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burning like hell | ruthless!connor

pairing: ruthless!connor x reader summary: you use everything he’s taught you, every trick in the book, but he never taught you how to have a heart. wc: 2.1k+ genre: angst, intensity, conflicted connor

Move. Push. Don’t stand still. In. Out. In. Out.

Your body moved with a vigor beyond its own. Whatever force, whatever pull that has kept you alive till now, refused to let you die, its fist seizing the string that held your livelihood with a remorseless fury. You will not die today, not as long as you have breath in your body. It whispered its determination in your ear as the thunder of your feet echoed annoyingly off the walls.

Except it wasn’t a force, more like a living entity. The apparition raining down its ferocity without sparing a drop of repentance, without losing a second of sleep at night, because the truth was, it didn’t sleep. Sleep was a mortal flaw for all living things, but it was not alive, it was a force of nature and nature never slept.

The soundwaves of your foot falls jumping into your ears made a cacophony of sound, enough that you were certain multiple hunters would begin their ravenous prowl any minute. What you were able to do was a miracle. A heavenly granted action of mercy as it saw your anguish, your pain, your agony and it could no longer bear hearing your groans and screams throughout the night.

You felt the same.

Breaking out of the cell was the easy part. Making it out of the fortress, on the other hand, would prove to be more challenging. It was a maze full of infinite proportions and mirages of every kind.

You would forfeit any chance of retaining mental fortitude before escaping and afterward, you were unlikely to recognize the monstrosity staring back at you. Your own name would sound like a like a language you were forbidden to understand.

But you kept running, sprinting, pushing. Hoping that your time and your desire to make it out alive would not dwindle as your body pumped liquid nitrous down your veins. It’s the only thing keeping you from collapsing, the only thing between life and something far grievous than death itself.

The voice of fate rang through the alabaster walls but your feet refused to wait any longer. They’ve known patience as much as they’ve known the ground. They readily denied its name with fervor. “You’re not getting anywhere little bird.”

Like hell. “There’s nowhere you can hide from me — no matter how hard you run those pretty little feet through the halls.”

A scream pounded on the back of your throat. Shut up, shut up, shut up.

Hope is a light brightest in the dark and you refused to let the howling gale burn this light out. It was what you were running for, what was keeping your livelihood alive.

It was what gave you faith that prompted you to throw yourself over a banister and down a story to the floor below without so much as a whimper.

Could the landing have been better, oh absolutely, but from the buzzing singing through your blood vessels didn’t let you dwell on your sloppy landing for too long. You had to move faster; you didn’t know when your storm of freedom would tear through the building and no force of any kind would keep you away from liberation.

A deadly sound yanked your ear back to your surroundings - the cocking of a gun. They’re closing in and they’ll spare you no expense.

Move. Push. Don’t stand still. In. Out. In. Out. Your breathing regulated itself as you slipped through another door as a piece of metal deflected off it. A metallic cling hurtled after you.

These men are faster than you, stronger than you, and know more about the facility than you will be familiar with, but you will not under any circumstances let them get the better of you.

The cadence of the words charging through your mind gave a steady beat to cling to, a tempo similar to the drum of your feet pounding down the stairs and through the exit door before the others could hope to pursue you.

You gave a sigh of relief, for waiting in front of you with a look of steel laced with a deadly poison was your force of nature, your hurricane, your tempest, here to save you, to deliver you from the evils of this institution. Of course, it was a scouting mission and you planned on getting captured, but the horrors of it all were far more critical than what you had ever dreamt it.

The candle of hope burned brightly, its renewed strength fueled by the man standing in front of you.

The prowess with which he stood was enough to make you shiver and foster the desire to get as far away as possible but you knew this tiger had been tamed. No lion would harm you today. You were a dove soaring above the chaos of the world and he was the wolf, hungry, voracious, insatiable - conquering life and death.

His obsidian-colored eyes scrutinized your appearance, his nose wrinkling at the sight of blood. The depth with which his eyes held was vastly infinite and in these boundless expanses, sympathy could not be salvaged. It was not feasible.

Out of breath and slightly dazed, you slurred out the phrase, “You’re here.”

With no inflection in his tone, he replied, “Where are they?”

Of course, his concern never surrounded you, didn’t pay attention to how many blood splatters reside on your grey jumpsuit, or how the bruises on your face marred your features, or how your wrists and arms were littered in cuts or how bloodshot and pallid your eyes and face were.

He never stopped to consider how human you were, as if the flaws you sustained could be revised and transfigured into something better, something superior, something elite.

Your face hardened like magma exposed to open air -- or in this case, the truth -- as you quickly recalled who you were speaking to. “Two minutes from opening that door.” You huffed around his figure, not pausing to see if his eyes trailed your movements. “I suggest we move.”

Your feet started down the hallway before he slipped out his gun and grasped your arm. “Stay behind me.” Orbs boring into yours, you were at the mercy of his will. His gaze kept you captive, held you prisoner -- although you weren’t sure if it was against your will. His hand left a trail of warmth down your exposed forearm as he moved you behind his fortress of strength.

In a fury of chaos and destruction, he managed to shoot five officers with three bullets and a defining “crack”. He moved like a dancer jumps around the stage; with grace, poise, and determination.

Easily sliding under his next opponent, his hand ripped their feet from under them, their heads smacking against the ground. A chop to the neck was enough to stun them and a bullet finished the job.

You tried to help, landing a jab or two when you could, but you were no match. No of skill, confidence, or aptitude. You were fragile and weak, he was inhuman and strong. In all aspects, you didn’t even possess the faculty to outdo him, he would always outdo you.

Watching the smooth precision of which his strikes were completed, it was no wonder he came back unscathed. He would never waste more energy than what was required and if he could take people down with a throat punch and a slamming hit to the head, then that’s what he would do.

Another five fell within exactly 20 blinks of your eye.

The fluidity of battle was similar to watching a ballerina pirouette — stunning and fast. He moved liked lightning and walked like thunder. He was every part of the storm, the wind, the rain, and the danger. He was a force of nature and nature never slept.

A click caught your attention. Looking towards it, you spotted a shooter, his gun level with Conor’s forehead. Planting your foot you ran. You swung. Your fist connected. A groan racked through the man. He caught your second swing. He turned you around. His gun was now pressed in your temple. His hand clamped around both your wrists which fit comfortable between his big warm paws.

“Move and she dies.” Your captor yelled over the noise of another body falling. Why couldn’t you listen to Connor? Why did you have to care so much? Why did you try to help? The overwhelming desire to keep him as far from death as possible overrode every logical idea you’ve had.

It would be your downfall.

The wolf paused, chest heaving, keeping his firearm aimed at a fatal artery near the neck. “What makes you believe I care if she lives or dies?” The monotone pitch of his voice was like a slap to the face. His gun moved slightly, aiming for the shoulder. Your heart fell to the floor. Connor, your lips uttered but no sound came out. Connor.

“You’ve torn through ten of my best soldiers in three minutes, I have a feeling you’d like her still breathing.” His grip on your hair tightened but you refused any sign of discomfort to rule your features. Instead, you locked your jaw, setting your teeth in place.

You knew better than to test the wolf but he didn’t. Something moved in those voids that we called eyes, rage, fury, and something warm, something touching, something that could only be considered a weakness.

Another flaw and another chance of failing a mission, another thing Connor and the division drilled into you. Connor deviated from the normal operating procedure, something you’ve never seen him do.

What’s wrong with him?

His eyes flickered to you before moving to the man's shoulder, his fingers curling around the trigger, flirting with the bullet in the chamber. A breath echoed through the room as you watched his eyes darken, slant, and move into focus.

“You’ve got five seconds to drop the gun. 5...4-”

Hot, sticky blood flew over the sides of your face and your arm as you collapsed to the ground with your now dead captor. Being pulled upright, Conor wrenched you off the ground. “I told you to stay behind me.” He muttered through clenched teeth.

“He was going to shoot you. Do you think I would have let you die?” You fired back, annoyed at his tone.

He didn’t answer.

The walls flew by as he dragged you along, roughly guiding you through the labyrinth of corridors and hallways that were beyond you in every sense. Not letting you have an opportunity to cry or freak out or numb yourself, you were already outside, waiting for your pick up. “Connor.”

The wolf was on the hunt and would not answer to his name, only determined on getting you to your safehouse. His eyes scoured the road for a black SUV. “Connor.”

“Connor.” His black eyes snapped to yours with irritation. You pushed anyway, trying to see a hint of, a fleck, a speck of remorse, of humanity. “You could have talked him down, why kill him?”

“He was going to kill you.” His answer was curt and final like his decisions. No room for argument or debate, unless you made some.

“And?”

He inhaled sharply and stepped noticeably closer, the front of your shoes almost touching. “Do you want to die?” His eyes were ablaze, the first indication that he felt anything, until now, you weren’t sure. “He would have killed you. Blood pouring out of you freely, no breath filling your lungs, no --” He took a breath looking away.

“It was you or him.” His voice as hard as steel.

You craned your neck, trying to get his attention. Finally, you put your hand on his sharp jaw, feeling the bone curve into the soft skin of your hand. Visibly startled, he locked his sights on you. “Why?” The words fell almost silently off your lips.

Stepping closer, his sights moved to your slightly parted lips and your warm, loving eyes and how you were open and vulnerable and -- he leaned down, his bottom lip centimeters from touching yours. It was if the universe conspired with you in this moment, making room for something that it knew was there, only waiting for it to be unleashed.

Suddenly, he jumped away, “No. No.” He whispered, eyes drawn to a close. He refused to unfasten the locks preventing from them from opening, preventing them from gazing back at you.

“Why? Did I do something wrong?” You rushed, but it was too late, the car pulled around the corner and Connor was already walking away, shoulders bent, head down and body language dejected.

There was no goodbye, no phrase of gratitude, no knight and shining armor speech given. Just a whisper of the future and a reminder of the past. As the door shut behind you, you sat there numb, paralyzed, frozen.

Fate did not play your hand and as you drove further away, the candle of hope sputtered before it died completely — never to come back to life.

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