at her, truly looked at her, and begged her to see. "And I wasn't gonna let him take you, Chrissy. I wasn't gonna let him kill you."

Not when I am fucking desperate to see you live.

Eyes searching his gaze, they danced over his face, his hands, his body, as though trying to find some hidden wound that would unravel him bit by bit beneath her fingers. Her lips parted, a single tear escaping from a duct, but Eddie didn't have a chance to wipe it away before her lips were on his.

Oh. Oh.

She pulled back way too fucking quickly, his name barely having a chance to drip off the tip of her tongue before he was yanking her back in. Swallowing down her little mewl of surprised appreciation, her tongue drifted along the swell of his bottom lip, and Eddie greeted her eagerly.

She tasted of hope. Of fucking belonging and sunrise and relief above all else. Eddie felt all of his pain fading away, and he realized that maybe they called it relief because it was so goddamn close to relive that he would've sworn he was coming back to life in her arms.

God. He needed her more than he needed air.

"Eddie," she whispered after finally pulling away with a gasp. His name spoken like she was tasting it for the first time, rolling it around on her tongue, before a smile broke from her cheeks to let him know how much she liked it.

"Chrissy," he responded with his favorite flavor.

Nothing more was said for a moment. Nothing more needed to be.

He just kissed her again.

kiss prompt!

#hellcheer #eddissy #eddie x chrissy #eddie munson #stranger things #chrissy x eddie #my writing #ask meme #chrissy cunningham #ebongawk ask #diahellcheer #canon typical violence

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zooophagous · 7 months ago

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Collapsible for easy storage

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derinthescarletpescatarian · 11 months ago

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hey! so i hope this isn’t too creepy/nosey, but im a medical student and i was reading your possible fibromyalgia post and have a couple ideas lol. full important disclaimer that im only partly into my studies and im currently in the hypochondriac phase and also your summary was amazing but a real doc would ask way more questions, so please consult with an actual doc and take everything i say with a grain of salt! but like your symptoms aren’t nothing so i would def encourage finding a doc that you trust to do a proper exam and run some tests. also im operating under the assumption that you’re under 50 lol, bc if you’re over 50ish that’s a whole diff list of possible diagnoses.

so the thirst thing you’re talking about is often called polydipsia and is commonly associated with diabetes insipidus. that’s not the normal diabetes you think about, but happens when your body can’t regulate fluids in your body properly. id think of this if you’re also peeing a lot lol. your doc would have to do some kidney tests for that, which wouldn’t be part of the blood panel you mentioned. i’m a little skeptical that it’s hypokalemia bc that would’ve showed up on your blood test results. it could be transient electrolyte imbalances when you exercise so have one of those electrolyte packets when you exercise lol, bc it never hurts to try the easy solutions first, but chronic low potassium should’ve shown up? tho eating sweet potatoes has never hurt.

other things it could be is a lower motor neuron problem bc you mentioned twitches and muscle weakness which is typical for those. i def can’t say more without tests, but look into/get your doc to look into myasthenia gravis or LEMS and see if either of those fit. i think it’s possible bc these often also start with face/upper body symptoms, but would need way more questions/tests to know. it’s unlikely but could also be a glycogen storage disease called McArdle disease bc you describe a second wind thing when you exercise along with exercise intolerance. that’s super rare tho so it’s unlikely unless someone in your family has it/has similar symptoms.

also look into autoimmune stuff like rheumatoid arthritis, lupus, and sjögrens disease. i have way less useful info on that bc we haven’t gotten to it in class yet lol, but sjögrens looks promising bc you often get dry mouth with it, and it often goes along with rheumatoid arthritis which could explain the joint stuff possibly.

it’s also totally possible this is fibromyalgia, but i would be cautious diagnosing it bc it often comes with fatigue and cognitive stuff which you didn’t mention. it’s also more of a pain thing, and doesn’t include your twitches/dry mouth. it’s def possible, and it was def something i thought of when i saw your symptoms, but personally i would want to rule out other stuff first bc fibromyalgia is pretty vague and often a diagnosis of exclusion when other things don’t fit.

sorry for overwhelming you!! i just saw your post and was like hmmm those symptoms sound like Something. again take my advice with a big grain of salt, but i do really think it’s worth asking your doc about it and getting tests done, bc even if there aren’t cures there are def treatments to help with a bunch of this stuff. it doesn’t sound urgent, but at least from your post your symptoms don’t sound like run of the mill aches and pains. hope you figure stuff out!!

The problem with 'muscles don't work right ouchy and I am also tired' is that it's a symptom for Absolutely Everything That Can Be Wrong With The Body. Is it cancer? Is it a terrible diet and sleep schedule? Who knows!

The doctor ran a diabetes test with the blood panel and it came up negative, but I don't know if that checks for weird kinds of diabetes. (Diabetes does not run in my family until we get very old.) That test was memorable because I have stupid fragile veins that freak out and collapse at the mere sight of a needle so I had to get stabbed nine times, they didn't manage to get the middle reading at all, and in the end they resorted to just stabbing my thumb with one of those diabetes home blood test thingies and manually squeezing my blood out into a tube drop by drop.

I looked up polydipsia and I don't think I have that. I think I just prefer my mouth to be wetter than my salival glands want it to be. 🤷‍♀️I think most of my problems are probably not related to any rare chronic disease, but just run-of-the-mill autism making it hard to look after myself or properly notice and process my physical condition and adapt accordingly. I don't eat enough fresh foods because it's hard to plan with the very short timeframe to prepare and eat them in. I'm uncoordinated and damage my body a lot through overwork or using muscles incorrectly because autism makes it hard to keep track of those things. My mouth feels dry and my skin feels itchy and my muscles feel sore because that's what being autistic feels like. My sleep schedule is garbage because my executive function is garbage and even once I do manage to get myself into the bed I can't just "go to sleep", I pass out when I'm ready to pass out.

I'm not saying it's impossible for anything else to be going on, but I think the known factor is the simplest explanation here. It's 2:30pm and I've been putting off breakfast for five hours. Every time I go into the kitchen I get distracted by housework instead. I am very hungry. This is not behaviour that is conducive to a well-functioning body.

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meownotgood · 2 years ago

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bloodthirst. / hayakawa aki

When your mission goes horribly wrong, you and Aki are left injured and cornered. Thankfully, for a devil like you, healing your injuries is easy. All you need to do is drink a human's blood.

pairing: hayakawa aki x gn!reader

word count: 6.4k

tags: 18+, blood play, blood sucking, biting, dry humping, grinding, finger sucking, praise, reader is a devil hybrid, aki is a bit mean, power imbalance (aki is the reader's superior), reader refers to aki as "sir"

this work contains explicit content intended for 18+ individuals. please read the tags and do not interact if you are a minor.

God, he's stupid.

If only he was smarter, if only Aki had used his brain for more than two seconds and maybe considered the fact that the devils would ambush you both like this, then maybe this wouldn't have been happening right now. If only he was stronger, strong enough to hold his own against the devil horde, instead of needing to rely on some insolent, disgusting devil to protect him and drag him to safety. Stupid.

Aki's hand returns to clutch his side the second he's finished barricading the door. There's a pounding in his head, and a dull sting coming from right under his ribcage, where one of the devils lashed him. He can feel blood, warm and wet as it soaks through the fabric of his shirt, pooling over his palm, staining his skin crimson.

Shit, shit, shit- You're hurt, what do we do? We're so fucking screwed-

Your voice barely registers over the ringing in his ears and the haze quickly overtaking his mind. Aki stumbles backwards, and when his back hits the wall of the small storage room, he slides down, collapsing on the ground. His side hurts like all hell, but there's also an ache coming from his ankle; he tripped while the two of you were running away, and with his luck, he probably sprained the damn thing.

I just, what the hell are we supposed to do?! Neither of us can fight like this, are we gonna die? We're gonna-

"Fucking- Shut up, will you?" Aki snaps, wincing the second the words finish leaving his mouth. Just trying to speak hurts. He presses his palm firmer against his side, grunting from the immediate sharp sting of pain. "We're not… We're not gonna die. Just calm down."

At least, Aki thinks you're not gonna die.

Damn devils, they're craftier than he thought they'd be. When he first got the call for this mission — Yeah, it's a bunch of little devils, not sure what they are, but they seem pretty weak — Aki assumed the two of you would be able to handle this by yourselves, no problem. But when you arrived at the scene, "a bunch of little devils" turned into a swarm of them, and "they seem pretty weak" turned out to be an outright lie. Perhaps he should have asked for more back-up.

Either way, you're not gonna die. Aki will find a way out of this, he always does. He has to, because with the way you're currently pacing about, gnawing nervously on your fingernails, muttering anxiously to yourself, it's pretty safe to assume you won't be of much help.

There must be some way, something he can — No, he can't move. Maybe you can, no, shit, that's not gonna work…

"Aki?"

Your voice rouses Aki from his thoughts. You've stopped pacing now, that's good. But you're still shifting from heel to heel, a nervous expression on your face, your hand pressed to a particularly nasty scrape on your cheek. "You have a plan, right?"

Aki leans back until his head hits the wall with a gentle thunk. He exhales an exasperated sigh, blowing air out through his mouth in an attempt to push his sweaty bangs out of his face.

No, he doesn't have a plan. In what world would he have a fucking plan for this?

"How well can you move? On a scale of one to ten." Aki asks through ragged breaths, his mouth hung open, his chest rising and falling with vigor. Sweat is beginning to form at his brow in little droplets, cascading down to drip from his jaw.

You answer, "Like, a six? Or a six and a half?" You're staring down at your feet like your untied shoelaces hold the key to get out of here, and you press your palm further into your cheek.

"I can move okay. But I don't have enough blood to transform… I can take your sword but I- I don't know how to use it."

Aki stares listlessly at your shadow projected on the ceiling, traveling back and forth as you begin to pace again.

There's no way he's moving, that's out of the question. If he stands up, he's just going to hurt his ankle, putting him out of commission even more than he already is. And he can't summon Kon here, either — She'd eat the devils, sure, but she'd also probably topple the whole building. Guaranteed extermination of the devils means nothing if the two of you are left buried under a pile of rubble.

Aki racks his brain as much as his headache will allow. If he can't do anything, then his only hope is to rely on you. Yeah, he really doesn't want to do that, but he's not sure he has a choice in the matter. And if you're going to help him, if you're going to be of any use…

Right then, Aki remembers something he was told shortly after he became acquainted with you. He found it hard to believe at first, but he eventually came to terms with the fact that you're a devil, but not an ordinary sort of devil. No, his boss would be too kind to stick him with someone who's at all easy to understand. You're not just a devil, but a human as well, and this means that unlike normal devils, there's a way you can recover some of your strength. A way you can regenerate, in simple terms.

Aki leans forward, off of the wall, his back slumping. "Hey, devil."

You freeze in place, turning towards him and standing to attention the second you hear his stern voice. Aki's eyes meet yours for what must be the first time in hours; his eyelids are heavy with exhaustion, but his gaze is as sharp as ever. He gives you a once over, his shoulders tensing, the bridge of his nose knotting up with slight irritation.

"Do you think if you can transform, you can get us the hell out of here?"

"I… I think so. Yessir," You stutter, nodding your head feverishly, although you don't sound too sure of yourself.

Aki's lips purse into a thin line for a moment, before he replies, "And you can heal by drinking someone's blood, right?"

Your eyes widen, your posture straightens. "I can. Yeah."

"Alright, okay." Aki leans back again. His Adam's apple bobs in his throat when he swallows, and with one hand still pressed deft to his side, blood beginning to drip down his knuckles, he uses the other to gesture towards you, crooking a shaky finger in his direction. "C'mere."

You hesitate for a second, but when Aki grumbles out, Hurry up, you're swiftly stumbling over to him on unsteady feet. You walk to stand by his side, kneeling down beside him. Your fingers twiddle in nervousness as you fold your hands in your lap, staring at him with anticipation.

Aki twists, huffing a frustrated breath when he scoots back to prop himself up more. His free hand comes to grasp your chin, his fingers trembling slightly, his touch smearing his blood over your skin. He yanks you forward rather roughly, his thumb ghosting over your lips, his eyes locked onto yours.

You can hear the sound of his breathing: heavy, shaky, like it takes a lot of effort just to expel the air from his tired lungs. You're so lost in the way he's staring at you, the determined look in his eyes, his eyelashes fluttering, sweat dripping from his forehead, his lips quivering ever-so slightly — You almost miss it when he quietly commands through half-gritted teeth, "Hold still. And open your mouth."

The harsh tone of his voice makes you obey before you're even thinking about it. You press your hands firmly to your knees to steady yourself, your lips parting open — Aki squeezes your cheeks, his eyes narrow, and he shoots you a look so sharp you're sure it could cut right through you. He scolds you between ragged breaths: "No… No. Wider. Don't make me say it again."

Your mouth opens wider, wider, but you hardly have time to complain about the way your jaw begins to ache. Aki brings two of his blood-soaked fingers, middle and index to your lips, wasting no time shoving them in.

His movements are clumsy, forced; Aki presses his fingertips to your tongue, and he shoves the digits so far down your throat you feel like gagging, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. You can taste his blood on your tongue, metallic and sharp, stale. Rich like his cigarettes, and so fucking delicious. Your senses feel heightened, your heart pounding faster, your face heating up.

Shit, you shouldn't be doing this, should you? You're not sure if this is appropriate, a devil drinking a devil hunter's blood, and your superior, fucking Hayakawa's blood, no less. You swear you heard somewhere that devils can get put down for something like this. But, do you really have a choice in the matter? Aki is the one who instructed you to do this, and even if he hadn't, how else were the two of you supposed to get out of this mess? Listening to whatever he tells you to do is the best call here, surely.

Either way, it doesn't matter. You don't have the time to debate about what you should or shouldn't be doing, and now that you've had a drop, now that you know how good Aki tastes, you wouldn't be able to stop yourself, not even if you tried.

Your knees are starting to shake — You're losing your balance, and it makes things ever the more clumsier. Aki tries to hold your face still, but you're wobbling and teetering, choking on his fingers, pulling back from him instinctively when he shoves them in too far.

"Tch," Aki scoffs, and you gasp when he suddenly drags his fingers out of your mouth. He eyes them with a look of disgust, his lips pursing, and he promptly wipes your saliva off on his pant leg. "Dammit, didn't I tell you to hold still? You're making this difficult."

"Sorry, sir."

Aki winces when he presses his hand to his side once more, soaking his fingers in more of his own blood. "Try again," He commands, holding your face tightly, tapping his finger against your cheek to coax your mouth to open for him.

"Don't move so much this time, and make sure you lick it all up. The more blood you get, the sooner we can get the hell out of here. Got it?"

With your mouth open wide, and with Aki already shoving his fingers back in, all you can do is nod.

He's a little gentler this time, a little more patient, carefully smearing blood from his fingertips over the flat length of your tongue. You're still shifting, although not as much as before; Aki notices when your hand slips from your knee to his leg, gripping him tightly to keep your footing.

Aki sighs. His free hand shifts to your waist, and he carefully pushes you closer — Come here. — until you're climbing over him, your legs on either side of him. And then, when your knees tremble and start to give out, you're plopping your weight on top of him, settling into his lap. Aki tries not to notice, but your weight pressed against him makes his breath hitch in his throat, and causes his heart to pound just a little bit faster.

He's unable to take his eyes off of you, both from the display, and from how close you are; your tongue swirls around the length of his fingers, and your eyelids grow heavy, gaze lust-filled as you eagerly taste his blood. When you've licked up everything, his digits soaked from your saliva, you bob your head. Your soft lips wrap around the base of his fingers, his digits practically down your throat.

Your gaze flickers upward, then, until you're staring at him with doe eyes, with a look that's a mix of desire and indecision. Aki swallows down the lump in his throat, and he watches as you give his fingers a gentle suck, as if you still need more, as if you're trying to suck the blood right out of his pores.

Feeling the pressure, Aki abruptly drags his fingers out of your mouth again. He eyes you up and down; you wait for him to tell you to get off of him, to scold you for what you're trying to do. Instead, he simply clears his throat awkwardly, before he asks, "So? Can you transform now?"

Your tongue darts out to lick the remaining smears of blood from your lips. "I don't think so. Sorry. It takes a lot more blood if I get it in this way."

"What do you mean?"

"I'll regenerate faster if the blood is fresh."

Aki's eyes widen. He shoves his bottom lip between his teeth, and he glances towards the door; still barricaded, for now. And although there's no sign of the devils, if he focuses hard enough, he can hear a faint scratching sound, the echo of the devil's claws as they scrape against the door.

Aki doubts they'll be able to get in for a while, considering the way he's blocked the entryway. But they know where the two of you are, they're clearly growing impatient, and he's losing blood, lots of blood. It's beginning to drip and pool below him, collecting in a deep crimson puddle on the concrete floor. Fuck, can he even afford to lose any more?

It doesn't matter, he can't think about it. He can't hesitate, he just can't. He's already a liability, anyways, and there's no time to lose. If Aki wants to have any hope of getting out of here, he needs to place his full trust in you.

Aki grips his side again, pressing his palm firm to his wound to try and lessen the bleeding. He reaches up with his free hand, grasping his tie, loosening it. He pops the first few buttons on his dress shirt. Then, Aki hooks a finger around his collar, tugging it down, tilting his head up, exposing the bare skin of his nape.

"C'mon, then." Aki's eyes flicker down, then back to your face, gesturing exactly what he means. "Bite me."

"Are… Are you sure I should-"

"Fuck, just do as I say." Aki orders, speaking through a deep sigh, his shoulders slumping.

You eye him up and down. Your throat feels dry, your mouth starting to water. Aki's chest rises and falls, rises and falls. You can see the way his blood covers his hand, the way it pools onto the ground, echoing a faint drip, drip sound when the droplets splatter onto the concrete.

When he sees you start to lean in, Aki allows his eyes to flutter shut, his head hazy. He focuses on his breathing: in, out. Nice and slow. Calm down, just relax. Just make sure you stay awake — Your breath is warm when it fans out over his skin, your lips are soft when they hesitantly press to the nape of his neck — You'll be out of this soon, it'll be fine, it'll be…

Aki inhales a sharp breath in through his teeth, feeling an instant, searing hot pain as soon as your incisors sink into his soft, tender flesh. You bite down hard, breaking a layer of skin; a small wound forms, and you suck on it harshly, drawing flesh blood.

His hand flies up to grip your shoulder, and his hips squirm a little under your weight. Beneath your lips, you can feel the way Aki's pulse thrums eagerly, and in your ears, you can hear the way his breath comes out quicker, shallower.

You're so damn close, shoved up against him on his lap. So close he can feel you — One of your hands is pressed deft to his chest, feeling the pound of his heartbeat, and the other gripping his jaw, tilting his head up to give you better access to his neck. So close, Aki can fucking smell you, so sweet and intoxicating, your scent mixed with the sharp, metallic smell of blood that lingers in the air.

And when your tongue presses to his skin, your breath warm, your mouth wet, the wound stinging when your tongue flicks, licking up more of his blood — Aki exhales a shuddery groan, and he drags his hand up to squeeze your neck, then up further to carefully hold the back of your head.

"S-Shit," Aki gasps, his grip tightening on your hair, "Is that… is that not enough? Are you sure you- Oh, fuck-"

Aki stutters into a moan when you shift on his lap, grinding your hips against where he's growing stiff beneath you, your teeth nipping at a new, tender spot on his nape. His cock is tenting his slacks, throbbing incessantly, already so fucking hard, and your mouth sucking bruises into his neck just makes him throb even harder.

His head feels woozy, his whole body overwhelmed by the intoxicating combination of pain and pleasure. Your hips grind against his cock, making his side throb, but his whole body tingle. Your mouth feels hot on his neck: soft lips and sharp teeth, so rough, but so gentle at the same time.

God, he's so fucking hard; was all of this just because of how close you are, just from your mouth on his neck? Aki feels dribbles of precum soak his boxers when you grind down on him once more — This time, with much more deliberation. Soft, little whimpers fall from his mouth, punctuated by shaky breaths.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck…" Aki's eyelids flutter, his eyes threatening to roll into the back of his head, and he whines when you roll your hips into his stiff cock, "You're- I c-can't, I-"

You freeze, suddenly. Aki catches his breath as you pull back, wiping the blood smeared on your lips with the back of your hand. When you meet his eyes, Aki is staring at you with a pathetic, desperate look in his gaze, his pupils blown wide. You watch as it shifts into annoyance, the bridge of his nose knotting up, his jaw clenching, his hands moving to firmly grip your hips.

Aki grinds you down onto him in tandem with his hips bucking upward. He grunts softly, his eyes shut, and little rocks of his hips grind his hard cock between your legs. When he speaks again, his voice is weak, but it still has an irritated, stern tinge to it, the kind of tone you only hear when he's scolding you: "Don't stop, don't fucking stop. That's an order."

Aki begins to rock his hips slightly, shaky moans and gasps falling from his lips. His mouth is parted, his face is flushed out: a shade almost as red as the blood that's beginning to soak through the fabric of his suit jacket, painting his white dress shirt in a shade of vivid crimson.

His hands trail up, up, feeling the curves of your sides, smearing blood from his palms over your shirt. He grips you tightly, guiding you to grind down on him to a deep, slow rhythm. "That's it," Aki praises; he can feel the delicious friction on his stiff cock, even through his slacks. He's so hard it aches. "God, just like that, juuuust like that."

Your hands move to grab his shoulders to steady yourself, and after a particularly strong grind down and thrust up, Aki suddenly gasps — One of his hands flies to grip his side, his eyes screw shut, and his breath comes out quickly, in between his shuddery winces in pain.

"Shit, Aki?" Your tone shifts into worry in an instant, your expression softening. "Are you okay?"

The both of you need to get out of here, and soon. Aki knows this; he knows he's losing blood, lots of it, and giving you more of what he already doesn't have definitely didn't help things. His head feels fuzzy and light, like he's high, like he's dizzy. When he tries to open his eyes, the whole room is spinning, and his vision is blurred at the edges.

Aki knows the two of you need to get out, he knows he should stop messing around. He knows this, so why is he not doing it? And he knows he shouldn't be thinking all of these disgusting thoughts, but he just can't stop his mind from wandering. Why does he want you so badly, why does he need you so badly? Why is he so, so stupid?

"Yeah, yeah, just- It's just, dammit-" Aki's eyebrows furrow, and he presses his palm even harder to his side. "Just keep going. I'm gonna be fine, okay?"

You eye him with a look of concern, but quietly nod your head in response. Carefully, you readjust your position, and then you give your hips an experimental roll against him; Aki sighs deeply, his eyes rolling up, his head slowly falling back to hit the wall behind him. His prominent Adam's apple bobs when he swallows, and a low groan falls from his mouth when you press yourself even harder onto his crotch.

There's no answer as to why, Aki realizes. At least, he can't come up with one. But he can't seem to come up with a reason to push you off of him, either.

The door is barricaded. He can't hear the devils outside of it anymore. He's still bleeding, but not as harshly as before. He'll be fine. You have time. You can make good use of it.

"Shit, shit, don't stop… A-Ah, fuck-" Aki whines, sounding a little too pathetic for his liking, but he can't help himself; the way you're rhythmically rubbing yourself up against him, the sounds of your quiet whimpers and gasps, and the fact that he can't do anything about it — It's making him go fucking crazy.

His hands shake when he grabs your hips again, guiding you to grind down on him deeper, harder, and his voice is stern when he commands, "Do it like this, fucking please."

God, if only he could take control right now, if only those goddamn devils hadn't torn him up like this. The throbbing pain in his side makes it so he can hardly move. He can't buck his hips up into you like he so desperately wants to, like he needs to. All he can do is beg, and rely on you to give him the friction he's craving.

Hell, if he was able to move right now, he wouldn't even bother with that — Aki would take you in whichever way he wants. If his ankle wasn't messed up, if he wasn't practically bleeding to death, he'd have you bent over for him, right in this storage room, while he shoves his aching cock deep into you. He'd fuck you exactly how he pleases, and he knows you, like the good little subordinate you are, would take it.

As much as you get on his nerves, and as much as you are a stupid devil, you're always so good to him. Always there at his beck and call, always listening intently to every order you're given. You'd listen to whatever the hell he says, because you're always so eager to please him, aren't you?

Yeah, you are. That's why you're grinding against him eagerly, to the rhythm he's set with his grip on your waist. That's why when Aki holds you tighter, his voice rough, bordering on a growl when he commands, Bite me, again, you're obeying immediately, your head dipping until your fangs connect with the bruised flesh of his nape.

Your eyes flutter shut as you suck at the wound on Aki's neck, his blood metallic on your tongue. Aki hisses, the pain sharp, but so fucking good. His hips shift, and you take the hint, grinding down on him so deeply it causes him to moan, his cock throbbing hard in his slacks, leaking wet precum onto his briefs.

When you pull away, Aki meets your eyes, staring at you with a look in his gaze you could only describe as insatiable. His chest heaves with each breath, and his jaw clenches from the pain, or perhaps the pleasure, or perhaps both.

Maybe it's because of the blood loss screwing with his head, or maybe it's because of how amazing you're making him feel, but Aki suddenly can't tear his gaze away from your lips. He finds himself gripping your chin between his fingers, tugging you closer, closer, and when your lips press to his own, he's truly lost any sense of control he was hoping to hold onto.

Aki kisses you deeply, his hand moving to hold the back of your neck, giving it a gentle squeeze. You press closer, and he pulls you in, as close as he can get you. He nibbles on your bottom lip, his tongue swirls with yours, and fuck, he can taste his own blood, metallic and sharp — The feeling takes him even higher.

In the heat of the kiss, Aki tugs your dress shirt out from where it's tucked in your slacks, shoving his hands under, gliding his palms over your bare skin. His touch is cold, and his fingers are calloused, rough when they skim up your sides. Then, down, where his large hands grab your ass, groping and squeezing. You whimper into his mouth, and Aki groans in unison.

He tastes good, so good, so delicious you can't help but want more. Your body feels warm, your head feels floaty; you can't stop your hands from gliding up and down his chest, from hastily unbuttoning his suit jacket, from reaching up to tug it off his shoulders. You grip his tie, next, loosening it until it hangs limp around his collar, allowing you to start working at his dress shirt.

You stop when it's been unbuttoned halfway, exposing his flushed chest, his defined collarbones, the scars on his skin. You pull away to place urgent kisses on his jaw, his cheeks, his ear — Aki shivers, your lips soft on his skin, your teeth sharp when they nip at his chest, then his collarbones, nibbling at the sensitive bone.

As you kiss his lips again, one of your hands fists his collar, shoving him further against the wall, while the other glides through his hair; you yank at his hair tie, until the dark strands come loose from his topknot, falling to frame the sides of his face.

Aki isn't sure what overtakes you. Perhaps it was the thirst for blood that's ingrained into the minds of every devil, including yours. Or perhaps your desperation simply made you rougher, less aware of what you're doing with your own fangs. Either way, when you suddenly bite down on his tongue, Aki can't hold back a gasp in pain, nor can he stop his hands from gripping you so hard he's sure your skin will bruise.

And yet, he keeps kissing you, he doesn't stop, because he can't. He presses himself up further into you, his cock throbbing so hard you can feel it pulse between your legs, his stiff bulge shoved right up against you — Aki's tongue stings, but his dick feels so fucking good, waves of pleasure surging through his body from the way you desperately hump him.

You suck the blood from his tongue, lick it all off his teeth, your head getting higher at the taste. Energy surges through your body like a drug, lightning up every nerve, making you move faster, even needier. When you pull apart, connected by a bloodied line of saliva between your tongues, Aki is practically panting, gasping for air between each rough grind into him.

"G-God," Aki chokes out, his nails digging into your sides so hard you're sure it'll leave marks, just as your hands come to grip his broad shoulders. His face is warm, flushed pink, all the way to the tips of his ears.

"Does it feel good?" You ask with a shaky voice, as if you're desperate to hear his praise, to know how amazing you're making him feel.

Aki nods feverishly, "So good, s-so fucking good. Don't stop," His eyes meet your own, his pupils blown wide, his eyelids heavy. "I want you to make me cum."

If that's what he wants, then he's going to get it. If that's what your superior is ordering you to do, if that's what Hayakawa is asking of you, you're gonna make him cum, you're sure of it.

"Mhmm," Your eyes screw shut, your head dips, forehead pressed to his shoulder, "Yes, sir."

Your pace picks up, your thrusts into him getting harder, faster — Aki guides you by your hips roughly, until he's practically using you to get off, like you're his toy. You can feel the warmth from his stiff cock between your legs, how it throbs and twitches, the way it seems to swell even more when your fingers run through his long hair, gripping close to the scalp.

"Fuck, you're so good to me," Aki whines, and he grabs the back of your neck to tug you off his shoulder. You meet his sharp gaze, his eyes filled with lust and need. His words slur a little when he asks, "You want some more?"

Judging by the hungry way he looks at you, and the way he moves to press his hand to his side, you know exactly what he's talking about. You give him a particularly desperate roll of your hips, eliciting a groan from him, before you're babbling, "Yeah, yeah, yes please, yessir-"

"No," Aki scolds, cutting you off. He lifts his hand from his side; the blood smeared on his fingers is mostly dried and stale, so he brings them to his lips. He gathers saliva in his mouth, then spits a glob onto the digits, getting them nice and wet. His spit drips down his knuckles, stained red from the mix of the blood on his fingers, and the blood that still lingered in his mouth, on his tongue.

Aki looks up towards you, a frustrated sort of look on his face, his eyes narrowing. "Ask me again. Say my name."

"I- Sorry, yes, please, Hayakawa, sir." You stammer, hardly able to get out the words, your hips shifting a little in impatience.

"Tch, you're close," Aki scoffs. He presses his fingertips to your lips, his spit dripping down them, and his free hand snakes around to grip your cheeks, squeezing to hold you still. "First name."

"Please, please, Aki."

Your voice is so desperate, so needy — The way you say the syllables of his name makes it sound so fucking pretty, and Aki can't get enough of it.

He rewards you, shoving his soaked fingers in your mouth, allowing you to lick them clean. You taste his spit, his blood — Your tongue swipes over his knuckles, and you let out little gags as you choke on his fingers, struggling to take them with the way you're still grinding against his lap; the sound just turns Aki on even more than he already was.

Aki pushes you off of him just a little, adjusting your position on his thighs, before he grabs one of your hands, guiding it between his legs. Voice sultry and rough, dripping with lust, he leans forwards to whisper the dirtiest words into your ear.

Look, I'm so fucking hard here. You feel it throbbing?

You nod as Aki scissors his fingers in your mouth, using his other hand to guide you to squeeze his cock — He's so warm, so thick, so hard, and his breath hitches when you palm him, his eyes fluttering shut. Aki hastily pushes your hand away, grabbing your waist and pulling you back onto him, in tandem with shoving his fingers further down your throat.

He can't help but utter a string of commands, his voice deep and stern, because he knows you'll listen to them. He knows you'll give him exactly what he wants.

Shit, suck on them. And grind against me harder, get me close.

You're obliging the second you hear his voice in your ear: you suck hard on his fingers, sputtering around them, drool leaking out from the corner of your mouth. You grind on his length harder, rougher, each roll of your hips shoving you so close against his aching cock. Even through his slacks, the friction is perfect, and Aki feels heat begin to pool in the pit of his stomach.

His eyelashes flutter, his heart pounds in his chest. His grip starts to grow loose, and his breath comes out faster, faster, faster.

That's it, just like that. Such a good little devil. Say my name again.

His praise gets you higher, your mind foggy, your vision hazy. Mumbling around his fingers, you chant his name over and over again — Aki, Aki, Aki, each time seeming to push him closer and closer to the edge. Aki's head is just as dizzy, swirling from the lust, from the blood loss. It feels like he can hardly think, can hardly muster up coherent thoughts; all he can do is drown in the pleasure and the way his own name falls so beautifully from your lips.

I'm so close, you're gonna make me cum, just go a little harder for me.

He speaks through ragged pants and fragile gasps. Your movements become frantic, and his hips are unable to sit still as he feels his high build closer and closer; he ruts himself into you as much as he can, ever-so slightly, moaning from the added friction — S-So good, I'm gonna, gonna…

Aki cuts himself off with a moan, gripping you harder, his hands shaking, his thighs squirming. You keep up the pace, your hand gently holding his jaw, and you examine his expression: his bangs, messy and stuck to his forehead, his eyelids drooping from the pleasure, his lips parted, quivering. He meets your gaze, a sweet, gentle sort of look in his eyes, before he tosses his head back.

With a stuttered groan of your name, Aki falls apart. His eyes close, and he drags his fingers from your mouth to wrap his arms around you, pulling you close to himself. His muscles begin to relax as he rides out his high, cumming in his slacks, getting his briefs sticky and wet and filthy.

Your movements halt, and you let him catch his breath. His breathing is still shaky, but it slowly starts to calm. Aki cracks his eyes open, sitting up; he attempts to look at you, but his vision is blurred, his head is swimming, and his body sways forwards, leaving you to have to catch him by his shoulders.

He looks so damn disheveled, sweat dripping from his forehead, his hair down and an utter mess. You lost his hair tie, so there's no way you're putting it back up any time soon. His suit jacket is falling off his arms, his shirt is unbuttoned, and his tie is hanging loose around his collar. He has a fucked-out sort of expression on his face, his eyes glazed over, his eyelids heavy and threatening to close.

"You… You okay?" Aki manages, his voice weak and hoarse. His palm comes to press against his side, and although it doesn't feel like he's bleeding much anymore, it fucking hurts. There's a hard, aching sort of throb coming from his wound, spreading across his body. He's not sure if his wound somehow got worse, or if he felt this way all along, he was just so wrapped up in things that he didn't notice it until now.

His ears are ringing, and his mind feels fuzzy, exhausted. Aki's gaze flickers down to the ground for a moment, and he can't see very clearly, but he can still tell how the floor beneath him is soaked red, how his blood has been pooling out onto the concrete.

"I'm fine, Aki, are you? You don't seem okay."

Your voice hardly registers. Yeah, he's stupid, definitely stupid. So, so stupid. He shouldn't have wasted so much time, shit, what was he even thinking? The two of you need to get out of here, the devils are, they must be…

As if on queue, there's a loud slam on the door, then a huge bang as the barricade of shelves Aki set up earlier finally falls over. Aki grabs your shoulder, dragging you close with urgency, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"I'm gonna pass out," He says matter-of-factly, swallowing, "You're gonna get us out of here, right? I trust you."

He... trusts you?

"Of course," You nod, and begin pushing yourself up off of him. You reach down, offering him a hand. Aki takes it, and you drag him to his feet, slinging his arms around your shoulders, holding him up and keeping him steady. He leans on you, his head rested on your shoulder. His breath is warm when it tickles your neck, and strands of his soft hair brush over your cheek.

There's another slam at the door. The devils are going to break in any second now, but with how much of Aki's blood you drank, you feel ready for them. Waves of energy course through your veins, and your knuckles clench and unclench, itching for a fight. You'll protect him, you know you can. He's counting on you, after all.

"Aki?" You ask, grabbing his hand from where it's slung over you, giving it a gentle squeeze. His palms feel cold and clammy. "You still with me?"

"Barely," Aki's voice is so quiet you almost can't hear it over the clamoring of scratches at the door, the devils seeming to grow louder and louder, more and more restless. He grumbles, leaning his chest on your back, before continuing, "If you need more blood, just take it."

You roll your eyes. "I have enough, I took more than enough from you. You should rest, I'll hold onto you."

Another loud slam at the door. It sounds like it's about to break at the hinges, but Aki's deep breaths in your ear keep you from panicking, and the rush you still feel keeps you alert.

"I'll pay you back later for this."

You can't help but laugh at how serious he sounds, but before you can ask if he means paying you back for you protecting him, or for you making him feel good, or for some mixture of both, his weight on your back goes limp. His head rests on your shoulder as his consciousness slips.

Yeah, you'll see about that. For now, you've got to put his blood to good use.

thank you to my beloved @f1gments for helping me with this, I couldn't have done it without you :)

#aki hayakawa x reader #aki x reader #chainsaw man x reader #csm x reader #aki hayakawa #aki hayakawa smut #aki smut

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jazzyquarterblugs · 8 months ago

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𝐏𝐏𝐓𝐉: 𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐀𝐋𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒

Time to show ya'll the Altercanons for The Smiling Critters!! :D

(I have already looong posted them on my twitter but again for the Tumblr peeps I will post them here! :3)

From Oldest to Youngest!

Enjoy!

Bubba Bubbaphant!

The smart and probably the most mentally stable one out of the bunch (more on that later-) being the oldest isn't really easy when you've got 7 younger friends most of which love to go on rowdy fun adventures, nonetheless he is always with them every step of the way whenever he can! (Mostly because he needs to keep them from accidentally getting themselves killed 💀)

His Talent

Bubba is capable of creating balls of light and is able to change the intesity of light sources around him, in combat he can create lightbulb shaped items and throw them at to flashbang opponents, disorienting them and giving him the advantage, though this uses up his own energy and so he needs to think carefully about how many he creates, or else he will likely pass out.

KickinChicken!

The self-proclaimed cool guy of the critters. An daredevil who's always put looking for ways to have a lil fun, all the while making Bubba slowly lose his patience 😅 even though he may come off as an arrogant jerk to others, Kickin actually cares a lot about his friends and others more than he likes to admit! Just don't get on his nerves or he will make your life a living hell whenever given the chance!

His Talent

He can whip out three items of his choosing, whether it'd be a simple screwdriver or a flat out atomic bomb, all of which seem to follow a common theme 💀 though he is only lmited to three wishes and after using them all up he'd have to wait for an one hour cooldown before he can create more items again.

CatNap!

Not a very talkative critter, neither is he really stable in ANY WAY to begin with, he went suddenly missing once for 3 whole weeks and came back never the same, for 9 whole months has he never ate, drank or even slept, and it's only a matter of time before one day he finally collapses in on himself...

His...Talent???...

He is able create sleep-inducing red smoke, making whoever is nearby inhale it and fall into a Deep Sleep... (it doesn't kill them dn)

DogDay!

The leader of The Smiling Critters! And CatNap's best friend! This lovely sunshine is always ready for an adventure and bring a smile to everyone's faces no matter who they are! He is always standing up for what's right, willing to put his friends before himself.

His Talent?

His body glows a range of red to yellow whenever experiencing intense emotions, the hue and the temperature of his body depending on how intense the feeling is, if it is too intense his body is capable of burning the skin off of anybody who attempts to touch him.

PickyPiggy!

The nature-loving and diet obsessed one of the group, she absolutely loves the wonders of mother nature, even owning an vegetable garden herself! She loves to eat but always makes sure she stays healthy when doing so! Though sometimes she is so entranced by eating food that she often forgets to keep up with the others and finds herself confused, she always feels like she has an reputation to uphold considering her father is a well-known cook in Critterville, to make things even less easy she has 12 younger brothers to take care of!

Her Talent

She is able to take and storage items within an infinite pocket dimension like a personal inventory in her pockets, though she needs to have actualy pockets for this to work, luckily she knows how to sew!

Hoppy Hopscotch!

The physically active one of the group! And DogDay's beloved little sister! This rambunctious lil rabbit is willing to take on a challenge if it means having fun! Though she is really accident prone so she often gets herself hurt! (Pretty frequently actually-) but even so she doesn't know how to back down! While impatient and loud, she is happy to protect her friends from danger!

CraftyCorn!

The shy and soft-spoken one! She's pretty timid but has an incredible creative side to her! She loves to create all kinds of art but most specifically loves to draw! Even though she may not have had the best first start of her life, but after moving into Bubba's home and becoming part of The Smiling Critters, she realizes she feels right at home.

Her Talent

She is able to mend and shape paint however and whatever she wants it to be! Whether it is colorful wings of freedom or another way to paint, she needs to have paint at her disposal though.

She is also capable of magic of her own! But due to her previous living conditions she was never able to tap into her gift and discover the wonders of unicorn magic all that much, though luckily Bubba has enrolled her to equestrian classes to help her with that problem! <)

Bobby Bearhug!

The sweetest and youngest one out of the group! She was found alone outside near the Critters' treehouse, ever since then Bubba has taken her under his wing and has been taking care of her since, it is unknown what happened to her parents it has been assumed that they had just abandoned her.

Her Talent

She is able to sense the true intentions of a person's heart, helping her know who is worthy of trust or not, she is also able to sense the emotions of an individual though this can be physically and even mentally exhausting, making her needing to take frequent naps to gain her energy back.

Aaaand that is all I have for today!

I hoped you enjoy these Altercanons and if you have any questions regarding them or this AU feel free to ask in my ask box! :3

(repeat users are okay btw!)

#poppy playtime #poppy playtime au #poppy playtime jealousy #poppy playtime jealousy au #jealousy au #pptj #smiling critters #smiling critters au #bubba bubbaphant #kickinchicken #catnap #dogday #picky piggy #hoppy hopscotch #craftycorn #bobby bearhug #Bobby is a baby in this AU yes #Why? Cause I can >:)#But it's also because it makes up for an funny dynamic between Bubba and Kickin plus for story purposes!#DogDay and Hoppy are siblings #Kickin is a trans man cause I said so 😘#Picky is always getting distracted by food so she forgets what is going on sometimes #She also has OCD #Crafty is a sweet unicorn who does not deserve to have a mother like hers #Bubba is literally the only one with the least amount of drama in his life #And CatNap is my comfort character! <3 #I hope this doesn't upset all of y'all- ;-;#REMEMBER THIS IS AN AU!!#altercanons #altercanon

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hiveworks · 1 year ago

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Convention Guide: Basic Tabling Gear

September 2023

Whether you’re an artist alley newbie or you’ve been doing the convention circuit for years, putting together your table essentials is a crucial part of selling your wares at events and ensuring your weekend goes smoothly. In this guide, we’re covering the basics of setting up your first ever table.

This list is a non comprehensive assessment of things a tabler might need and should be used as a simple starting point. The four main categories we will cover are:

The Display

Behind the Table

Money

Quality of Life Suggestions

—🐝—

1. The Display

a) Tablecloth

Starting from the base layer, we’ve got tablecloths– an easy way to add some color and personality to your table. Your tablecloth doesn’t even have to be an actual tablecloth! You can use a length of fabric cut from a bolt at your local craft store. Convention tables tend to be 6’ long, so when selecting your fabric, look for measurements longer than 72” (183cm).

Play with color and texture to find something that fits the theme of your work on display. Patterns can be fun, but might distract from your inventory or signage if the colors/design are too bold and busy. Tip: your cloth may get messy from food behind the scenes or dust/dirt if you do outdoor events. Get something that’s easy to wash in your machine!

b) Display supports

Most artists these days use cube organizers that break apart into flat panels and connector joints. They are easy to store when not in use, easy to transport in a suitcase or tote, and you can change the shape depending on your table set up and inventory. Tip: constructing your display to include shelves that face you behind the table helps organize your backstock during the show.

These cubes aren’t your only option. Some people use milk crates, picture frames, wooden boxes, custom built shelves, etc. Consider what works best for you, your aesthetic, and your storage/transportation needs. When in doubt, you can always lay your goods flat on the table.

c) Signage

Having clear signage on your items to denote price helps people feel more comfortable purchasing from your table. Your price markers don’t have to be fancy. Prices written neatly on pieces of paper and paperclipped to your books or taped up next to your stickers is a simple and effective strategy. Some people print out a price list or use a sign board. It’s totally up to you!

Include a sign with your name somewhere in your display, including your social media handle if it is different from your artist name. This will help fans of your work more easily recognize you. Tip: use a QR code prominently displayed on your table that links to your portfolio, linktree, etc.

d) Banner/backdrop

Look out behind you! Whether it’s a banner, a backdrop, or something else, the space behind your seat can be put to use. While it is relatively easy to print custom banners at most print shops, many tablers cite this as an unnecessary expense, especially for first time artist alley participants. If you’d like to hang a collage of your work behind you, look for photography backdrop tripods, which can collapse and fold up neatly. The behind-the-table space is shared with other artists, and it can get cramped. Be mindful of your needs when deciding how to do a backdrop. Some artists opt to exclude a backdrop and just use their cubes to arch over them.

Optional: Decorate your table! Flowers, string lights, plushies, etc. can all bring a special one of a kind experience to your set up.

2. Behind The Table

a) Inventory

Now that we’re behind the table, let’s talk about what’s going on back here. Starting with inventory. If you’re absolutely unsure how much to bring, a good starting number is about 10 of each item. If you sell out, congratulations! You’ll know what to bring more of next time, or you’ll know you should raise your prices. For storing inventory during transportation to the con and while at the show, you might consider simple boxes, an accordion folder, or a portfolio case, depending on what kind of items you’re bringing. Reminder: if you’re using display cubes, structuring them to give you shelves on your side of the table will help you keep things organized.

b) Suitcase/storage tote

Under your feet will be your suitcase/tote box, and perhaps a dolly, if you used one to wheel your boxes into the building. It is recommended that your suitcase/tote has a lock on it, as you’ll be leaving inventory overnight. Hopefully no matter what you use, it has wheels of some kind. All this gear gets heavy. If you are not using a wheeled device, make sure to check your pack’s weight as you assemble your supplies. You will have to carry it from the parking garage or bus stop through the convention center, and back out again at the end of the show.

c) Cover cloth

What else is in that box? Your cover cloth. This one is optional, but some artists like having a lightweight cloth to cover their table when the day is done. Something like a vinyl picnic tablecloth works perfectly. The cover cloth helps prevent anyone from accidentally knocking your things over or having things go missing.

d) Business cards

On your side of the table, you ought to have plenty of back up business cards. You’ll have some of these out on the table for passersby to pick up, but this item is the number one thing you’re going to hand out the most of. It’s always better to have too many rather than too few. For a single three day convention, you might need 200+ cards. Make sure your website/online shop is easy to find on your cards. Cute business cards go a long way to making your table memorable long after the con has ended.

Bonus supplies: Here’s a short list of things you might need throughout the weekend to touch up your display. Keep them in a bag and bring them with you every time you table!

Masking and clear tape

Spare paper for impromptu signage

Sharpies and pens

Zip ties

Scissors

3. Money

a) Card reader

The most commonly used card reader is Square, but there are alternatives. Research their fees and prices to determine what fits your needs. You’ll want to get a hold of a card reader and set up your account well in advance of your show. Card readers require wifi/data to work and will only work in your country of business, so take that into consideration when packing for your show. Most convention halls have wifi (sometimes at a cost), but if your show is outdoors you might be relying on data.

b) Cash/change

Cash is king! Make sure to bring enough cash/change for your show. About $25-50 in small bills is usually enough if you’re also accepting card. At the end of the day, consider tucking your big bills away in a secure location in your hotel room. If something were to happen to your bag, you’ll appreciate not having your entire weekend’s earnings in it!

c) Fanny pack

Keeping your cash attached to you at all times is smart. People often use fanny packs or cross body bags to manage their money.

4. Quality of Life

a) Backup battery

Since you may be using your phone to complete transactions, or maybe you’re drawing on your iPad with time to kill, you’ll want to bring a back up battery. Most tables don’t have access to electricity, so having a battery and charging cables is a good idea.

b) Hand sanitizer & masks

One hand sani pump out front and one behind the table. You’ll be handling money, shaking hands with strangers, and touching surfaces that thousands of people have been touching all day. As long as there have been conventions, there have been con plagues. You don’t want to get knocked out with a cold (or worse) so masking is great!

c) Table buddy

If you’re able to, bring a friend to help you table. Cons will often give tablers 2 passes (one for you and one for a friend). They can help you grab coffee or lunch, get change, package a big purchase, cover you for bathroom breaks, etc. Table buddies are truly the unsung heroes of artist alley.

d) No table buddy? No problem.

Check in with con staff and volunteers. Many comic cons will have a green room for artists to take a snack break and decompress, and con staff will help guide you there. Some conventions also enlist volunteers to help sit your table while you’re away. They’ll make sure your table stays in order, direct people to your business cards, and inform curious patrons when to expect you back.

e) Fun stuff!

There will be plenty of downtime. Con hours are long and often slow in the mornings. Bring something to keep you occupied, but not too engrossed, so you can easily pull away to greet customers and fans. Fidget toys, a puzzle book, knitting or crochet project are all great ideas.

f) Get Comfy, Eat Well, Stay Hydrated

Going from your quiet desk to the high octane energy of artist alley can be a shock to the system. Some items to help reduce the fatigue are: noise canceling headphones during downtime and breaks, sunglasses to combat the fluorescent lights and rest your eyes, slippers or comfy shoes for under the table, and layers of clothing. Convention halls can fluctuate temperatures wildly. With lots of AC during the summer, sweaty crowds, and the flow of traffic to your table, you’ll be working up a sweat fulfilling transactions one second then freezing after sitting still for a minute.

Most importantly, have a small cooler with snacks and drinks. You may not get a break, but it’s important to stay hydrated and energized.

—🐝—

The next time you're at a convention, take note of displays that inspire you. #ArtistAlley and #ConTable tags on Instagram or TikTok can connect you with creators sharing their setups. Your table design is an opportunity to be creative and express yourself, while also learning along the way what works for you. Most tables, however, are built up over several convention seasons of trial and error, so while it’s good to take note of others' displays as a source of inspiration, try to keep your first table relatively simple. The more you table, the more you’ll be able to identify your needs for you and your merchandise.

We’ll close out this blog post with one final suggestion. Big, multi-day conventions can be fun, but they can also be expensive. Your tabling supplies and inventory aside, if you’re doing a show away from home, you’ll contend with table fees (often $250-450 USD), hotel, transportation, meals, etc. And not every convention is a good fit for your wares! Small, local events and art festivals are a great, low stakes, relatively cheap (or free) way to start tabling. Check your area for zine fests, queer makers markets, and craft fairs.

Sound off if there’s anything we missed! Good luck on your tabling adventures.

#tabling #convention #comic con #artist alley #hiveworks #blog

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wannab-urs · 1 year ago

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Congrats on 1.5k! So deserved!! 🖤

To celebrate, I'd love a drabble. Any Pedro boy will do!

Keep rocking & being awesome, gorgeous! 🖤😘

Thank you so so so much <3 I hope you like this ahhhh

Save a Horse... Or Whatever

Pairing: Jack "Agent Whiskey" Daniels x Reader

Summary: Whiskey got hurt on a mission and he comes into your lab to get patched up.

Warnings: Jack Daniels being allowed to speak, medical shit that is completely bullshitted, one mention of blood, some talk of like digging around in a wound, etc, Whiskey calls you Soda pop and Sugar. Technically you're Agent Soda. Brief descriptions of oral m!receiving. No use of y/n, reader isn't gendered (I don't think?) WC: 900

A/N: I kind of think I'll turn this into a full one shot at some point? This is unbeta'd sorry!

Jack Daniels Masterlist | Main Masterlist | AO3 | Kofi

You really did not expect to end up with Agent Whiskey’s cock in your mouth today. Maybe you’d thought about it before, maybe hoped the opportunity would present itself at some point, but certainly not today.

–-

He left your field office this morning for what was supposed to be a simple mission. Go in, shoot the fuckers, take the briefcase, call in the clean up crew. Simple, easy, something he’d done a hundred times. But somehow it got fucked up six ways from Sunday and he ended up limping his sorry ass into your lab, carrying the brief case but also dragging his left leg.

“Howdy, Soda Pop. Reckon you could fix up my leg?” He flashes you his trademark sideways smile and a wink, before his face crumples and his legs nearly give out from under him.

“Fuck, Whiskey! What in the hell happened to you?” You run over to help him, grabbing his thick arm and heaving him onto your examination table.

“Let’s just say I did not receive a Kentucky welcome.”

“Clearly. Can you take your jeans off, or am I gonna have to cut you out?” Whiskey smirks at you again and you brace yourself for whatever is about to come out of his mouth.

“Well now, Soda Pop, thought you’d at least take me out to dinner before you tried to get in my pants. Think I can manage to get naked for ya though, sugar.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Whiskey you’re literally bleeding out,” you chastise him as he pulls off his belt. He winces as he shucks his blood stained jeans down his thighs, panting a little with the effort.

You try desperately not to show how much it turns you on. The guy you’ve harbored a bit of a crush on for years stripping down right in front of you… Who could blame you, honestly?

“Fuck! Soda, I’m too weak to whip a gnat. You’re gonna have to pull ‘em the rest of the way.” He collapses back on the table, jeans sitting not even half way down his thighs.

You huff an annoyed breath and roll your eyes. “Shoulda just let me cut them off, idiot.” You pull off his ridiculous designer cowboy boots and yank his jeans the rest of the way down. You head over to your storage cabinet and grab some alcohol wipes, a pair of forceps, and a Beta Gel shot.

Stepping between his parted legs, you clean his wound with the wipes as carefully as you can. His breath hitches in what you assume is pain and he digs his nails into his palms. “Alright, Whiskey, I gotta dig the bullet fragments out now. I can give you a pain shot, but your leg will be numb for the rest of the day. Up to you.”

He props himself up on his elbows and waggles his eyebrows at you. “Don’t need a shot, sugar. I can handle it.”

You raise a very skeptical eyebrow, but grab the forceps anyway. As you start the process of removing metal fragments from his leg, Whiskey sucks in a breath and his head falls back between his shoulder blades. You initially think it’s from pain. “Sure you can handle it, cowboy?”

“Oh yeah, baby doll. I can handle it.” You eye him suspiciously, before trailing your eyes back down to where you’re working on his leg. Something catches your attention though.

“Jack Daniels,” you say sternly. “Are you fucking getting off on this?” His cock is half hard in his boxer briefs.

“And what if I was? Pretty girl, fixin’ me up, touchin’ me all over…” He trails off.

“That why you became an Agent, Whiskey? You got a pain kink?” You resume pulling the pieces of the bullet out of his leg, nearly done now anyway.

“Just ignore it, sugar. It’ll go away,” his voice is raspy, rough as if he’d been yelling and so low you feel it in your gut. You pull the last bit of the bullet out, grab the beta gel shot, and stab it into his thigh.

His cock jumps in his underwear and he falls flat back on the table, letting out a slight whimper.

“And what if I don’t want it to go away, Whiskey?” You don’t move from between his thighs. In fact, you step in closer, trail your hands up the outsides of his thighs and press your thumbs in.

His head perks up at that and he meets your eyes, a cocky grin spreading across his face. “Well then, Soda pop… How’d you like to ride home on a real cowboy?”

“That’s a terrible line, Whiskey. I really hope you don’t use that often.”

“Only once or twice, sugar.” You roll your eyes, but hook your fingers into the waistband of his briefs anyway. You pull them down and his cock springs out, hitting his belly with a thwack. “Jesus, Jack, how do you walk around with that thing?”

“Bowlegged,” he deadpans. You snort a laugh and take him in your hand, wrapping your fingers around his obscene girth. You dip your head and lick a stripe up the underside of his cock before wrapping your lips around the tip and sliding down as far as you can in one smooth motion.

–-

And that is how you ended up with Whiskey’s cock in your mouth today. Next time you’re aiming to end up in his bed.

#gins1500sleepover #Jack Daniels #Jack Daniels fics #Jack Daniels fanfiction #Jack Daniels x reader #Jack Daniels x you #Agent Whiskey #Agent Whiskey fics #Agent Whiskey fanfiction #Agent Whiskey x reader #Agent Whiskey x you #Kingsman #Kingsman: The Golden Circle #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro fics #pedro pascal character fanfiction

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contentloadingandstuff · 1 year ago

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A Miner's Fate - Kujou Sara x Male!Reader

CW: Limb loss, mobile formatting, Male! Reader.

A/N: There's an unusual amount of limb loss asks on this blog, huh? Well, I don't mind. But it is interesting, for sure.

Working in industry isn't an easy job. It never was, not in the ancient times, and still not nowadays. The scientific developments from Fontaine brought elevators and fire extinguishers, but they did little to alleviate the risk.

You couldn't be more thankful for your occupation. While others worked hard in the mines, you got the privilege to fill the role of the head geologist of Jakotsu Mine. Though your duties still included going into the mines, the trips were short and shallow - nothing like those of the actual miners. You only had to inspect the excavated ore and identify new veins.

Still, even those worry your fiance without end. The amount of sleepless nights she spent thinking about an accident in the mines is countless. Every single time there was news of an accident in the mines, her mind instantly went to you. Maybe you died? Or were buried in some closed off tunnel, soon to starve to death?

But truth be told… Deep within, Sara didn't believe something could happen to you. Such accidents exist only in rumors, right? They always happen to outsiders, people she never knew, never cared about. Not her Y/N.

And yet it came to her. It wasn't a question of if, but one of when.

A cave-in. You were doing a routine check up in one of the dead-end ducts when a methane explosion collapsed a part of the tunnel. Your coworkers had the time to hide by the walkway's edges, but you were caught in between two storage containers. Unable to flee, unable to save yourself. Crushed under tonnes of cold, hard rock.

Luckily, you didn't die in the incident. Right leg crushed to a pulp, the other one broken, neck fractured, all of your ribcage in pieces, skull cracked… It's a miracle you even survived transport.

"Don't you dare let him die" was what Sara told the surgeon as you were wheeled into the operation room.

The wait was long and painful. Being the general, Sara was used to stressful situations - not ones of this sort, however. It struck something she has had for not that long yet. A loved one. Sara didn't cry. Not yet. The time for that would be at your funeral, not now. She needed to be strong, not only for you, but for herself as well.

And strong she remained, for the entire nine hours. The uncertainty crushed her soul, bending and pushing the boundaries of her resolve. Yet she held firm.

The tears fell only when she could, at last, stand beside your hospital bed. Sara took your hand, wrapped in dry gauze, and cried into it. She apologized, for what - she didn't know herself. She slept inside the room, uncaring for her mundane duties. The war was long over. There was no more closure to be had, no more battles to plan. Only training and paperwork. She came out of it forever changed as well. Her realization of what exactly the Raiden Shogun got Inazuma into inspired a change in her priorities. Her loved ones, the only that would support and understand her, should be valued above all else. Of those people, only you remained.

When you woke up, her joy was immense. She thanked you, thanked the Archons, thanked the doctors you were safe. She could finally feel the grip of your hand, weak as it was, on her own. A part of the normality she lost that day was back. Only for a moment, however.

Sara knew that what she saw was not her lover, but pieces of him. Her whole world, shattered by the unfeeling earth. You were alive, yes, but the road to recovery would be long and taxing - of that Sara was sure. You could barely sleep, eat, talk, breathe due to the excruciating pain from your injuries. She heard your groans, moans, cries and gasps of agony on a daily basis. You were suffering, and she could do little to lift your pain.

She wasn't a doctor, but she would still try to help, as much as she possibly could. and help she did.

Her presence was priceless for you. Your life changed forever, all the nightmarish events leading up to the event resulting in pain beyond comparison. You've lost an entire limb. You would never be the same. You would not run, jump, or climb ever again.

This was impossible to accept, at first. You thrashed, cried, screamed at your unfeeling abuser. You cursed out every rock, every grain of sand for your situation. The screams fell on Sara's ears, squeezing out every tear she had in her body. She knew you needed time, but it didn't make anything easier. Seeing you in pain hurt her as well.

She left you until she heard absolute nonsense from your mouth. You told her you were a weakling, less than a man, less than a human even. You told her that you don't deserve her anymore. That you would only weigh her down, occupy her time, waste her effort.

If only she could slap you back then, she would have. Hard. Why you said those things is beyond her. A leg is nothing compared to you being alive. If she could, she would gladly give her own limb just to see you happy and healthy. To be able to see you smile again, to hear you laugh, to be able to tell you just how much she loves you.

During the following months, Sara never once left your side. She slept with you, ate with you, she cared for you. At her request, the medics showed her how to tend to all of the wounds and their respective bindings, and Sara followed their recommendations to the letter. While she was tending to your body, she tried to distract you with a conversation. Those weren't her specialities, not by any means, but she put real effort into every line. She, the esteemed Tengu General, even made attempts to joke. All in an effort to wipe that frown from your face. To see you smile again.

She assured you that losing a leg did nothing to decrease your value to her. More - it proved your resolve, as to withstand such an injury one must have truly remarkable endurance, both mental and physical. The wound was, and still is a proof of your might. To be able to crawl back up from something like this is no small feat.

As soon as the doctors told her that you would live, Sara started looking for a prosthesis. Using the advice of every doctor she knew, she selected a very expensive model, and ordered it from Snezhnaya. Your life and comfort were much more important to her than her personal conflicts.

She could have bought one earlier, yes, but she didn't. Sara knew that, if you would not make it, the item would be an extremely painful memoir of you. She wanted to wait to spare herself from the inevitable agony that would bring.

From the first steps, up to the short marathons, Sara was with you. She held your hand when you got up again, when you used the wooden supports, then a cane, until you could stand on your own two legs again. Even then, her hand always found yours.

Ultimately, despite the terrible nature of the situation, the experience brought you even closer to each other, and made you nearly inseparable.

Sara swore one cold night, under a full moon and a clear sky, that she would be there for you. And she wishes to keep that promise, for as long as she draws breath.

Thanks for reading!

#genshin impact #genshin #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x male reader #genshin impact x male reader #genshin impact hurt/comfort #genshin hurt/comfort #injury hurt/comfort #hurt/comfort #genshin impact kujou sara #kujou sara #kujou sara x reader #kujou sara x male reader #kujou sara x you #kujou sara x y/n #kujou Sara hurt/comfort

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