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wildheartsalwaysburn · 6 months

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OP men taking care of their SO

Gn!Reader (I tried)

Characters: Trafalgar Law, Eustass Kid, Sanji, Bartolomeo, Corazon

CW: mentions of ED (starving, vomiting, overexercising), bad body image/body dysmorphia, cursing, SH, slight nsfw for Kid

Notes: I'm in a terrible mental state rn, kinda relapsing. OP hyperfixation fixes stuff so I decided to write some HC how they would act when noticing their SO is struggling with an ED.

Trafalgar Law

he had a bad feeling about your eating habits a while ago

noticing you rush to the bathroom after every meal and "showering" excessively

but didn't mention cuz he knows to leave people alone (he's the same tbh)

it hit him during the monthly physical examination

he listens to your heartbeat and notice it being really low

"y/n, would you step on the scale?" he asks in a cold but also concerned tone

as he notices you getting anxious when standing in front of that thing, he sighs and puts a hand reassuring on your shoulder

"it's ok. I'm here. Just step on it, please." his voice still concerned but warm and soft

he looks at the low numbers in shock and takes you carefully from the scale before you can see the numbers

"y/n-ya. What's wrong?" he'll take your cold hands and sits right in front of you

if you break out in tears, he'll just sit there and hug you tightly, til you calm down by yourself

if you stay cold and stubborn, he'll get annoyed but also takes care of you

either way, you talk a lot and will make a rehab plan, he'll watch over you as much as he can

he won't miss a moment to show you how much he loves and cares for you

"you're the most beautiful soul I know, y/n-ya."

"I know it hurts, but I cannot lose someone I love dearly, again."

"We get through this, ok?"

all in all, he's a doctor and acts like one, but he'll support you whenever needed

Eustass Kid

he notice during working out together

the last times you'd been skipping meals and even alcohol, working out without him even in the middle of the night

first he thought you'd simply want to get stronger than him and teases you daily

but on that day you've overdone yourself, your body can't take it anymore and you get dizzy and weak all of a sudden, letting the weights fall down with a thud

"y/n?! Fucking seriously?" he first yells at you (rule: never let weights fall down)

you sink on your knees, mumbling sth like you'd be fine

"Fine my ass!" he swears and lifts you up to carry you to his room

"what the hell are you thinking?!" he's clearly pissed

he'll put on his too big warm clothes and coat, still staring at you angrily

forces you to drink water and hot tea, he still stares at you

"so what the fuck is wrong with you, y/n?" angry, annoyed tone

when you start to cry, he's overwhelmed and feels bad not being able to help, so he just sits there and pets your head

when you glance back and pout/get angry you'll get into a fight and storms out throwing the door

just to come back and hug you tightly after finally understanding

his soft side comes out when you tell him you feel weak and ugly and fat

he laughs: "stupid girl/boy! you're the strongest pirate I know! and the sexiest! besides me"

if you don't or don't smile enough (which will be most likely the case), he'll just tower over you and wrap you up in his arms, roaming with his hands over your body and repeat how amazing you are

he'll get overprotective, remind you to eat enough through the day (sometimes forces you to)

He makes you different playlists to lift up your mood

also he'll seek help from Killer from time to time (but won't tell you)

Sanji

He’ll notice when you stop joining to cook in the kitchen

Notices your rapid weight loss really quickly

Sits down next to you, lights up a ciggy and asks worried what’s wrong

Poor boy thinks it’s his fault

Eventually he’ll tear up and just hug you, telling you how much he loves you

“You can tell me everything, ma chère!”

You instantly felt understood and tell him

He’ll look at you in shock, not understanding how such a beautiful person can think of themselves like that

“But you are the most beautiful woman/man, I know, y/n-swan”

He cups your face and gazes into your eyes before kissing you softly

“We get through this, together. I promise.”

And he’ll make it true. He’s the most supportive boyfriend

Forehead kisses, reassuring soft hugs and touches, always keeping an eye on you

Spa Days, telling you every second how much he loves and adores you, would never force you but beg you to try his food at least

Makes the most delicious looking meals

Reads all about EDs so he won’t accidentally hurt you even more

Will hold you in his arms when you’re freezing or crying

Hides the scale

All in all the perfect man

Bartolomeo

He’ll notice when following you to the bathroom after dinner

Already had a bad gut feeling about your bruised up and red hands

He holds them all the time so he knows their appearance by heart

“Y/n-chan? Are you ok? I’m here for you! Are you sick?”

Music plays from inside and the tab runs

When you came out after minutes, eyes swollen and red, hands wet and even redder than before you’ll earn a concerned look

“Don’t tell me you’re fine, y/n-chan.”

Weirdly sniffs and notices the smell of vomit

Eyes in shock and starts crying

“No no no no my dearest y/n-chan!! Please don’t tell me it’s true!”

Wraps his arms around you in a tight embrace, crying his eyes out

Overdramatic as fuck

Eventually taking your weak body to a quiet room, cleans your face and gives you something to drink

Will listen to each of your words really carefully to understand

Always pleasing you, always bring you water and tea, will not force but desperately beg to you eat something

Will accompany you to the bathroom any time, watching that you don’t hurt yourself anymore

Around you 24/7, will provoke and beat up everyone just trying to say something bad about you

Literally overprotective l, like a guard dog

Will try to lift your mood by telling stupid jokes and stories, tattle about Law and other “not cool non strawhats”, showing off his collection

Proud as hell every time he’ll make you laugh and forget that illness for a second

Corazon/ Rosinante Donquixote

He’ll notice when picking you up as usual

“Y/n, you’re so tiny?!”

Shocked at first and lifts you even higher

Can’t believe you’re that light, you’ve always been to him, but now it’s different

Immediately throws you over his shoulder, covering you with his warm feather coat

“We’re going to a doctor, no back talk.”

His tone is stern but also warm and caring

Carries you to different doctors and hospitals, always holding your hand or thigh to show you he’s there

Will yell at anyone who says that can’t treat you

Throws literal tantrums at some doctors for being “incapable”

Will end up trying to fix and heal you himself

Showers you in love and care, eg bringing you water, tea, let’s you borrow his lighter to fidget with (even lend you his cigarettes if you smoke)

Will always smile at you and be more clumsy on purpose to make you laugh again

Will cook for you, whatever you want, burns it a few times by accident

Let’s you wear his clothes, when you feel bad about your body

Or wraps you up in them to get you warm

Will be extremely careful when touching, hugging or lifting you up

Afraid he’ll break you

Will inform himself about EDs to make the best of it

Never leaves your side, towering above or behind you, so no one can hurt you

Even lends you hit hat from time to time if he can’t be around for a moment, so you won’t feel alone

Gets sentimental when you sleep and he drinks, petting your head, sits right next to you talking about how beautiful and amazing you are

"I love you so much! You deserve everything in this world, my heart!"

830 notes · View notes

abouttofillhisshoes · 21 days

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We started losing light - M.H x Reader // pt.2

A/N: TW for vomit, please take care of yourselves! I wrote most of this in one go, i'm sorry if there are any spelling/wording mistakes. It gets angsty, lots of yelling bla bla. Adams a cunt in this one. Thank you @beforeyougo-turnthebiglightoff for beta reading once again❤️

wc: 7k

part three

The smell of fresh cut grass permeated the air. You were walking down the beaten pavement path, moss covering most of it, making it quite slippery. For the first time in a long time, you were completely sober.

It had been well over two weeks since the kiss, not having addressed it. There was no need to, since it clearly meant nothing to both of you. It was early march, and you had expected the rain to lay off for a bit. The weather forecast that morning laughed in your face, predicting another week of straight rain. Had that made you think, even for a second ‘hey, maybe it’d be a good idea to bring a coat?’ Of course not.

“What do you think of Hann’s new girl?” Mattys voice broke your train of thought. “She's fit, isn't she? Maybe even too fit for the old man,” he lets out a disgusting cough, and you tell him that maybe it's a sign he should quit smoking.

“Don't be a dickhead, Adams plenty attractive,” you answer, nudging him with your elbow. Matty scoffs as a way to say: Hann? Attractive? Our mate, Adam Hann? You nod, not letting Adam be the butt of yet another one of Mattys deprecating jokes.

“Olivia’s nice, even if she was a total cunt to George,” His eyes lit up at your statement, nodding erratically. “Right?? What was even her problem with him? She was fine with the rest of us, even you, given that you're a girl. Something about him must’ve fucked her off or something.” It's true, she was a total sweetheart to you, even asking where your lipgloss was from.

She was a sight for sore eyes, bleach blonde, waist length hair draping over her shoulders. Blue eyes like the ocean, even if you get lost in them. Ross was convinced she was some sort of call girl, until Adam had shown him the text threads from the dating site they had met on.

You offer him a shrug. The night's events played out in your mind. You had all met at a bar near Adam and Ross’ flat. From the start, she was facing away from George, avoiding looking at him like it was going to kill her if she did. George tried to talk to her, even complimented her shoes (the shoes were ugly), but to no avail. She just wouldn't acknowledge him. He eventually gave up, nursing his drink while making conversation with a very confused Ross.

You continued walking arm in arm, ‘Old Yellow Bricks’ by the Arctic Monkeys blaring through your headphones. It was a miracle neither of you had extensive hearing loss.

All was well, until you felt the first rain drops hit your bare shoulders. You turn to Matty to complain, but you see a sly smile already on his face.

“I hate to tell you ‘told you so’ but-,” You didn't let him finish.

“Please don't do this to me, I'm having a moment of weakness!” you shiver dramatically. The wind wasn't helping your little predicament. You had a tank top on, not very ideal for the harsh British rain that was about to come pouring down.

“Now, be a gentleman and give me your coat.” Matty shakes his head, tugging the coat over himself. You scoff at him.

“You can steal my weed and talk about ‘girls don't roll their own spliffs’ but you wont give me your coat?? Fucking tosser, you are.” You mime his thick northern accent, your fingers forming quotation marks in the air.

“Oh fuck right off! Y’know Hann’s the only one who does that-'' you narrow your eyes at him, cocking your head to the left, “Fine, I said it once. And besides, I'm cold too!”

You pout at him, giving him your best puppy dog eyes. He pretends to think about it, but inevitably shakes his head once again. ‘Fuck you’ you think.

It's not until the rain starts proper pouring down on the two of you that Matty makes you an offer.

“Share the coat? You've officially lost the plot, mate.” You laugh in his face. How would you even fit?? Then again, the coat was insanely big, sized up at least two or three sizes. You could theoretically squeeze into it. Matty and his ‘fashion’ choices.

Deciding to try, Matty takes his right arm out of the coat, letting you into it. It was a tight fit, and it didn't close, but it worked. Your left arm rested on Mattys waist, and his right one rested on yours. He gave your side a light squeeze, laughing at you when you jump.

You felt a familiar warmth at the contact. ‘Stop it’ you thought to yourself. Your attention was quickly pulled to the car driving past. In the pouring rain, a yellow taxi cab had hit a puddle next to the edge of the pavement, dousing you in muddy rainwater.

Matty cursed the car out, letting out a terrifying shriek. Jesus.

He tried to brush as much of the water off as he could, but it was no use.

Watching him struggle made you crack a smile. It was endearing almost, seeing him curse at literal water.

The walk back to Mattys place was rudely interrupted by him booking it down the street halfway home, ripping you out of the confines of the jacket. The rain had let up, so you chased after him. Your boots splashed against the water on the ground, the wind blowing against you. Matty almost tripped on a rogue piece of pavement, making him fall back.

His feeble attempts at getting his keys into the lock before you got to him proved useless. You were fast.

Your head hurts from the running, so you let his bolting away from you slide, as long as he made you a cuppa as an apology. He was mental about his tea, having an entire cupboard dedicated to organizing and storing it.

“You should be on an episode of my strange addiction,” you comment.

Matty made tea like it was his profession, perfectly measuring the water-to-teabag ratio to a T (pun intended). You loved sugar, and you watched him put 3 cubes into yours. He took his with a splash of milk, gross.

The warm liquid soothes the sore throat you knew you’d have tomorrow. Your nose was already clogging up from all the time spent in the rain, trying to get home as soon as possible

“So, am I forgiven?” Matty looks at you from over the top of his red foo fighters mug. Only he would have a red foo fighters mug. You smile and nod at him as he reaches for the remote.

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------

“I swear to fucking god Rome, if you fuck this up, I will rip your balls off and have that be my jewelry.” You say through gritted teeth.

You were currently draped across your mate Rome’s sofa. That same Rome who did your crooked aladdin sane tattoo, was now apparently a professional body piercer. But hey, who could turn down a free piercing? Spoiler alert: you probably should have.

The needle tickled your belly button, and you could feel your heart racketing in your chest. And not in a good way. ‘Matty was the good way.’

What the fuck? You pushed the thought away quickly.

You had plenty of piercings in your ears, 5 or so on each side, but this was your first body piercing. I was also your first one done by Rome, tattoo expert and piercer extraordinaire, allegedly.

Matty was sat on the glass coffee table across from the leather sofa, eyeing the needle even more intensely than you were.

A cold disinfectant wipe touched your stomach, making you shudder. Rome said it wouldn't hurt much, but you didn't trust a word that came out of his mouth. He had also told you the tattoo on your hip bone wouldn't hurt a lot, and that was a blatant lie. It was a piercing pain in your hip for about 4 hours straight, so not exactly pain free.

“Just breathe, it’ll be over in a second.” you hear Rome's voice, slightly distorted. The needle pierces your skin. It feels hot, and you can feel your hand squeezing Mattys. The jewelry slipping in causes another flash of hot pain to sear through you. Now it's Mattys voice whispering comforting words into your ear. His presence helps, acting as a sort of psychological painkiller.

Examining your new accessory in the mirror, you let out a content sigh. The green gemstone glimmers in the light, complimenting the red and green of your tattoo. The light of the bathroom blinded you, and you make a mental to let Rome know his lightbulb was brighter than the fucking sun.

Matty was waiting for you in the living room, flicking through channels on the telly. He nods when his eyes meet yours, signaling it was time to go.

The two of you had made it a habit to walk everywhere, neither having enough money to pay for bus or train tickets. The walks had become a constant, the feeling of Mattys coat brushing up against your shoulder was routine.

Sharing headphones once again, today's track was AC/DC’s ‘Back In Black’. Matty wasn't a big fan of AC/DC but that didn't matter, he still let you put it on, even though it had been his turn.

That's something you’d noticed. He wasn't as prissy about the music anymore, simply humming in response to your music choice, even if it was the worst pop trash he had ever heard. Something felt off, but you couldn't quite put your finger on it. It didn't matter much at the time, it just meant you had more opportunity to listen to whatever you pleased.

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------

The Sound was a pub of sorts. Exactly the type of pub you would find someone like Matty in.

Extravagant, loud, and full of life and most importantly, booze. The neon signs all littering the concrete wall gave you a headache.

He had brought everyone here, including Hann’s girlfriend, for a round of drinks.

The queue up until the door had been well stressful, seeing as both you and George were underage. Most pubs let you in without a hitch, but this one was new.

Thankfully, the bouncer didn't even look twice at the both of you, simply waving you through. He did press hand to Adam's chest, and asked him of all people for his I.D. You tried not to giggle as Hann desperately searched his pockets for his wallet. Olivia stood next to him, looking unimpressed.

Matty was already inside, ordering everyone drinks. He might fail his GCSEs, but for some reason, he had everyone's drink order down by heart. Even Olivias. You wonder where he had gotten that information from.

The bass of the music thrummed through your veins, the disco-esque lights flashing all around you. It was full, the poor bartenders overwhelmed with about sixteen people at once shouting their various drink orders at them. You took a sip of your drink, and made your way to the semi-crowded dance floor. Spotting Adam snogging his girl in the corner, you roll your eyes at the sight.

George and Ross were off to the side, doing shots with a bridal party of all people. The maid of honor was throwing herself at Ross, and he attempted to fend her off, going on about ‘the missus waiting for him at home’. That sure didn't stop her.

But you couldn't, for the life of you, find Matty. You hated this about him. He just disappeared and it took ages to find him again, and it didn't help that everyone else was either snogging their girlfriend or getting hammered with an entire wedding. Your eyes scan the crowd, and you finally see him.

Him and a girl.

His hair was up in a half up half down sort of style, blonde strands framing his face perfectly. His eyes were lined with blue liner, complimenting the blue nail polish on his fingers. The fingers on the hands that were touching some random girl's arm. A pretty girl's arm.

She was everything in vogue. Absolutely gorgeous black hair fell over her shoulder, framing her face perfectly. A red dress clung to her body, her legs looking a mile long. She was the beauty standard.

You felt jealousy bubble up inside of you, stopping yourself before you could properly feel it.

‘It's Matty’ you thought to yourself ‘he does this all the time, get your shit together’ A deep breath managed to steady you. It wasn't long before he saw you through the crowd of people, a smile spreading into his face when he did. He said something to the girl. The look on his face seemed apologetic. She nodded in understanding, flashing him a smile as he turned around to make his way to you. Did he reject her?

“All this neon is doing my head in,” you gesture at your surroundings, ”can we go outside for a bit?” Matty agrees, commenting on the volume of the music. For some reason, you can't find Adam, and you assume he's off shagging his girlfriend in a bathroom stall somewhere.

The warm air hits you as you step out the back entrance, Matty following close behind. You wedge your wallet in between the door to keep it from locking you out. A lesson learned the hard way. The brick of the wall dug into your back, you wince at the roughness of it.

You pulled out your cigarettes, feeling around for your lighter. An exasperated sigh leaves your lips, but Matty was already way ahead of you. He held his lighter up to the cig between your lips. You notice two things. One, his hands are shaking, and two, it's the lighter. That same lighter he had on his the day you met.

Why were his hands shaking? Why did he still have it? Was it even the same one? You check the side of it and sure enough, it had his initials scrawled on it in white ink. You're snapped out of your thoughts when the nicotine hits your system. It calms down your thinking, and you forget about it. It feels like you're forgetting a lot these days.

“Why did you reject her? She was really pretty.” you ask, your eyes not meeting his, instead focusing on the glowing billboard in the distance. Matty frowned at you.

“Yeah, she was, but you know id rather not fuck someone i dont know.” he takes a deep drag of his cigarette. “You know I'm not really like that.”

Matty was a performer, he performed in every aspect in his life. So did you, in a way. With fake displays of confidence and that fucking kiss, you put on a sort of show. So did Matty, honing a distinct air of nonchalance, acting unbothered by everything and everyone.

Those performances were let down when you were around each other. You got to see a side of Matty no one else really saw, not even George, who he had known since he was about 14. He was vulnerable with you, soft even. In turn, he saw your insecurities. Insecurities that ran deep through your bones. Insecurities that were the very essence of your being.

You smoke the rest of your cigarette in silence, leaning against the wall. A gust of wind made you shiver, goosebumps forming on your skin.

The heel of your boot stubs out the butt of your cigarette, and you turn to go back inside. Mattys hand on your arm stopped you, and you felt your breath hitch at the contact.

“Ross just messaged me,” he read the text out loud, the faint blue light illuminating his face. “Adams gone back home to shag Olivia. He said to fuck off until at least 2, and to leave him alone.”

You stare at him for a second before you answer, fuming at Adam for leaving you stranded like that. “Where are we meant to go then? Fucking tosser, leaving us like that” Matty just shrugs, and starts walking around the building to the main entrance. You follow him.

Ross and George are at the front, and George has a tiara on his head. Matty immediately questions his choice of headwear, but he just brushes him off, saying it was a gift from the bride. Her name was Ashley, apparently. Not that it mattered, how the fuck were you gonna get home?

All your questions were answered when George spoke: “We could go to mine? I have a pretty big shed in my garden,” Matty makes a face at the thought of sleeping in someone's garden shed, but then again, it was better than being homeless for the next eight or so hours.

“We could all crash there, it even has a mattress in it.”

The four of you decide to walk the 45 minutes to Georges house, seeing as there werent any busses going in that direction at 11 o’clock at fucking night. Fuck Adam.

George fumbled with the key to the shed for a solid minute before finally getting it open, revealing the interior.

It was littered with boxes stacked on top of various pieces of furniture. You spot an old mattress tucked up against the wall. It looks dirty, and you wonder if sleeping on the floor might prove more hygienic than laying your face on that.

You get to work, moving boxes out of the way to reveal a red leather couch, dusty and grimy from years of storage, and a giant green sofa chair. You lugged your bag onto the chair, calling dibs. Ross groaned, sitting down on the mattress on the floor. It at least came with a blanket (if you could call a duvet without a sheet a blanket).

Matty had gone with the sofa, and was now brushing as much dust off as he could, trying to get it somewhat clean. Neither one of you had any clothes to sleep in, so you opted for just sleeping in your current clothes. You hadn’t thought to bring makeup wipes, so you knew you’d be dealing with a gnarly breakout in the morning. That didn't matter to you at this point, you just wanted to pass out on the chair. You put your hair up in a ponytail, sighing as you look for a surface to put your cellphone on. Matty was stood behind you, shuffling around the sofa, trying to find a place for his giant coat.

Everyone was getting ready to conk out, and George had already gone back to his house. He, of course, had a warm and comfortable bed waiting for him inside a heated house.

You watched Matty as he took his shirt off, your eyes lingering for a beat longer than what was considered ‘platonic’. He had a tattoo that mirrored yours on his left hip bone. “We are kings” it read. You’d laughed at him when he showed it to you, deeming it awfully cheesy, a rose being the backdrop for the words. But nevertheless, he ignored your words. As long as he liked it, you told him.

He had various other small, mostly meaningless tattoos littering his skin. He had let Rome practice a lot on his legs, which proved to be a mistake, given those god-awful tattoos were now going to be stuck on his body forever. It didn't seem to bother him though. He was seemingly happy just helping a friend, even if he did now have a hideous cross tattoo on his left calf.

You had only one tattoo, the Aladdin Sane one, but you were planning on getting more the moment you could afford to not have to go to Rome for it.

‘never again’ you thought.

Matty had settled onto the sofa, and was now reading one of the many books that were stacked in piles in the corners of the shed. He had picked up Joan Didions ‘Slouching toward Bethlehem", scanning the pages intently.

You don't know at what point you fell asleep, but you were woken up by a loud crashing noise. You shoot up, greeted by a stabbing pain in your upper back and shoulder. Fuckkkkk.

The chair had made you fall asleep in a god-awful position, your neck hanging off the edge of it. The source of the noise was, of course, Matty knocking over the once source of light: A metal lamp that was conveniently placed right in the middle of the tiny shed.

He cursed at the lamp, and then at George for deciding to put it there. George couldn’t hear him, since he was comfortably sleeping in his own bed inside of the house. Fuck. him.

Matty looks at you, apologizing for waking you up. Ross was nowhere to be seen, and you assume he’d already left.

Your hand reaches for your back, trying to soothe the pain by rubbing it. It didn't help, and you lay back in defeat.

“What's got you so prissy this morning?” Matty asks, cocking an eyebrow. You shoot him a glare, not in the mood for his comments.

“It’s all Adam's fault! If he hadnt acted like a fucking dickhead and left us stranded just to shag Olivia, I would’ve fallen asleep in my own bed, and not some dusty chair in a shed! A fucking shed!”You were frustrated to say the least, your hands moving erratically around you, showcasing said frustration. “My back is killing me, I cant move, and Ross has fucked off god knows where.” You feel tears well up in your eyes, too embarrassed to look at Matty.

You were tired and in pain. All because Hann couldn't keep his dick in his pants. You mentally flip him off.

“I could give you a massage, if you want,” Matty offered, seeing how the whole night had affected you. “And you're right, Hann’s a total cunt for doing that.” He added, making you break out into a smile at his words. He had that effect on you. You calmed down

He motioned for you to sit down on the floor in front of the leather sofa, and you did. You took off your shirt, feeling a sudden pang of insecurity run through you. You had been half naked in front of Matty loads of times, so why was this different?

The sudden pressure of Mattys rough hands on your shoulder blade made you groan, relieving some of the tightness in your back.

“Thanks mate, you're a legend.” Matty chuckles at your words, humming in response. He goes on for about 10 minutes, All is going great, and your back feels better. That is, until Ross comes rushing through the door. He freezes when he sees you in your bra, shielding his eyes and spinning around to face the door.

“Fuckin hell, why are you naked? And why are Mattys hands on you?” Ross borderline shouts, his voice seeming panicked.

“Jesus Ross, stop acting like I'm the first half naked girl you've seen in your life,” you start, Mattys laugh interrupting you. “You can turn around, Matty’s just giving me a massage.”

He does turn around, avoiding looking at you. You roll your eyes. Unbelievable.

He grabs his jacket, and leaves as quickly as he came. Matty taps your shoulder, signaling you to get up. You put your shirt back on, and grab your bag from the pile of boxes. Your back still aches, but the massage did help. You tell him as much.

“It's no thing, all good,” He mutters, closing the door of the shed behind him. You now have to figure out how to get ‘round the side of the house without George’s parents seeing you. How would he explain that? “Oh yeah, forgot to tell you, three people slept in the shed last night. Tea?”

Nevertheless, you manage to get out unnoticed, setting off home. The walk was incredibly long, stopping at a wetherspoons along the way to have a piss. It took some bickering with the barista to let you use the bathroom even though you weren't customers. It ended with Matty giving her his number, promising to take her out as a thank you. That same jealousy bubbled up inside of you as he handed her the piece of paper with a wink.

It didn't matter, you decided. It was fluke, you were just tired and angry at Adam for being a massive fucking cunt and leaving you. You swore you’d kill him when you saw him next.

By the time you made it home, it was almost 8:30. Hoping and praying your mother hadn't woken up yet, you slid the window open. Nothing. She was asleep.

Matty helped you up, grabbing you by the sides. His hands lingered for a second too long, squeezing the flesh of your hips. You swore you could see a faint blush spread across his face. No. You were imagining it. He was just red from lifting you. Definitely.

He held out his arms, enveloping you in a warm hug goodbye. You felt like crying. You really didn't want him to leave. The hug lasted what seemed like forever, your hands stroking his back. He somehow sensed this, and held you even tighter.

“I'll pick you up at half ten, alright? Just us.” you liked the sound of that, nodding your head in agreement. “No Adam or Ross to fuck us off, we’ll get hammered and walk around. That sound good?” You nod again, brushing some of his hair out of his face.

This is the first time in a while you'd gotten to properly look at him. You observed his features. Eye bags caressed the skin under his eyes, making him look tired. He was still beautiful, his pale skin glowing in the light of the morning. Brown eyes glazed over and full of sleep pierced yours. You felt like he was looking into your soul. He saw you.

He pulled away, your hand lingering on his arm before returning to your side. He turned around to leave, and every fiber of you wanted to shout after him to stay. You opened your mouth to speak, but no sound came out. Defeated, you turned around and hopped off the window sill and into your bedroom.

Your bed was calling your name, and you flopped onto it, not bothering to change. You desperately needed a shower, but your body would not move. Sleep took over your body as you settled into the cold sheets of your bed.

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For the first time in your life, Matty was drunker than you were. Stumbling down the road, cursing at cars driving past for no apparent reason. The half a bottle of vodka already in his system was being washed down by a bottle of red wine, currently sloshing onto his shirt. You weren't completely sober either, but you’re pretty sure you’d never seen Matty this wrecked. Ever.

“I need a piss,” Matty announces, searching your surroundings for the nearest gas station. You weren't quite certain where you were, the darkness of the cloudy night obstructed your view.

You were walking on the side of some highway or other, seeing as there was barely a sliver of pavement to keep you from getting hit by a car. The honking finally made sense.

Matty spots a gas station in the distance, and takes off running down the street in its direction. A drunk Matty was definitely faster than a sober one, you take note, hauling ass after him.

By the time you’d made it inside, Matty was already throwing himself at a traumatized looking gas station attendant, basically climbing over the counter to get to her.

You grab him by the shirt, tugging him backwards. Apologizing profusely, you ask where the bathroom is. The blonde girl points timidly to the sign hanging above a hallway off to the side, labeled ‘Unisex Toilet’. You thank her, before realizing Matty had once again escaped your line of sight and was now yelling at the drink cooler.

“It's absolutely mad, the amount of drinks they offer! That can't be good for the environment!” He slurs his words, making meaningful eye contact with a can of cherry cola.

“Climate change is a real thing you know, don't let the people fool y-” you cut him off, apologizing to the now even more terrified worker, ushering him towards the loo.

“Fuckin hell, what did you do that for?? I was just inquiring on the importance of-” his expression changed drastically “fuckfuckfuck get out my way!” you knew that look. Matty was about to hurl all over you if you didnt move now.

He bolted to the nearest stall, dropping to his knees as the copious amounts of alcohol he had consumed made its reappearance in the toilet bowl. Your hands moved to get his hair out of his face. You whisper small ‘oh god’s whilst stroking his hair, knowing throwing vodka up couldn't be pleasant. You weren't sober in the slightest, but you had to pull yourself together to help hi.

Matty had done this for you multiple times, holding your hair whilst talking you through it.

“Jesus Matty, you have got to pace yourself,” you say, your voice having a slightly serious tinge to it. He genuinely worried you.

“Oh fuck off mate, leave me alone.” he spat, the tone of this voice sending a chill down your spine. He had never, in your three years of friendship, spoken to you like that. You gripped his hair tighter, letting out an annoyed sigh, not knowing how to react. He was wasted, but he had been wasted before. Never like this.

“Are you deaf?? I said fuck off!” His words dripped with venom, his voice amplified in the confines of the bathroom. Your eyes widen in shock, letting go of his hair. It falls into his face, obscuring it.

The bathroom stills when he finally stops retching, having emptied the contents of his stomach fully. Time seemed to slow for both you and him, making the room spin.

Suddenly, you hear sobs coming from beneath you. Matty was crying. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckkkkk. What do you do? Comfort him? Leave him alone to cry it out? Definitely not.

You drop down to your knees, trying to get a look at his face. Vomit covered the edges of his mouth, spit dripping down into the toilet. Everything reeked of cheap vodka and cigarettes, but you blocked out the smell.

“Please dont look at me..” you hear, his voice shaking as he brings a hand up to wipe his mouth clean. It gets on his sleeve, but he doesn't seem to care. Your hand finds its way into his hair, massaging his scalp in that way he likes. A whimper leaves his mouth, catching you off guard. Another sob. Tears drip down his face, and he finally turns around to face you.

“Christ Matty, what's gone wrong with you?” you ask, your voice breathy, the alcohol making you hazy. He just shakes his head, bringing his knees up to his chest. His eyes are glued to the floor, too scared to look at you.

“Dont know whats wrong with me,” he starts, finally looking up. He doesn't look you in the eye, instead looking behind you. Past you. “Maybe I had too much to drink, I dunno.” You crack a smile. No shit he had too much to drink.

“Lay off the vodka for a bit, it makes you mad. You almost jumped the poor girl behind the counter.” you laugh, trying to lighten the mood a bit, still too drunk to be put down by Mattys crisis.

“I don't want to get up, I feel so heavy” he slurs, obviously still drunk. “Nah, you know we need to leave, or else they’ll kick us out for trespassing or something. We’ve been in here ‘bout an hour already.” You look at an imaginary watch on your wrist, making him giggle.

His eyes are half closed as he watches you get up from your spot next to him. You use the stall walls for balance, not wanting to come crashing down. Extending a hand to Matty, he pulls himself up with you. The both of you stumble outside of the stall, and you take a look at yourself in the mirror. Jesus, both of you look like you've been through hell.

Your makeup smeared down your face, your lipgloss long gone. Mattys hair was a mess, sticking up in every direction imaginable. There was vomit on his shirt and chin, trailing down his neck. You look at his reflection in disgust, and tell him as much.

He takes his coat off, along with his shirt. He runs his face under cold water, washing any vomit off of it. He stared at himself, his eyes empty. Your voice made him look at you.

“Let's not overdo it like this again, it proper sucked” you knew you sounded like you were joking, but you couldn't be more serious. “I'm still a bit drunk, and I think you are too. Food?”

He nods at you, and takes your bag out of your hands, stuffing his tshirt into it. Putting his coat back on, you can see the skin of his chest peek out from underneath it. You look away, taking the bag back from him. As you emerge out of the loo, you nod in the direction of the girl behind the counter. Matty announces he's run out of cigarettes, and goes to buy more. The girl hands him a pack of parliaments, and he slides a tenner over to her, telling her to keep the change.

The air outside is cool, colder than inside the bathroom. The smell of petrol fills your nostrils and you breathe. “Maccies?” He asks, pointing to the sign across the road. You smile, crossing the road together, desperately needing some grease in your system.

He places both your orders for you, taking the number and sitting down. Your food arrives, looking as good as mcdonalds at 1 in the morning can look. You take a bite out of your food, and reach for your shared fries. Mattys hand is already there, and your fingers brush against each other

You pull your hand back and it feels as if you've been shocked by something. Matty seems as unbothered as ever, munching away at his chicken burger (yes, chicken). You stare at him until he looks up at you, your eyes quickly redirecting to your own food. Everything feels weird. Breathing feels hard as your heart pounds in your chest

You're just drunk, stop it.

“What do you wanna do after?” He says, licking the grease off of his fingers. You can still see his chest, the pale skin a stark contrast to the dark, fluffy material of his coat. His hair was down, covering a large chunk of his face, he desperately needed to cut it. You tell him.

“Cut it for me then, as a payment for me coloring yours,” You agree, smiling at the thought.

“I can't exactly go home, my house is too far away and i can't be arsed to pay for a taxi at this hour.” he adds to his previous statement, turning his pockets inside out, showing his lack of funds. Typical Matty, running out of money at the worst possible moment. You had used the last of your cash to pay for your food, leaving about 6 quid in your wallet.

“What about Carolines? That's not far from here.” you suggest, finishing off the last of the fries.

Matty sipped on his cola, calculating the distance, before agreeing and getting up to leave. You take your bag, following closely behind him. Hooking his arm in with yours, you walk along the highway together, flipping off the cars that honked at you. The clouds had cleared, showing the myriad of stars glowing in the sky. You stopped for a second, admiring their beauty before Matty pulled you along. He was never one for admiring nature, always a city boy at heart.

The walk was calm, with Matty walking at your pace, instead of you at his. He hummed the melody to some radiohead. This was the first walk together you had taken in silence. Your boots clicked against the pavement, the sound almost deafening.

Arriving at Carolines, the steps up to the terrace seemed longer than ever. The sofa was still there, though it had been moved, presumably by Ross, closer to the railing. The stars were clear as ever, illuminating Mattys face in a soft blue light. The city below was quiet, most of the lights in the buildings having been turned off.

You steal a glance at Mattys wristwatch. 2:53am. Was it already that late?

You catch him staring at you, his eyes lingering. You felt naked, exposed, despite being more covered up than he was. Mattys gaze didn't let up, so you decided to stare back. Your eyes lock, and you immediately sober up.

“D’you have any weed on you? I fancy a smoke,” he asked, his eyes flicking between yours and your bag. You did, in fact, have a pre rolled spliff in your makeup bag. By the time you’d taken it out, Matty had already taken his lighter out of his jeans pocket. That fucking lighter.

He hands it to you, and you cock your head at him.

“So you don't go begging for my coat again,” he grins, pressing the plastic into your hand. The way he articulated the word begging made you feel warm, flush almost. A blush spread on your cheeks, you could feel it. Matty either didn't notice, or just plain ignored it. Both options made you nervous.

You light the spliff, rotating it to get an even burn. Passing it to Matty, you let him take the first hit. He does, his expression immediately changing to a more relaxed one. ‘He looks fucked out’ you think, observing the way his eyes drooped half closed. His hair fell into his face as he laid down onto your lap, letting his head rest on your thighs.

You take a drag, ashing onto the floor. The ash dwindles on the floor for a second, before going out completely. The two of you take in the glow of the city, slightly obscured by the dark gray railing, but beautiful nonetheless.

“Do you ever feel lost?” The words slip out before you can stop them. Matty moves in your lap, turning so that he could look at you from below. His expression is unreadable. Neutral. It scares you.

“Sometimes, yeah..” his voice is soft, raspy from the smoke. He passes the spliff back to you before speaking further. “But isn't that part of it? The human experience? Feeling lost, I mean.” you can see him picking at his nails, the skin beginning to bleed. His neutral expression is replaced by something else. Worry? Anxiety?

Matty was prone to panic attacks. They didn’t happen often, but they happened. One particular time was in a club downtown. It was Saturday night, and the place was packed to the brim. His hand grabbed yours and the look in his eyes was nothing short of terrified. His breathing was irregular, and you knew he needed to get out, now.

That was one of the first times it happened, but it wasn't the last. You quickly learned how to deal with them. He, like you, never, ever wanted to talk about it immediately after the fact. You knew they happened when he felt trapped. In crowded spaces, in high stress situations. His hand would reach for yours as if it were the anchor to reality.

His hand reached for yours, the coldness of his making you jump slightly. Your heart was beating so fast I couldn't see straight. His eyes met yours, searching for something. Something.

What was that something? What did he want? He squeezed your fingers, playing with the rings on your index and ring. Twisting and turning and taking them off and putting them back on. The feeling made you dizzy.

You stayed like that, his head in your lap until the first signs of dawn hit your skin. The orange glow of the sun makes his eyes appear brighter, his hair looks lighter than it actually was. The blonde highlights were a good idea. This made him appear his age. You were just two kids

Kids on a terrace, watching the sun rise slowly over the city.

Not daring to move, you let yourself relax on the couch. You're tired, you haven't slept all night and you could feel the hangover start to spread its way through your body. You weren't completely present.

You convince yourself the faint “I love you,” you heard just before you drifted off the sleep was a trick of your mind.

What else could it be?

#oh god #i really like this one actually #drunk matty is my fav to write #well except the part where he yells at girlie #the 1975 #matty healy #ross macdonald #adam hann #george daniel #matty healy x reader #matty healy angst #matty healy x you #matty the 1975 #matty healy fanfiction

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theidiotwhowritesthings · 1 year

Text

A Fresh Start [7]

Din Djarin x F!Reader

Warnings: angst, medical trauma (nothing graphic, if you can watch a hospital TV show you can manage this), nightmares, blood and injury, think that’s it for this one

Word Count: 5,415

Summary: When you made plans for your future they never involved being hired by a Mandalorian to baby-sit his adorable, green gremlin of a child. However, after your life fell apart in the span of one disastrous night, you found it to be the only feasible option you had left. Nevarro was a far cry from Coruscant, but the thriving community turned out to be exactly what you needed. Every day you spend in Nevarro you fall more and more in love with your new life, but when your past rears its ugly head you find that perhaps peace wasn’t meant for everyone.

Ch. #07: SORAN

Chapter Summary: Your past visits you in your sleep, but you find comfort in the Marshal’s bed.

"The woods are lovely, dark and deep,

But I have promises to keep.

And miles to go before I sleep.

And miles to go before I sleep."

- Robert Frost

You stared down at the large vomit stain that covered the side of your white coat. With a grimace, you shrugged out of the item and held it in your hand not knowing what to do with it now. A sharp whistle had you glancing over your shoulder to see Lee making his way toward you. The Zabrak pointed at you with the holopad in his hand. “You just gonna stand there all day, doc?”

“Last patient threw up on me.” You replied sheepishly. “And I think my brain has short circuited.”

“You’re only on hour 7 of 12. If you’re losing it now then what are we all gonna do for the next 5 hours?” Lee questioned with a grin. Down here in the Emergency Department, Lee was, without question, your favorite nurse. He was good at his job, fun to work with, and he was intimidating looking enough to scare any of the patients who tried to cause trouble. The complete package. “How about this? I take the gross white coat,” He took the jacket out of your hand, “And you go to room 14.”

You took the holopad he was holding out to you and shot him a skeptical look. “What’s waiting for me in room 14? Is it worse or better than a vomit covered white coat?”

“Oh come on, what’s the fun if I tell you?” Lee smirked. He wandered away and you typed in your physician code into the holopad to pull up the patient’s intake information. As you read over the chart, you chuckled. Plain old sprained ankle. Much better than vomit. You made your way down the busy hall toward the room, but you were only passing room 6 when an alarm began to ring overhead. Trauma alert. Something big was coming in. That meant the ankle was going to have to wait. You hurried back the way you came and⏤

“Cyar’ika.”

You startled awake, but a hand on your shoulder kept you from sitting up. Mando was kneeling beside your bed and he was wearing his full suit of beskar. The room was dark. Moonlight spilled through your window, through the blinds, and it was the only reason you could see him. Your eyes darted to the nightstand where the alarm clock read ‘2:04’.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“What’s wrong?” You asked and grimaced at your sleep laden voice. “Is Grogu⏤”

“He’s fine. I have to go to work.”

You sat up slowly and Mando pulled his hand back to let you. “Is everything alright?”

“You remember those pirates from four days ago?” Mando asked. You nodded. “They’re back. It’s okay though. I just wanted to let you know in case. Grogu’s been coughing more tonight than usual.”

It took a second for you to wrap your brain around all of that information at once. You nodded though as everything began to click. “Umm,” You rubbed your face with your hands, “Okay. I’ll walk you out. Grab the pram from the office and bring it in here so he can sleep close by⏤”

“Just sleep in my room.”

“Huh?”

Mando held a hand out to you, and for a moment you thought you had to be misunderstanding what he was saying. Still, you took his hand and let him pull you out of bed. He scooped an item off your night stand and led you out of your room⏤ your hand still in his gloved one. Mando took you into his room and when you entered you could hear Grogu’s soft snores. A little bout of coughing interrupted the snoring momentarily. Mando lightly took your by the arm and you focused back on him as he attached the communicator there. That must have been what he grabbed from your night stand.

“Call me if you need anything.” Mando said. He carefully maneuvered you backwards until the back of your legs stumbled into his bed. You fell into a seated position on his mattress and if you weren’t still so groggy with sleep you’d be mortified with embarrassment at the heat that filled your belly while staring up at him. Mando guiding you to his bed, standing over you at his full height. When the sun rose, you’d play this moment in your head over and over again.

You just sat there, blinking up at him, and Mando cautiously set his hands on your shoulders to guide you back. He squeezed your shoulder once then pulled the blanket over you. Before he could turn away, you reached out to catch his wrist. He glanced down at you, and this time you were the one squeezing him in reassurance. “Be careful, Mando. Come back safe.”

“I will.”

Slowly, your hand fell from his as he walked out. Mando’s bed was soft and warm. As you took in deep breaths, the smell of his sheets began to lull you back to sleep. You were too tired to pinpoint exactly what the scent was, but it was him. It smelled like him and you couldn’t help but associate that smell with safety. You were warm and you were safe. Grogu’s soft, rhythmic snores pushed you over the edge right into sleep.

“What do we have?” A senior physician asked. You had gotten to the nursing station just as a handful of other doctors and nurses did. All awaiting the same news as you. The transporter on the comm unit began to call out patients. After they began to describe the fifth patient, the senior physician of the emergency department cut in. “Whoa, whoa. What the kriff happened? Where are all these injuries coming from?”

“Starship collision. It rained down into the middle of the city, took out two buildings and we have three currently up in flames.” The entire crowd around you grew quiet at these words. This was a mass trauma. Oh Maker. “We got half the patients going to Grand Republic Medical Facility and the rest are coming to you guys.”

The senior physician immediately slipped into the role of team leader. He began to bark out commands of what to fill the rooms with and there was a flurry of movement as everybody began to prep. You helped clear out the main trauma bay which could fit four patients total and relocated the patients in the rooms closest to the transport door. There was no time to take a breath after getting things set up. The transport doors kicked open with the first patient and it didn’t stop. Back to back, screaming patients were brought in. You worked in a flurry beside your co-workers in a blur of blood and pain.

You didn’t even have the time to be tired. It was as if you shut down a part of yourself and just burned through the actions. One patient after another. It didn’t matter how many you saw, how many you saved, there was always another. Always one more.

“I dropped an order for the patient in bed 3.” You announced it to the nursing desk. “He needs to get to imaging STAT, please.”

“Yes, doctor.”

That one settled you moved toward the transport door where the next patient came rolling through. The transporters asked what room was open and you barked back that they could take the patient into room 5. It was the next one open. You paused to take a steadying breath. Just one thing at a time.

You hurried toward room 5 where a few nurses were helping transport get the patient from their stretcher to a hospital bed. As you entered the room, your feet stumbled to a stop.

Despite all the chaos, despite the flurry of bodies and flashing of monitors, you could only stare blankly at the woman lying on the bed covered in blood. The patient’s usually tan skin was pale and ashen. Blonde hair was matted from the blood oozing out of a head wound. Clothes were burned and torn, stained with red.

You drifted a step closer. Your heart was beating in your chest so hard you were sure you were about to go into cardiac arrest yourself. It was getting hard to breathe. People were shouting at you. Nurses were calling out for orders, but you could only stare.

“I⏤” You opened your mouth to try and help in some way, but only her name tumbled out, “Soran?”

This time you didn’t startle awake. A familiar voice was calling out and it brought you back to consciousness. “Buir! Buir!” Grogu was calling for his father. A few coughs interrupted him. “Buir!”

You rolled out of Mando’s bed and rushed to Grogu’s side. He stopped crying out when he saw you and held out his arms with a whine. “Hey, buddy.” You pulled him out of his hammock and he curled into your embrace. You slowly began to rock him. “It’s okay, you’re okay. Buir had to step out and take care of business.” Glancing over your shoulder, Mando’s clock in here read ‘2:47’. Not even an hour had passed but you still found yourself worried. “He’ll be back soon.”

As you hummed and lightly bounced Grogu, your dream lingered in your mind. Ever since his appointment you had been plagued every night. They weren’t nightmares. A part of you almost wished they were. No, it was a memory and knowing that made it so much worse.

Grogu’s eyes closed, but when you tried to place him back into his hammock he immediately woke up again with a fuss. This time, you pulled him into your arms then wandered back to Mando’s bed. You crawled back to where you were in hopes that the smell that had lulled you to sleep would bring Grogu comfort as well.

You laid back down and let Grogu shift around until he was comfortable. When he seemed to have settled you pulled the blanket over you both. You continued to hum a lullaby and scratched Grogu’s back. Every few minutes he’d cough, but it never woke him up. You hoped he wasn’t getting sick. His first day of school was in two days and you didn’t want him to miss out on that. Luckily, the dry cough was the only symptoms Grogu had and it only happened at night time when he was sleeping. Asthma was something that had worsened symptoms at night. You hoped it wasn’t that. Though, you didn’t even know if his kind could get asthma.

As tired as you felt, as cozy as you were, you kept your heavy lidded eyes open. You knew if you fell asleep your brain would put you in that memory right where you left off. You knew how that story ended. You didn’t want to relive it all over again. So, instead, you just hummed and rubbed Grogu’s back as he slept peacefully. Your eyes darted to the clock then to your arm band. You wanted to message Mando, check in on him, but the last thing you wanted to accidentally do was distract him. You’d reach out to him for an emergency only.

Your eyes were getting harder and harder to keep open. The hand you used to rub Grogu’s back now just rested over him protectively. Before you knew it, you had fallen asleep again.

“Soran?” You called out. You were at her bedside now. You scanned her injuries, but none of them registered to you. All you saw was your childhood friend. “Soran!?”

She still didn’t respond. Her vitals on the monitor beginning to fade. A nurse grasped you by the elbow, “What are your orders?”

“I⏤I can’t.” You took a step back and they stared at you wide eyed. You held a hand out. “Just⏤ Just keep her stable. I’m getting help.”

You stumbled out of the room before they could argue, and you began to yell out for one of your physician co-workers. All were in rooms. All had their hands tied. Someone grabbed you by the arms and spun you. You came face to face with Lee. He shook his head. “What’s going on?”

“The patient⏤” You pointed behind you. “I can’t⏤ She’s my friend. I know her. I can’t treat her. It can’t be me.”

Lee dragged you back into the room and his eyes widened at the sight of it all. He barked out a few orders to the others as the head nurse then turned to you. “You have to act.”

“Lee⏤”

“Everyone else is busy. We have four crashing patients, doc.” Lee held your shoulders. “Take a deep breath.” You listened to his words. “You’re a good doctor. You know what to do. If you don’t start now, we’re going to lose her. I’m sorry, but we have to start. She’s about to crash.”

Everything he said was true. Soran was wavering. Her vitals teetering on the edge of death. You took one more deep breath and then began to move. This was something you’ve done hundreds of times over the years. This was something you had already done a dozen times tonight alone. With Lee by your side, you were efficient. He knew every order before you could call it out and he was anticipating things you would call for.

Soran⏤ No. The patient was bleeding out from a laceration on her thigh. Cauterize it. Blood pressure was tanking. Push fluids wide open. Head wound was closed, not open. Needed imaging but only after stabilization. Femur was broken. Set it quickly to ensure no interrupted blood flow or further tissue death. Circle back after stabilization. The patient responded to all your treatments. Her blood pressure improved and her heart rate normalized.

“Good job, doc.” Lee clapped you on the shoulder. “She’s stable. I’m gonna get everything prepped to move her to imaging, alright?”

You just nodded⏤ still numb.

Lee filed out while other nurses rushed to other jobs. While you stood by the patient⏤ by Soran’s bedside, you held her hand and let out a breath of relief. A panicked and panting man reached the door behind you and when you looked back you saw him standing there staring at the motionless but stable woman on the bed. Red hair mused and face flushed as if he had been sprinting a long distance.

“Kurt.” You breathed and released Soran’s hand to greet the young man. Soran’s fiance was a good man. You didn’t know him as well as you wished you did, but that’s because you’ve just been so busy with training. Soran loved and trusted him though and that was enough for you. You trusted her judgment. Hers had always been better than yours.

“Is she?” His eyes filled with tears.

You pulled him into a short, comforting hug then helped him to Soran’s bedside. “She’s stable.”

“I⏤I⏤I was on the phone with her when it⏤it⏤” Kurt let out a shaky sob. “I heard her scream and then the call⏤”

“Soran is okay. She’s strong. Everything is going to be alright.” You rubbed his back. “I have to go, but call me if you need anything. Someone should come in soon to take her for imaging. You’ll be able to walk with her.”

Kurt nodded. You began to leave, but a worrisome chirp rang out in the room. Nervous, you turned and stared at Soran’s monitors. They chirped again. You watched in horror as her oxygen level began to slowly drop. With each decrease it gave out a bone chilling chirp. Then, Soran gasped for air, her back spasming off the bed. Her heart rate rocketed up and Kurt was yelling. You could only take one step in her direction before the rapid sound of her heart rate monitor was replaced with the shrill sound of a flat line.

Soran’s heart had stopped.

If Din never saw one of Pirate King Gorian Shard’s lackeys again it would be too soon. The problem had been taken care of, the pirates either killed or chased away, but they hadn’t gone without leaving him a party favor. As he limped into his house, he grunted as a flash of pain rocketed through him. A pirate got a lucky shot and a vibro blade had caught him right between a gap of his beskar. It was on his right side adjacent to his shoulder blade and he hadn’t even gotten the chance to look at it yet. As if that wasn’t enough a solid blow to his thigh left him with a bruise deep enough to keep him from being able to put his full weight on it.

He quietly made his way through his house and toward his room. He’d shed his armor there and hopefully be able to sneak out before waking you or Grogu. Din pushed his cracked door open and paused. It was a little before six in the morning which meant there was just enough light coming up from the horizon to fill his room with dim light.

You were curled in his bed with Grogu sleeping soundly by your side. Your hand rested on his back as you both slept in peace. Din felt his chest ache at the sight. When he woke you up this morning, he had pure intentions by recommending you rest in his bed. You’d be close to Grogu and oddly it just felt safer to him⏤ not that he had any evidence of that. However, when you sat on his bed staring up at him through your lashes, he couldn’t use the word ‘pure’ to describe any part of him. Din thought surely that mental image wouldn’t be beat out by anything else, but this moment was proving him wrong.

Seeing you in his bed, curled around his son, in the early morning light so safe and sound did something to him. Din had the overwhelming desire to shed all his armor and slide into bed behind you. Revel in this soft moment. If he wasn’t actively bleeding, and it wasn’t a blatant violation of your personal space, he may have given in.

Din let out a soft breath and walked over to his dresser to start unlatching his armor. He got halfway through shedding his beskar when he heard you gasp. Din whipped around worried he had woken you. He found instead that you were still sleeping, but your peace was interrupted. Your face was scrunched in pain as you began to twitch. He set down his chest piece and walked around his bed. He knelt on the side Grogu wasn’t laying to cautiously set a hand on your arm. You began to cry in your sleep, hyperventilating, and Din made up his mind then.

“Cyar’ika.” He shook you lightly. You thrashed under him, and he wrapped an arm around your waist to pull you away from where Grogu still snored. You were on your back now. “Cyar’ika⏤”

“Soran!” You gasped, eyes snapping wide open. Din lifted the hand on your arm to cup the side of your face. He had already taken off his gloves so he could actually feel your flushed skin under hand. Your breathing was calming as you began to settle. You had called out your own name. Din wondered what that was about. He couldn’t focus on it long because your eyes snapped to meet his. “Mando?”

“You were having a nightmare.” He whispered.

Your hand raised to rest on top of his, squeezing it once, “Are you okay? What happened with the pirates?”

“It’s all fine. They’ve been handled.” Din replied.

“And you?”

“What about me?”

“Are you hurt, Mando?” Your words were hushed but filled with worry. Din paused. He didn’t want to worry you, but he also didn’t like the idea of lying to you. The silence was answer enough for you because you immediately sat up with wide eyes. “You are, aren’t you?”

Din cleared his throat. “It’s not bad.”

“I don’t believe you.” You pointed at him and he climbed off the bed. “Bathroom. Now.”

Din chuckled at the authority that filled your voice. You carefully slipped out of bed and tucked his comforter around Grogu. Din watched you lean over to press a soft kiss to his forehead before padding out of his room. Din's heart ached. He took the time to stroke one of Grogu’s ears. Seeing the boy sleeping so peacefully settled his soul. On his way out, he stepped out of his boots, leaving them with his gear, and grabbed a clean shirt and pair of sweatpants from his dresser.

When he got to the bathroom, he saw you sitting on the toilet’s lid rooting through a first aid kit. Din tilted his head. “That’s not mine.”

“Nope.” You replied. “I figured since yours would probably only have Bacta and a Cautery that I should grab mine instead.” Din was amused, but he couldn’t argue. You were entirely right. “Can I… Can I see your injury?”

Your quiet question was the exact opposite of the command you had hissed minutes ago. Din wondered if it had anything to do with waking up further or being out of the dim light and in the bathroom’s bright ones. Din nodded and turned around. You stood from your seat and he felt you cautiously pull aside the torn edges of his flight suit.

“Dank farrik.” You hissed.

“Since when did you get a dirty mouth?” Din joked.

“It’s your fault.” You replied. “You’re rubbing off on me.” Din hated that the first thought he had at your statement involved a more physical interpretation of the word. Maker, he was the worst. “Alright, I’m gonna clean this, and apply Bacta.”

Din hummed. “Are you sure? I hear Bacta has some faults.”

“Funny.” You grabbed your kit once more. “How come you make more jokes while injured than not injured?”

Din shrugged, winching at the movement, “Blood loss maybe.”

He could hear you laugh under your breath and it brought a smile to his face. You bent over a bit before rising again. Din glanced over his shoulder to see you trying to find a comfortable position. He turned around and you raised an eyebrow at him. Din motioned to the bathroom counter.

“Oh. Good idea.” You mumbled.

You walked over to climb up, but he reached out to grab your hips. The quick, sharp gasp that left your lips sent a chill down his spine. Din realized he had acted without even thinking. “Jump.” He said. You listened, no hesitation, and he helped you settle on the bathroom counter. Din now stood between your legs and his hands were still on your hips. He pulled them away quickly. Maker, maybe he did lose too much blood. “Better?”

“Y⏤Yes.” You nodded then motioned with your hand for him to spin. Din turned around so his back was facing you and pulled half his shirt off so his right arm was out of the sleeve and his back on that side was exposed to you. “This might sting.”

The first thing Din felt was your hands and after the battle he just walked out of the gentle touch was intoxicating. His eyes fluttered close and he took in a slow breath⏤ melting under your careful hands. The first few minutes were spent in silence as you cleaned out the vibroblade wound. Just as you had warned, it stung something awful whenever the cleansing solution touched raw skin, but even with the pain Din found himself beginning to drift off. He had to lean back on the counter for support and rested his left hand on the counter’s edge on the outside of your thigh, trapping it in place.

“What happened?” You asked.

“Pirate got lucky.” Din mumbled. “It happens sometimes.” You hummed in acknowledgement and your hands left his skin. He missed the connection. Maker, he wanted more of it. The price he would pay to have you lean forward and just envelope his entire back, wrapping your arms around his torso, was absurd. Luckily, your touch returned and Din could tell from the gel texture that you were applying Bacta now. He sighed, “You said your own name.”

“Hmm?”

“The nightmare you were having. Right before you woke up, you called out your own name.”

“Oh.” You replied with no indication that you were going to speak further on the matter.

It didn’t bother him. Din had his fair share of nightmares and haunting memories that plagued him when he slept. There weren’t many he was willing to share with the world and he didn’t expect you to be any different with your own ghosts. You didn’t owe him that. He shook his sleep heavy head, “I’m not looking for clarification or an answer. Just…” Din paused. “If you need to talk, I’m available. I know what it’s like…”

‘To be haunted.’ He couldn’t physically bring himself to finish that sentence audibly.

You finished with the Bacta and he could feel you taping a large, gauze bandage over the wound. After another beat, you spoke up. “It wasn’t a nightmare.” Din wanted to turn around to look at you. “It was a memory. Just a really bad memory.”

He felt you begin to tug his shirt back down and took that as his opportunity to turn. Your hands fell back to your lap as he finished pulling his shirt back down in place. Din rested his hands on the counter beside you. He didn’t touch you again, but he was close enough that he could if he wanted.

“Those are worse, aren’t they?” He asked. You nodded, a small smile drawn on your lips, but nothing about your features screamed anything other than sadness and exhaustion. Din was sure that none of the sleep you got had been beneficial. He had those nights before.

You shrugged. “Sometimes I wish I had a normal nightmare. Some kind of monster or jump scare.” The chuckle you breathed out was lackluster. “Reliving your worst moment over and over again is… disheartening.”

“I know.” Din replied. Your shoulders were slumped in defeat, but the fact that you tried to keep a smile on your face anyways was admirable. Din’s eyes scanned over the features of your face, ones he had already memorized some time ago, and they trailed down the length of your throat. The shirt you wore to sleep in was a size bigger than you usually wore and the way you were seated had the scooped neckline pulled to reveal the skin of your shoulder. Any thoughts he had about sinking his teeth in, tracing the contours of your skin with his tongue, were interrupted as he took in the sight of your collarbone. There was a scar there on your left side⏤ as long as the collarbone itself. The jagged shape told him the wound had been deep once, and he’d guess a blade of some kind.

Din wondered if that was the memory you had been forced to live through last night.

“I’m really glad you came home in one piece.” You lifted a hand tapped your fingers against the side of his helmet. Din loved hearing you call this home. Obviously you lived here, what else would you call it, but after seeing you sleeping in his bed with his son it felt like the word had a different meaning. Din would be honored and blessed to come home to you and Grogu every night.

A soft cry startled both of you. Din leaned back, not even realizing how much closer he had drifted toward you, and glanced over his shoulder. Before he could make his way out, you set a hand on his arm and slipped off the counter carefully.

“Wash up a bit. Change clothes.” You squeezed his arm. “I’ll get him.”

Din watched you step out, closing the door behind you, and let out a sigh. Grogu’s cries stopped a second later. He wanted nothing more than to go see his son, but the moment he entered his room he was going to pass out. He just knew it, and it’d be nice to fall asleep in his bed with fresh clothes. As quick as he could, Din pulled his helmet off to wash his face and clean up. His entire body was tired, but he barreled through the routine in record time. The only thing he paused to do was rub some of the Bacta you had laying on the counter onto the ugly, dark bruise that decorated his outer thigh. Satisfied that he was successfully cleaned up, Din grabbed his helmet and held it in his hands for a hesitant moment.

He didn’t have time to ponder and pour over thoughts about his identity right now. Din just wanted to settle into his home.

“You don’t have to fight sleep, kiddo.” You mumbled to Grogu in your arms. It seemed the sleep he got last night was just as restful as yours. Waking up alone in bed must have spooked him because he was still tearfully rubbing his face against your nightshirt as you tried to reassure him. “Your buir is home. He’s safe.”

The words were meant to reassure the child, but they felt like a relief to you as well. Thankfully, his injury, though large, wasn’t too severe. Nothing needed suturing and the bleeding had stopped on its own by the time you saw it. You went back to softly humming and rocking the child in your arms. Every time you glanced down you could see his eyes began to drift close, but he’d open them again without fail.

“Ad’ika.” Mando’s warm voice said from behind you. Grogu’s eyes widened and he sat up in your arms with a startling speed. He began to fuss and cry again. You turned around so Mando could cross the room to scoop him out of your arms. Grogu immediately buried his face on his father’s shoulder, mumbled a few soft words, then passed out. He had been fighting sleep just to see Mando. You didn’t blame him one bit. “How was he while I was gone?”

“He woke up crying for you once.” You whispered. “I got him back down, but he was restless. I don’t think he got any good sleep after that.”

“That seems to be the case for all of us.” Mando replied.

You chuckled then motioned past him. “I’m gonna go. Grogu’s probably gonna be passed out with you for a while so I was gonna start on some laundry.”

“You need to sleep, cyar’ika.” Mando shook his head, aghast at your suggestion.

“I’m not tired. I⏤” You began, but the tilt in Mando’s helmet told you he wasn’t buying any word coming out of your mouth. Yikes, did you really look that rough, right now? You sighed and decided on the truth. You were too exhausted to come up with an excuse. “I could go to my room and try to sleep, but I’ll just… The outcome won’t change. It’d probably be better for me to just chug some caf and hope for the best.”

Mando was rubbing Grogu’s back and his helmet’s modulator made his whispered words sound huskier than they usually did. “Stay here.” You blinked in surprise. “The bed is big enough. I’m a light sleeper. If you start to toss or turn again, like before, I can wake you.”

“Mando, you need to get your own rest.” You said. “If I stayed... you’d have to leave your helmet on.”

“I’ve slept in it before.”

“But⏤”

“Lay down, cyar’ika.”

Too tired to argue, you laid furthest from the bedroom door so he could have his usual side. Mando walked over to his room’s window to draw the blinds so the only sunlight coming in was through the thin slates. You curled up under his blankets as Mando climbed in on the other side. He carefully laid Grogu between the two of you and once again the boy’s rhythmic snoring was like calming, white noise. Mando laid on his side so he could watch his son. You faced toward them so you were witness to Mando’s bare hands rubbing Grogu’s back like you had done much, much earlier.

“Thanks, Mando.” You breathed, your heavy eyelids already fluttering closed. Sleep was already starting to envelope you so you weren’t able to fully grasp the words that Mando whispered to you. You registered it was entirely in Mando’a, but you were unconscious before you could question it.

This time, your sleep wasn’t plagued by memories or nightmares. There was only peace.

mando’a translations:

cyar’ika: darling, sweetheart

buir: father

#the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x you #mandalorian fanfic #din djarin fanfiction #reader insert #Female reader #star wars #mandalorian and grogu #grogu takes a break from being a menace #he's a sleepy angel in this #mando x reader #mando x you

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oliviajdjarin · 1 year

Text

Din Djarin: Dare You to Touch Me--Dare You to Love Me

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!reader (afab; she/her)

Excerpt: "You couldn't say it out loud, he knew you couldn't, so you screamed at him with your eyes. They told him everything he needed to know.

I dare you, they said, I dare you to touch me. I dare you to love me, even like this.

Help me.

But he didn't. All you got was one single croak of your name before he headed behind you, scooped the Rodian into his arms like it was nothing, and said, huskily, "I'll meet you at the Crest."

And that was it. He was gone.

He fucking left you.

Warnings: ANGSTTTT, Din's a scaredy cat, graphic descriptions of blood and knives, reader is really self-deprecating and gets really really dark, needles, stitching, swearing, Din gets some sense knocked into him, the Razor Crest is forever alive in my mind, hopeful ending.

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N: This is incredibly kanej inspired, therefore incredibly personal. I hope you all enjoy :)

If you'd like to leave a like, comment, ask, or reblog, it would be much appreciated <3

Pedro Masterlist

(Gif credit to Pinterest)

You didn't know if the red on your hands was from the crimson lighting the prison ship had been showered with, or your own blood leaking from your gut. Not leaking, sprouting. Its thickness and warmth gushed onto your hand and wrist, pumping so fiercely that the pressure you had against your wound wasn't enough to prevent some dripping down onto the floor, effectively causing you to slip on your own butchery. You could fit your pointer finger in-between the flaps of skin separated from the Rodian's dagger, and the pain of it spun your brain in circles, so much so that you could not help the breakfast you had only hours before splatting on the metal floor.

That fucking reptile had gotten you good. Too good. Luckily for him, your revenge came in a blaster shot through his brain, rather than something much, much worse. His corpse was heavy as hell though, and having to drag it in your state didn't help either. You were slipping in your own blood and vomit, grinding your teeth after every step you took, dragging hundreds of pounds one-handed, and practically biting off your own tongue to keep from wailing.

And Din was nowhere to be found.

Frankly, you were more disgusted with yourself than you ever would be with him. It had gotten too perfect with him, too easy. The two most brutal, solitary bounty hunters in the galaxy, hearts locked inside impenetrable chains, practically salivating to finally touch the other. He had done everything else; told you his name, his Creed, his losses, and you had done the same to him. Those demons inside your head reared their ugliness, screaming at you to get a fucking grip.

Just wait, they said. He's just like everyone else. He'll disappoint you just like everyone else, and you've given him enough ammo to destroy you.

You were a child to believe otherwise.

Maybe he's just run late, that child inside you whimpered, or he's hurt.

You pushed her down, and carried on.

You had made it at least fifty feet away from where the two of you were supposed to meet, inches away from rounding the corner to the Crest--satisfied at the thought that you were very capable of taking everything he ever loved inside that piece of metal and burning it to ash--when a burst of your blood gushed on the floor just right, twisting your ankle, and sending you forward, pushing your hand deeper into your wound.

You didn't remember screaming or puking, but you imagined you had to have done both, because it was right then that Din rounded the corner, finding you in a puddle of your own blood-soaked vomit.

He froze, panting, as your vision went white with pain. Your body sunk into the floor, screaming at you that the metal was actually cushioned, the light you saw behind your eyes was only sleep, and the thick fluid coating your hand was warm, soapy bathwater.

Stay down, your demons whispered, stay a while.

No, the child within exclaimed, Din is here. Din will help.

With a grunt, you helped him with the first step, getting you onto all fours. You propped yourself up with the last of the strength you had, your mouth dribbling out more spit and vomit as you did, and waited. Waited for those large, leathered hands to take you into his arms, and carry you home.

You waited, and waited, and waited, and when you finally turned your head to look at him is when you finally let a single tear escape.

He just...stood there, looking down at you like some pathetic lump of flesh, only slowing him down. His arms remained firmly at his sides, while his chest rose up and down erratically, the way it did when he was angry. He stared down at you, the most vulnerable you had ever been, and looked at you like you were the most useless, pitiable, disappointing creature to ever grace his eyes.

Maybe he doesn't realize, the child within exclaimed, show him.

And you did, you had been. You couldn't say it out loud, he knew you couldn't, so you screamed at him with your eyes. They told him everything he needed to know.

I dare you, they said, I dare you to touch me. I dare you to love me, even like this.

Help me.

But he didn't. All you got was one single croak of your name before he headed behind you, scooped the Rodian into his arms like it was nothing, and said, huskily, "I'll meet you at the Crest."

And that was it. He was gone.

He fucking left you.

Told you, the demons whispered, and the child within you finally broke.

You sobbed as you attempted to stand, you sobbed as you vomited from the effort, you sobbed as you wiped your chin, you sobbed as you pressed against your wound once again, you sobbed as you finally put your feet under you, and you sobbed as you took each and every step back home.

Home, the demons inside your head cackled, you have no home. You never will.

You were truly a lamentable sight. You were surprised you didn't bash your own head in.

Finally, the Crest came into view through the pounding in your head and the haze of your own tears, and for that one second, you pretended he had stayed. You pretended he was guiding you with his forearm against your back, his voice against your temple, and shoulders propping you up. You pretended the chills on your body were from the chill of his armor, not your own blood loss, because for once, you had been right about someone. You had been right about him.

That second of delusion was enough, before the demons inside your head went back to its guffaws.

You trekked your way up the Crest's ramp, biting down on your cheeks until they bled, because he would not hear you scream. Your head was getting worse, beginning to fade in and out of consciousness. It was obvious you needed a stitching, and as you searched for a clean kit through the Crest's shelves, you recalled how many times you had stitched Din up. You always kept your gloves on, and you removed as few pieces of his precious beskar as you could, but you stuck with him through every stitch, every groan, every drop of blood from his body, you stayed. You never removed your gloves, no matter how badly you wanted to touch him, truly touch him. Trace the constellation of moles on his back, the depth of his scars, and the warmth of his tan skin. You never did.

You wondered if those beskar pieces would sink with him when you threw him into Naboo's Abyss.

One more time, the child inside you cried out. She was wailing now. Please, try one more time.

You slammed the drawer shut when you found a kit suitable enough, and you slammed it hard. You waited for him to come out of the cockpit, hands filled with bacta and bandages, but he remained seated in the captain's chair, unmoving.

Like everyone else, the demons said, and clicked their tongues.

The child sobbed, and you did with it as you proceeded to clean and bandage yourself. Alone.

He could close the fucking hanger himself.

The cleaning of your wound was the worst of it. The water burned down the nerves of your legs and feet more than you expected, as well as the warm towels pressing against your wound. You had to go inside of it, just to be safe, and tried not to imagine what organs you were memorizing the texture of. Stitching it was nothing, you could do it with your eyes closed, but with the mix of the exhaustion of blood loss, pain, and the scars reopened in your heart, you were out as soon as you snipped the excess thread away and bandaged yourself up tightly. You were in your own cot, thank the maker, in the storage unit Din let you use as a makeshift bedroom.

Let you use, the demons said with a scoff.

Let you use, the child said with a smile.

It had to have been at least a day before you finally woke up, your mind blank with those first few seconds of the bliss of ignorance, allowing you a moment of peace in forgetting that anything had ever happened, before you were met with as dry of a throat you had ever had, an ache across your body like you had never experienced before, and a stab across your midsection to bring you right back to reality.

"Fuck," you whispered, and immediately went to press your fingers against the throbbing slice, when your fingers were met with something...soft.

A thin blanket had been placed over you, and as you propped yourself up in shock, a voice deep as night replied, "Y/N."

You turned, and for just one second, the child inside you admired.

Din was sitting on a makeshift pile of blankets squished against the wall, body still covered in beskar, with a glass of clear water in his leathered hand. "I didn't...know if you had drunk anything."

Initially, your heart warmed.

Me, the child inside you whispered, he was worried about me.

You stared into where you could only guess his eyes were underneath his helmet, and your mouth threatened to etch into a smile as you felt your hand begin to reach for the liquid. Until, the demons that haunted to you whispered in reply.

Remember.

Your hand halted, and the look of love in your eyes quickly wilted into a look of fury. Your lips did etch into a smile, but more of a devilish grin.

You have the upper hand. Use it.

Your voice came as rich and powerful as ever. "I can take care of myself."

You then tossed your legs over the cot, stood slowly, and left him. You barely felt the ache in your midsection anymore, not with the endorphins revenge brought on.

As you walked to the kitchen, imagining how satisfying it was to know how much hurt he'd feel when you finally walked out, slightly limping but more joyful than you had been in weeks, a firm grip caught your forearm, and a voice of terror, true terror, whispered, "wait."

Your nostrils flared and your bicep flexed as you turned, ready to pull your hand away and knock him on his ass, when you noticed the same breath pattern he had when he had found you only a day before.

The beings inside you were too curious to pull you away from him just yet.

"Please just...please just listen," he exclaimed, voice weighed down by a mixture of seemingly every emotion possible, "I didn't...I didn't know what to do. I'd never seen you like that before. So near death. I have only ever seen you standing, and to see you so down was--"

He paused to gather a breath, and as he did, his back straightened, his composure tightened, and his voice was coated with something almost...evil.

"--I wanted to destroy him," he finished. "The fucking Rodian. I wanted to be the one to blow a blaster through his brain, and rip him apart as I did."

A film of water began to coat your eyes. You didn't know from what.

"I panicked. I'm a fucking coward who panicked when you needed me, and I am so, so sorry."

His grip on your wrist had loosened slightly, his thumb even beginning to rub delicate circles on the top of your hand, and it took everything in you not to let the child within you-- as well as the woman-- fall apart against him. He was finally daring to touch you, rub on you, and you wanted to know what else he would dare to touch. How would his fingers feel stroking through your hair? Down your back? Against your face?

He was scared, the child within you whispered, he was scared, that's all he was, and he admitted it.

You could forgive him. You know you could.

But could you go through this again, the demons asked.

No. You couldn't. Your id and superego were at war once more, and with what little strength your ego had between them, you spoke.

"You fucking left me," you croaked, "you left me to die."

"I know. I know I did," he muttered, ashamed. "And I am so sor--"

"No," you stopped him, finally prying your hand away from him. The rage, hurt, and pain you felt over the previous twenty-four hours finally bubbling their way to the surface with the tears running down your cheeks.

You would not let yourself feel this way, ever again.

"Don't apologize to me." you stated. "Prove yourself to me. If you ever--ever--pull that shit again, I am gone. Gone. Do you hear me?"

He stared. Unresponsive.

"Do you hear me?"

"Yes," he finally blurted. "Yes."

"Good," you said, and backed away from him. "Now take a fucking shower. You smell even through the armor."

You could've sworn he chuckled as he walked back through the cockpit.

You continued your walk towards the kitchen, wiping your tear-stained cheeks, and you felt your demons begin to belittle you once more.

He's going to do it again, they chanted, and again, and again, and again. He will rip you open time and time again. He knows you're weak for him now. He will use it. He will use it to take advantage of everything that you are. Pathetic.

But the child within you only smiled, satisfied with her knowledge of the truth.

Din was bigger than all of them.

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suengmi · 1 year

Text

✧ the mirror doesn't lie ✧ 3k, m

this wasn't about chan's validation to your body. it's about your own. it was about how you felt, not how someone else did. it didn't matter than chan loved your body. it mattered that you did.

pairing: chan x fem!reader (plus size/curvy reader with tattoos) genre: angst/hurt, romance, nonidol!au, chan/reader are graphic designers warnings: please be aware this fic is on the topic of certain health/eating disorders and body issues etc. warnings are under the cut! pls be safe!! lapslock and mostly proof read (this is kind of like a love letter to all you thicc baddies, fuck everyone else.) ♡please reblog if you liked! it rly helps and i love to hear your feedback♡

!!warnings!!

mentions/implications of sex, eating disorders, descriptions of food, negative implied weight discussions, fatphobia, mentions of purging/vomiting (no acts done in fic) of any of this triggers you please don't read! ❤️

you were never uncomfortable in your body. if anything, you celebrated all of your curves and slopes. it was a blessing to to have this beautiful figure, large chest and hips matching with your full pouty lips.

the mirror doesn't lie, but sometimes the lighting does. when you glance in the mirror, just leaning over the sink, you notice the softness of your neck, the way it gently sits on the slant of your jaw bone. you run your finger along the side of your cheek, the plush flesh sinking in with your touch.

a sigh leaves you, knowing the weight of the words your co-workers rang in your ears. 'we're trying to help you, you'll feel better,' they said, 'if you lost a few kilos, your jaw line would would be stunning if it showed.'

they coated it by saying they'd be able to see your face more, your 'beauty'. as if you weren't already stunning.

in other words, you were ugly. you were not the ideal. gentle gaslighting in their words, laced with fucked up ideas of singular ways of beauty and fatphobia.

you weren't stupid, you knew this was all rooted in the capitalist ideals of beauty culture, fucked up ways to make women into barbie dolls and control them. it was tempting, just to see what it was like to be viewed in the way society wants you, validation pouring into your cup until it runs over.

you hang your head, maybe i should try it.

maybe. just to see what it's like.

tiredness was in your eyes, dark circles barely covered by concealer and setting powder. you were a shell, hunger making you irritated the more the days went on. some days you'd just sleep, body overtaken by lack of energy. other days you'd fill yourself up with fizzy drink, laying on the couch scrolling through your phone mindlessly.

your co-worker chan sits across from you, eyeing the coke zero and apple sitting in front of you untouched.

"not hungry?" he asks, slurping a mouth full of noodles as he draws with one hand on the mouse.

chan is somewhere in between some design sketches, half concentrating on you and half on the monitor. one of your favourite things about chan was his smile, the cute way his cheeks lifted and how they pushed up his glasses. he'd always complain about the way they sat but never did anything about it. sometimes, his tongue would stick out just a little bit to the side when he was in the zone. it was your favourite thing.

you shake your head, mind failing to muster up the energy to concentrate on anything. "nah, had a big brekky."

that was a lie.

chan says nothing, eyes glancing up you. he pulls his lips in, mouth curling at the side.

a few mornings after, you arrive at your work desk. there's a small tupperware container, sitting just at the front of your keyboard. there's no writing, just a small little heart on the front of the paper. you plop down to your chair, legs running on nothing but an iced latte.

it's food. the one thing you've been avoiding. but who's it from?

you open the box a large sandwich cut into a love heart. it's absolutely adorable, you almost don't want to think about eating it.

"hey chaaaan..." you begin, moving the sandwich around to admire it. it's cute. "did you see anyone leave this at my desk?"

chan shrugs, looking up at you from his adjacent desk just in front of yours, sipping on his orange juice. "i dunno, haven't seen anyone."

"weird." you say curiously, placing it back down.

it's been a week, every morning you're met with something new. yesterday was a hearty salad, with salsa dressing. the day before a stir fry, a small note with a heart every time. it has you confused, maybe someone had noticed you weren't eating. is it that obvious?

but this one morning, you decided to go in early to begin on a a large project your company was beginning on. you were actually thrilled about the current work, loving the fact that you were in charge of it this time. unfortunately, your lack of energy had you so damn tired. it had been three weeks since you started this so called diet, you weren't sure you could do it much longer.

when you arrive to the office there's no one there, but some of the lights are on. maybe someone had the same idea. you make your way to the bathroom, dizziness swarming inside your body.

the mirror is the enemy you say to yourself, sighing as you lean on the counter. your company had never been formal, so you were happy to be able to wear whatever you pleased. your tee, now less tight across your chest, and black shorts not as snug as they once were on your waist. two more belt sizes down and you'd need a new one.

it was working... but at what cost?

the sound of feet shuffling enters your ears, your body automatically creeping over to inspect the noise. you lean around the corner of the bathroom, holding onto the door frame for balance.

it's chan, but he has something in his hands.

curiously, you inch forwards, not wanting to disturb him. here he is, placing a small box down in front of your computer. it's a small purple container, a banana placed down next to it. chan steps back, nodding to himself as he goes around to his desk. he looks kind of sad, like he's mourning something.

you don't want to make it obvious, so you rustle as you make your way to your desk, acting as if you didn't just see the man placing food on your keyboard.

"oh shit, hi." chan says, eyes wide with surprise. he clears his throat, eyes darting around. "when did you get here?"

"hmm a while ago, was just in the bathroom." you say standing to your desk. you look down at the package, your heart suddenly swelling.

chan knew, he knew this whole time. he noticed it when no one else did.

a few of your co-workers had mentioned your weight loss but you just insisted it wasn't anything new you were doing. knowing full well it was lies escaping your throat with every syllable. chan had always frowned, exiting the conversation quietly.

"did you... see someone?" you say gesturing to the item on your desk.

"hm? me? nope, nah." he shrugs, lips pouting. "i just got here."

that was a lie, he had been here for a while. the iced tea on his table nearly finished told it all, a few rings of water along the front of his desk.

you nod slowly, taking a seat. your head spins for a moment, neck giving out as you hang your head low.

"i, uh," chan begins, clearing his throat, "have a some tim tam cake, if you want it?"

you hadn't eaten in thirty hours, only thing your body running on was coffee and desperation. a small snack wouldn't hurt, your body needed something. anything. you didn't care if it was sweets. your mouth watered at the thought.

"who eats cake in the morning?"

"me." chan smiles, eyes crinkling at the sides. "c'mon, have some."

"alright then, i'll try." you say, leaning forwards.

chan scoops the cake with his spoon and holds his hand forwards, other underneath to catch any fallout. you take the spoon in your mouth, letting the food slide in. it tastes like heaven. you missed this so much, body practically jolting at the sugar rush.

chan smiles widely, eyes lighting up as you enjoy your food, your eyes closing for a moment to savour it. before you know it he has another spoon full sitting at your mouth, hands gesturing for you to take one more bite. he says nothing as he continues to feed you, his smile gentle and warm.

the sudden carb rush has you feeling weird, your body adjusting to the foreign intake.

"it's so good, who made it?" you speak with your mouth full, chocolate on the sides of your mouth.

"i did." he smiles without his teeth, handing you the last piece. you look down at the plate, realising you've eaten the whole slice. shit.

"i ate the whole thing, oh my god i'm sorry."

"dont be sorry, i have plenty more."

you smile, chocolate on your teeth. chan just laughs, pointing to your face. "you look cute with chocolate on your teeth."

you gasp, hand covering you mouth. "chan! stop."

the heavy weight of food in your stomach fills you, your body rushing with energy the more time goes on. it feels amazing, you forgot what this was like. the last few weeks without proper food having you appreciating every taste.

it's around lunch when chan asks you go to go to the cafe around the corner. you need some energy, a coffee will do. you've eaten enough for today.

"sure." you smile, grabbing your bag. you've got to avoid food this time, it's too much.

when you arrive at the cafe, chan spots a seat, slinging his tote bag on the back of the chair. "they've got this amazing ham and cheese croissant, i'll get you one."

"but-" you begin, but he's already off to wait in line.

anxiety jolts in your tummy. how would you avoid this? maybe say you just feel sick, that the chocolate cake has your stomach feeling funny. anything. chan sits across from you, a few minutes later with a coffee and some other drink in his had.

"i'm not that hungry." you say, fingers scrolling through something in your phone.

"you are." he says, tone a little serious.

you look up at him, his eyes trained on your own. he stares at you, lips curling to the side. "i know you're not eating."

"ah, yes i have." you gest, eyebrows raised. "of course i have, i have."

"you wouldn't be over justifying it if you had been."

the words sound harsh. it's almost like a feeling of bitterness, a throbbing stings in your skull.

"i was just like, watching what i was eating. that's all." you shrug, taking a sip of your iced latte.

"not eating is not watching what you eat."

you've never seen him this serious, but there still a softness in his voice. you're thankful it's coming from him, otherwise you'd probably be crying by now.

"why are you being so... mean? it's not your business." you scorn, emotions feeling high from your mood swings.

"i'm not being mean... i just want you to eat."

the words are gentle, forlorn expression on his face. his bluntness surprises you.

you sit in silence, eyes avoiding his. the waiter brings over your food a couple of minutes later, you're thankful for the intrusion, but now you have to eat. it's like you've forgotten.

chan digs in, not waiting a second to eat. his eyes are looking at your food, then back at you.

"eat." he says, almost commanding, mouth full of food.

fuck it. you think, grabbing the knife and fork beside the plate.

before you know it you've finished the whole plate. the fullness of your stomach just a little bit too much, but you love the feeling. it feels amazing, your body rushing with dopamine. the more you eat the more he smiles, happy you finally have something in your stomach. what he doesn't know is the sick urge you have to release it all when you get back to the office.

you're hunched over the toilet, hair pulled back by your fist as you attempt to empty your stomach. something tells you to stop, you just can't do it. your body isn't allowing it.

in defeat, you flush the toilet. your legs are cold from the bathroom tiles, lines dented into your knees. you leave the stall, wiping the side your mouth with the back of your hand.

a figure startles you, your eyes widen at the intrusion.

"chan! shit, you scared me." you half laugh, walking to the sink to wash your hands. the man says nothing as he steps behind you. you look at him through the mirror, his eyes searching your body up and down.

"you know what i think?" he questions quietly, manoeuvring himself to stand behind you. his hands raise to your hips, resting gently on the curve.

the touch confuses you, your mind fuzzy from the retching. the feeling of his fingers running across your skin tingles, hands making their way just underneath your shirt.

"do you?" he asks again, chin resting on your shoulder. he's not too much taller than you, but enough to tower the slightest bit.

"no..." you say, voice slightly shaking.

"look." he says to you, nodding towards the mirror. "do you know how sexy you are?"

a red hue appears across your cheeks, ears tingling with embrassment. you go to move but chan holds you in place.

"hm?" he hums, pressing a small kiss on your neck. "tell me."

you shake your head, squeezing your eyes shut.

"you wanna know else what i think?" he chuckles, hold on your firmer.

"yeah." you breathe, hot flushes running through your body.

"i think you look so fucking hot when you walk, your hips are mesmerising. especially in these black mini shorts. even now, your eyes puffy and red, you look so cute."

"chan, we're at work." you mumble, hands covering your mouth. you feel him move closer, hands snaking their way around your waist to press into the plush flesh.

"fuck everyone else." he says, kissing your neck once more.

before he leaves you in your daze he leans to your ear, speaking ever so softly. "the thought of my cock between your lush full thighs sits in my mind, my hands on your chest, lips on yours.. it's all i think about."

it's not as if you and chan hadn't talked about it. you were always against work relationships, saying it would eventually end in a mess. he had asked you out a few times, but every time, you had turned him down. it was mutual, of course, a few staff parties you had snuck off to make out, all giggles and kisses, drunken talks about how much you wanted each other. you put it down to just the alcohol and nothing else.

one thing you noticed was how chan had always commented on how nice you looked, how he loved the vine of your tattoos peeping out from your tees. he enjoyed the black and grey tartan pants you would wear a lot, fitting perfectly on your ass and hips. pants that sat on your smaller waist and larger hips were so hard to find. they're probably a bit over worn at this point.

when you think about it, maybe he was right. the worm of this fucked up beauty standard culture wriggling it's way in. actually, you knew he was right. this wasn't about chans validation to your body. it's about your own. it was about how you felt, not how someone else did. it didn't matter than chan loved your body. it mattered that you did.

this was ridiculous, the idea that you needed to fit into something smaller.

clothes are made to fit you, not to fit them.

the light of the morning sun through the clouds hits your eyes as you enter the office. it's nice, warm on your skin. today, you decided to wear a purple crop top, black shorts with buckles down the side showing off your swerves, your arms and beautifully designed tattoos on display, if you paid so much money for them, you should show them off.

when you sit at your desk, there's, of course, another box.

you pick up the note on top, it reads: do it for yourself♡

what chan had said yesterday; you can't help but love the validation of your body, you're human after all.

but, last night you hit a turning point. slightly ashamed of how you let yourself succumb to the beauty standards when you of all people were self aware and smart enough to know it's all about profit and control. it's not worth it, the consistent struggle. why on earth were you being hard on yourself when society already is? it's hard, living in a world where control is the norm. there is already so much pressure on you, on everything you do. you start to feel sorry for your co-workers, how stupid they must be to fall for it.

fuck everyone else.

it rings in your mind, chan's right.

fuck everyone else.

chan approaches his desk, hands on the back of his chair.

"i dunno who that came from." he says, pointing to the box. "gotta be a cutie though."

you let out a pretend shock, hand on your chest. "oh absolutely, and he cooks well. damn, a catch."

"oh yeah." chan says, tapping his mouth in thought. "seems like a good to date kinda person, very dateable."

"if only i could be persuaded to date someone at work, if only." you say as you lean back, sighing dramatically.

chan stands up straight, realising this is his moment. "should i quit? i'll quit."

you laugh, his expression is cute, eyes wide and brows raised higher than you've ever seen, he really wanted this. so you give in, allowing him to do a little dance of excitement when you say yes to the question he never asked.

"but!" you pause, "only if you make more tim tam cake."

he stands to attention, hand flat on his head like he's saluting. "will do."

the journey to self love isn't finite, nor is a linear. it doesn't matter that you slipped, it's okay to feel like that sometimes. but with chan by your side, you know it'll be easier.

a/n: sorry this took so long (as always) but at one point i'm sure we've all struggled with body issues. if this triggered you, please seek help or feel free to message me! i'm not a psychologist by any means but i do understand the struggle, helps to not feel so alone. remember that all beauty standards are built in structures to control people, especially afab women. so yah this is kind of a love letter to all my plus/fat/curvy babes, you're all so fucking HOT and ur tummys are a BLESSING, remember that pls <3

in the wise words of a'keria davenport:

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whumpsoda · 12 days

Text

So Long

WOHEO Masterlist Surprise!!! >:]

cw: emeto, major character death, suicidal ideation, being staked through the heart

———————————————————————

Everything was blurred with an infection of horrifying black.

Nevan could barely see, vision fuzzy and clouded, his ears ringing crazily. He could no longer connect to where he was, what was happening, his mind too far distant to reach with such wildly shaking hands.

So many voices, unfamiliar and changing, whirled around him, flashing over his head at the speed of light with urgency he could never comprehend. They spoke and shouted and yelled over him, words loud yet incomprehensible. Not that he could bring enough attention to manage focus on them. Not that he could begin to care.

Because Nevan was lying down. Lying down and collapsed where his face was stuck, coated in a pool of trickling, oozing black, drooling in a puddle over now stained wood. Smelling with the stench of disease, thick and deep. It kissed his cheek, tainting his stringing long locks, color only further darkened by the rich black of monster blood.

Blood.

The walls of his mind were pounding with a sick load of nausea, only worsened by the tons of feet stomping around the same floor his head lay upon. Bile bubbled in a sour concoction of stinging acid in his belly, crawling and creeping its slimy way down his caving throat. Lingering there with its weight, threatening ever so carefully to spill.

Master. The thought repeated, over and over again, filling his brain in completion. Master, Master, Master, Master, Master, Master, Master, Master, Master, Master, Master, Master, Master, Master-

One eye peeked open, unfocused, eyelashes fluttering. Nevan took a sweet moment, his vision ever so slowly adjusting. His breath had ceased, lungs dry. Finally, he saw him.

Master.

Darius looked back to his thrall, but he did not see him. He looked right through Nevan with those bejeweling, foggy eyes of his, open agape with a wide gaze. He lay mere feet away, hair flopping over his face in a clutter, drool slipping down his chin. His face was drained of any color that ever remained, white as a ghost. Fitting.

Trembling, shaking as quick as a leaf, head beating loud and overwhelmed with the pulse of his quick heart, Nevan reached out for him. Desperate and hopeful, he clawed his way toward his master, limbs weak and wobbling. Black rot tainted his skin as he crept, the pool of it sinking into the fabric of his once cream dress only ever growing.

“Mmm… Ma- a- Masterrr…” he croaked, ugly and crackling against his torn up throat. Nevan winced.

His master did not respond. Did not berate him for such an irritating sound, did not scoff and wave him along. Simply nothing. Terrible, terrible nothing.

As Nevan gazed into his master’s unwavering stare, heart, mind, and being full of adoration and beloved, pure longing, his fingers landed to the vampire’s slender chest. Dipping inside by ignorance, touching wet.

The spot of his heart where the human’s touch had landed, Nevan soon realized, was staked clean through by crusted wood and mauled to grimy shreds. Swallowed black his heart, a gaping hole and rushing fountain of dreaded misery staring back at him. Laughing. Torn flesh molded over and already decayed, the stake stuck out and splattered with liquid insides.

Immediate and with no hesitance, the persisting vomit finally tore through. Gagging, heaving with wretched, burning taste, dipping over and down his tongue, chunks caught over his teeth. Tripping and stumbling over his quivering lips it flooded, dripping in gulps to the ground. Someone gasped in aversion, far away and muffled.

Nevan felt abhorrently dirty. Tainted with disgusting smell and taste, body coated with the root of the dead. How vile, Darius would have said. At least, Nevan hoped so. He wished his master would chastise him, scream at him, tell him he was naughty and terrible and a very bad boy.

Anything.

Tears collected with the vomit lingering from his chin, fat and thick with salt. His fingers curled over the flooring, quaking with a sickly concoction. His stomach sensed as if it was caving in on itself, mind ripping in two. Nevan felt as if he was going to die.

Too.

Because his master was dead.

Dead.

Nevan wished to those above, to whoever may listen, that his master could have taken him along as well. He wasn’t supposed to live without his master. He wasn’t supposed to, and yet he was. Maybe if he wished harder God would strike him dead. So, he wished harder. He wished harder and harder until his head was in too much pain to think.

But, not thinking was better than thinking. If one thing in the world was going Nevan’s way, it was that. So simply and devoid of thought, he cried.

Soon enough, Nevan was pulled back to reality by sound he could not ignore. Rich, guttural, and raw, a twist between a shriek and a wail. He instantly recognized the perpetrator of such a pained, agonizing noise.

Malak.

Someone was beside the other thrall, Malak lurched forward in despair and clutching his own master’s lifeless corpse with an iron grip, someone Nevan had never seen, whispering kindly and failing to check on him. Maybe to make him shut up. Nevan couldn’t tell, but he didn’t want them to. Nobody got to go near Malak, no one beside their masters and him.

Wiping his face of crusted fluids Nevan gasped for air, steading himself in a kneeling position. Swaying, mouth still drooling droplets of bitter moisture, he crawled his way toward his companion, head snaking its way into the nape of Malak’s neck and deterring their unwanted visitor.

Malak was trembling horribly, convulsing with unimaginable anguish. Even under so much confusion that accompanied the trance put over him, he could seemingly still understand his masters had been hurt. It was fully possible Malak did not even comprehend they were gone for good. A part of him hoped he wouldn’t have to explain the situation. Nevan had trouble understanding it, too.

“Mmngh… Ma… lak…” Nevan whispered, strained, beating hot breath inside the other man’s ear. Malak finally lifted his head, still sobbing with such emotion Nevan had never seen from him before. He twisted his neck, petting the side of Nevan’s head with his own.

For a moment, Nevan caught a glimpse of Adrastus still wound inside of the thrall’s arms. Skin dripping with the black of their own blood, face mangled and unrecognizable. His guts churned. As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t look. He wanted to remember them as whole.

“Nevan! Nevan, Nevan, Nevan, Nevan!” Malak hollered, a bellowing sound from his stomach. “Master, Master, Master, Master, Master, Master, Master!” He repeated, each word glazed with further hurt that pierced the other thrall’s wounded heart.

In mere seconds there was a group of terrible strangers surrounding them, each with their carefully placed arms outstretched, speaking gradual and in honeydew tones. Nevan only pushed himself further into the lap of the other thrall, who still wailed and shrieked in their shared despair.

Fingers slithered smoothly over his shoulder, gripping down before he could react and pulling. Pulling. Then another over his opposing shoulder, yanking him off of his companion.

Whoever they were, Nevan did not hold an ounce of care, were not welcome there. Especially not to take him away from Malak.

Nevan screeched in response, a group of hands cluttering his body and dragging him away. With fiery aggression lit, pounding, banging, spitting, biting on their knuckles and fingers he fought, in the desperate attempt to deter their attack. “N-! No! No, no! No!”

Hushes and coos rushed around him, only further strengthening his anger. He wriggled and writhed in their hold, eventually forcing them off and crawling as quick as he could back to a crying Malak. Nevan gently and tenderly tightened himself around the other thrall, Malak’s tears wetting his shoulder.

Silently, he shut his eyes, and took a breath. Whispers of unwanted guests circled him. He paid them no mind.

What had they done to deserve it? His beloved, magnificent masters? They had given him a home, provided him a purpose. A family. One he would cherish so very dearly. Loving touch and mind melting bliss he never truly earned. All of it, no more. And he was too stupid to even protect them in return.

He tensed, wrapping tighter around Malak, nails digging into his flesh. He could’nt do it. Not without them, he couldn’t do it. He was not supposed to. And yet, he knew he had to.

Nevan made a promise. To himself, and to Malak. He would not fall down and die like their masters did, no matter if they were gone or not. Malak needed him far too dearly, and he realized that.

Malak needed him, and Nevan would do everything in his power to love him like he deserved. Maybe, from beyond the grave, they would forgive him.

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Taglist- @softvampirewhump @iys-cloud @battyfantasy @xx-adam-xx @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @mylifeisonthebookshelf @mis-graves @3-2-whump

If anyone wants to be removed or added to the taglist, please let me know! :)

#we only have each other #Whump #writing #whumpblr #my writing #whump writing #Whump story #major character death #tw death #emeto whump #emeto tw #vomit whump #tw vomit

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jamespotterthefirst · 1 year

Text

Ugly Sweater (Ethan x MC)

Book: Open Heart, Year 2 Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Lilac Allende) Word count: 780 Rating/ Warning: T/ Reference to adult situations

Premise: He convinces her to abandon Bryce Lahela’s Christmas party

The faint but ecstatic mix of music, laughter, and cheering grew louder as Ethan approached Lahela's red brick building. With every step, he wondered why he had accepted the surgeon's invitation to his Christmas party. The mere fact that the prospective party had staff and patients talking about it all week was warning enough. The noise permeating the cold, night air reassured him the event was far from his style.

He was a few steps away from the stoop, a bottle of expensive wine safely tucked under his arm, when he caught sight of something colorful and bright. It was too dark to make out exactly what he was looking at but it was far too small to be Christmas décor. Garish, blinking lights of red and green turned his direction.

“You came.”

Someone was wearing said lights.

“I should be offended you accepted Bryce's party invite and not mine.”

Even without the reference from well over a year ago, Ethan would have recognized that voice anywhere.

“What the hell are you wearing?”

Ethan had reached the bottom step now. He could clearly see Lilac leaning casually against the railing, donning the ugliest sweater he had ever seen. The blinking lights weren't even the worst part. Tinsel, pom-poms, and even plastic ornaments exploded from every surface.

“It looks like Christmas vomited on you.”

Lilac rolled her eyes but laughed. She met him at the bottom of the stoop with an unabashed grin.

“I took the Ugly Christmas Sweater theme very seriously.”

“Clearly.”

Though Ethan enjoyed teasing her, the truth was that even in the revolting sweater, Lilac looked as stunning as ever. The golden light of the nearby streetlight cast her pretty features in a golden light. He was all but mesmerized by the pink glow the bitter cold left on her cheeks, lips, and nose.

She stopped at the second step and even with the added height, Ethan still towered over her. Her gloved hands landed on the lapels of his coat.

“You took it seriously, too.”

Ethan glanced down at his maroon sweater.

“This is just my regular sweater.”

“I know.”

Lilac laughed at her own joke, growing far more amused at Ethan's stony expression. He broke a smile soon enough, however, finding it impossible to remain unmoved when her beautiful laughter serenaded him. Now that their banter had reached a pause, she leaned in to kiss his cheek in greeting.

“I'm glad you're here,” she informed him. “Bryce’s surgeon friends keep trying to catch me under the mistletoe. I had to come out here to get away.”

Ethan raised his brows at that.

“Bryce will kill you for not staying on-theme.”

“I don't own any Christmas sweaters or pajamas.”

He made a mental note to come back to these audacious surgeons.

“Neither did I,” she challenged. “I made this sweater last minute.”

“Pajamas were out of the question?”

A wicked glimmer lit her eyes, her smile turning coy. She moved impossible closer so that only a hairsbreadth separated them.

“I couldn’t wear my usual pajamas. You already know what I wear to bed.”

Every part of Ethan's body stiffened at the mental image. Lilac had spent many nights in his bed so he knew very well what she wore— or rather, what she didn't wear.

He cleared his throat.

“You can do that in my bedroom later,” he said huskily. It was a wonder his voice remained steady. Though, if he could go back in time, he'd choose words that were slightly less idiotic.

Lilac didn't mind, however, because she dropped all pretense and kissed him. Ethan matched her passionate movements, almost dropping the wine as his hands rushed to grip her every curve. When her tongue teased his bottom lip, he pulled back briefly.

“Come home with me.”

“Doctor Ramsey,” she said, impressed. “Are you always this forward at parties?”

“Only with you.”

“What about the party?”

He shrugged, eyes fixed on hers.

“I was only here hoping to see you.”

Lilac blushed, unable to contain a beaming smile.

“Skip the party, Allende,” he pressed with a lopsided smirk that visibly worked. For good measure, he lifted up the bottle that was intended for the party behind them. “I have wine.”

Without waiting for a reply, he leaned in to kiss her neck.

“I also have a hot tub,” he added in a whisper. “And an impressive floor where we can drop that dreadful sweater of yours.”

She shivered.

“Bryce will kill us.”

“He’d understand.”

His lips pressed another kiss to the column of her neck.

“He’d say something about a player playing the game.”

Lilac’s laughter reverberated against his lips.

“Okay,” she said with a giddy laugh. “Take me home, Doctor.”

Notes: Just a little something to get my creativity back to speed (hopefully).

The funniest thing is that I picture this happening in book 2 when they still don’t know about Ethan and Lilac. They just know she left to get some bomb mystery d***. And they said “good for her”

Also, why do I want to write them in that hot tub now.

Shoutout to my Twin @takeharryandgo. We both HC our MCs wearing the most obnoxious Christmas sweaters imaginable lol. Thank you anon for that ask! You inspired this one!

Thank you so much for reading!

#open heart #ethan ramsey #ethan x mc #playchoices

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rainydaywhump · 5 months

Text

Whumpcember Day 2: Sickness

Whumpcember 2023 Day 2: Sickness

CWs: lady whumpee (who is now rescued); references to sexual abuse and torture; flashback; disorientation; sickly sweet comfort

Two months.

Two months since she had been abandoned by her captors, left alone and chained to the wall to die as they fled the pandemic for a city with looser lockdown restrictions and knowing that they could just find another pet to play with. Two months since she had gone delirious from cold and thirst, since she had feverishly dreamed that a strange lady had broken into the house, wondered aloud if she could find any tampons (because she'd forgotten to buy them before lockdown orders) before seeing Annette and rushing over to her. Two months since Annette had awoken on an unfamiliar couch, the woman's couch, her restraints having been replaced by a soft blanket and her collar swapped for bandages.

Two months.

A lot had changed in that time. Annette was finally convinced that Kel, the strange woman, was truthful when she said that she had no intention of making Annette her "pet, or whatever the fuck those assholes called you." Annette had just about stopped flinching every time Kel moved too quick or raised her voice to call to her from the other side of the cabin. Annette couldn't look out the window to see their house in the distance, through the leafless trees and falling snow; but Kel said that was alright, that there was no need to force herself.

And Annette was almost convinced that she wasn't really a pet, that she deserved more as a human being.

It was a pleasant, quiet day. Kel had gone up to the rooftop with her radio to listen for updates on the pandemic. Annette tried to busy herself with chores -- not much to do, with just two women in the cabin, but Annette dutifully swept, dusted, and cooked to the best of her ability. Kel had told her not to worry about it, but Annette was terrified of being abandoned again. She refused to risk her rescuer seeing her as a waste of space.

Eventually, however, the lull of the woodstove was too good to resist. Annette found herself curled up in the armchair with a suitably-dry, non-emotional, beautifully illustrated book on wild herbs and flowers in the area. She couldn't read fiction these days. It was yet another thing that the four of them had taken from her.

Annette shook those thoughts away and buried her nose in her book. Verbascum thapsus, despite being a non-native, is ubiquitous in this region due to…

She sneezed. The book went flying, and Annette instinctively looked around to make sure she hadn’t disturbed anyone. Not that Kel would care, of course, but…

…still.

Annette stood up and grabbed a paper towel from the kitchen to blow her nose in. To her horror, the snot was an ugly green and yellow.

Am I sick? No. no. no. I can’t be sick. If I’m sick, then I… …Then I what?

Annette’s mind whirled and suddenly she found herself on her knees on the living room floor. She trembled, staring at the paper towel in her hand like it was a death sentence. It may as well be. I can’t be sick I can’t be sick if I’m sick I won’t be as good and I have to be good and I have to – Cassie's words rang harshly in her mind. A sick pet is disgusting, not sexy! What's wrong with you?!

If she was sick, then Kel her captors would be displeased. If she was sick, she wouldn’t be able to please them nearly as well as they demanded. If she failed to please them, then she would be punished like the worthless, helpless pet she was.

Annette vomited bile onto the floor just as Kel walked in.

…

Kel stomped snow off her boots in the mudroom and padded into the living room, a smile stretching the scar on her lip and the radio in her coat pocket. “Hey Annie! Guess what I heard on the…” Oh, fuck.

Annette was curled up on the floor, her arms wrapped around her chest and her eyes staring into someplace that Kel didn’t want to imagine. Kel briefly noted the small puddle of bile stained the floor and the discarded paper towel in front of her, but that didn’t matter. She knew what this sight meant.

She crossed the room and kneels next to Annette, moving slowly so as not to startle her. “Heyyy, easy there, Annie. Annette, can you look at me?”

Annette’s only response was a weak little moan of fear. Her wide eyes were fixed on the floor – on the bile. Kel knew a lot of Annette’s triggers by now, but she’d never seen her vomit before, and immediately she wondered if the girl is sick. “Sweetheart, can you tell me what you’re feeling? Let me feel your forehead, please.”

She waited for Annette to give her permission, but none came. The smaller young woman was rocking frantically back and forth in a futile attempt to soothe herself. She mumbled a few words so quietly that Kel could barely make them out.

“’m sorry – n-n-not sick – I’ll…be good – good enough – to, to, to –”

Kel lowered herself further next to her, sitting back on her haunches just as she did in the neighbors’ house two months ago. “I know you’re good,” she said softly. “I know. I know. It’s okay, you’re good enough. Don’t –” a sudden surge of anger at Annette’s captors ran through her, and Kel forced it down. She didn’t want Annette to mistake her anger at them for anger at her. “Don’t worry.”

She extended her hand to Annette’s as she would to a skittish cat. Annette whimpered again, but her eyes briefly flicked to Kel’s and she didn’t flinch back too hard. That’s…actually pretty promising, Kel thinks. “Annette, sweetheart, why don’t you think you’re good enough? You are,” she said quickly, “but I just want to know why you didn’t think so.”

Another flinch. Eyes flicked to something beyond Kel’s shoulder. It’s the paper towel, she realized.

She picked it up and examined it. Mucus? Why on earth was Annette scared of her own sneeze?

“S-s-see?” Annette whimpered. Tears poured down her face, and Kel gently brushed them aside; Annette leaned into the touch, whether out of desperation to please or to seek comfort, Kel didn’t know. “I…I’m sick, I think, and I…that means…n-n-not good enough.”

“I don’t see anything to say that you aren’t good enough,” Kel said as calmly as she could. She had gotten a lot better at hiding her emotions since rescuing Annette, she reflected. “I just see that you might be sick, yes, or maybe you aren’t. That’s okay. If you’re sick,” she said simply, “then I’ll just take care of you.”

Annette blinked up at her, lashes beaded with tears.

“But…”

“Can I hold you?”

Annette's eyes widened. A second later, she nodded eagerly. Kel rose and carefully maneuvered her into a bridal-style carry before walking back over to the sofa. “It’s okay,” she murmured, feeling Annette’s tears on her chest. “I’ve got you.”

She settled the former captive into the blankets and brushed a stray strand of hair to her side. Annette once again leaned into it, breaths coming out more slowly now that she was calmer. She blinked and looked up at Kel, eyes questioning.

“Yeah. You’re right here in the cabin, and it’s just me here,” Kel reminded her. Annette smiled shakily.

“I…I’m sorry. I don’t know why I – I –”

“Shush.” Kel put a finger to her lips; Annette, instead of flinching back like she would have just a short while ago, smiled and closed her eyes. She looked exhausted, Kel thought. “Before you drift off, d’you want hot chocolate, coffee, or some of Marie’s disgustingly bland tea?”

“’s not…disgusting,” Annette protested, opening one eye. “You just don’t…steep it right.”

Kel snorted and went to put the kettle on, but Annette grasped at her hand before she could get far.

“Stay with me? I mean – if, if you want to, I just…”

Kel wouldn’t have dreamed of saying no.

#whump #whump writing #whump caretaker #whump rescue #whump recovery #sickfic #whumpcember2023 #whumpcember2023day2

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sunpaladins · 10 months

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Burnt Out Flame. Arlecchino x La Signora angst. 5,600 words

Arlecchino has just heard about La Signora's death.

Upon a wooden stage, a pair of twins performed like it was the end of their lives. The platform was decorated with all sorts of embellishments. There were boxes draped in fabric, banners of all different colors, dice and cards strewn across a table.

The twins were putting on their best show. Brilliant smiles were plastered on their faces, despite the treacherous act they just finished. If one looked closely, they might see the pain and exhaustion behind those pearly white grins. One would think that a performance like this would be done for a large or important audience. Surely the venue was packed, and the crowd was at the edge of their seats.

But the only one watching was a Knave, dressed in black and white. And she was anything but entertained.

“Was that alright, Lord Arlecchino?” The male twin asked.

“No,” The Knave replied. “Run the act again.”

The female twin bristled at the comment. Literally, her fur stood up on end. “We’re trying our best!”

“Your best isn’t good enough.” Arlecchino’s voice was icy. “Run. The act. Again.”

The female twin was about to yell again. Her brother sighed, and put a hand on her shoulder. “Come, Lynette,” He said. “Let’s return to our positions.”

Arlecchino hummed, her eyes following the twins’ every move. Suddenly, a slamming sound echoed through the walls of the theatre.

“Lord Arlecchino,” a man’s voice called, panting.

“What do you want?” The Knave asked. “Can’t you see I’m busy?”

“This is urgent,” the man said. “It’s a letter from Snezhnaya.”

Arlecchino took the letter from the man, and stood. “You may leave,” she told the man. She glanced at the twins. “I have business to attend to. Keep running the act while I’m gone.” The clack of her heels filled the room.

Arlecchino leaned against the wall outside the theatre. She traced the envelope with her finger. It was rare for Snezhnaya to send out letters, normally she received news from Fatui agents, or from the Harbingers themselves. The Fatui were not a trusting group. Harbingers would often travel to the different regions to check in on one another, to make sure everyone was still competent, and still loyal.

A sharp red nail tore a clean line through the top of the envelope. She delicately pulled out a piece of paper, and unfolded it. Immediately, a harrowing sentence caught her eyes.

“Lady Rosalyne-Kruzchka Lohefalter, our own La Signora, Number Eight of the Fatui Harbingers, has died during a duel in Inazuma.”

Arlecchino was in the office of her orphanage. She was shuffling through papers, occasionally looking through the window to see how training was going. Those kids needed a lot of work, but a few seemed to have potential. A knock came from the door, interrupting her thoughts.

The Knave stood and opened the door. She saw a man, dressed in a black coat and a mask. He was drenched in sweat, and looked like he was about to vomit.

“What?” Arlecchino’s question sounded more like a statement.

“My Lord,” said the sweaty man, “you have a visitor.”

The Knave followed the man down the wooden stairs. His steps were heavy, leaving ugly creaking sounds in their wake. Hers were much more delicate, making only a light tapping. Arlecchino was cross. Whoever this visitor was, they had better be important. She did not take kindly to being interrupted during her work hours.

When she reached the lobby, she saw two Fatui officers standing in front of her, backs turned. Was this really what she came down here for? She cleared her throat. The officers jumped, and stepped to the side, revealing a tall, pale woman. She was decorated in roses and diamonds.

It was Rosalyne.

Arlecchino immediately felt her sour mood lighten. She inhaled, and quickly adjusted her shirt. “Ro— La Signora! To what do I owe the pleasure? Were you wanting to have a meeting?”

Rosalyne’s eyes darted from one side to the other. “Yes,” she said. “A meeting would be lovely.” Her arms were close to her body. She seemed more agitated than normal.

“Right this way then.” Arlecchino hurriedly led the Maiden up the stairs, practically skipping on the way up. She rushed to the door in her office, opening it wide. The Knave bowed slightly, and swooped her arm towards the inside. “After you, my lady.”

When Signora walked in, Arlecchino immediately walked to the window, and closed the curtain.

“That won’t be necessary,” Rosalyne said. The Maiden stared in the direction of the window, even though the drapes were covering it.

“Oh,” Arlecchino said. “Is… is everything alright Rosalyne?”

Rosalyne sighed. “I’ve been assigned to go to Mondstadt.”

“I see… are you at liberty to say why?”

The Maiden swallowed. “I’m to retrieve the Anemo gnosis.”

The gnosis… was it really time already? For 500 long years, the Tsaritsa had been planning her coup against Celestia. 500 years of planning, recruiting, and slowly gaining power throughout the seven regions. And now, finally, the gnoses were to be collected.

The Knave gently placed her hand over Signora’s own. “You’re going back to your home then,” she said. “How are you feeling?”

Rosalyne pulled her hand away. Arlecchino’s stomach twisted at the sight. “The task should be easy enough,” she replied. “Barbatos is a pathetic excuse for an Archon. Even a goon like Childe could take the gnosis from him.”

“That’s not what I asked,” the Knave said softly.

The Maiden turned towards Arlecchino. Her eyes were watery, and her lips were pursed. “I volunteered to go.”

Arlecchino’s eyes widened. “I want to see the Archon myself,” Signora continued. “I want to crush him. I will freeze him from the inside out. I will make him pay for what happened to Rostam.”

Rostam. It always came back to Rostam. Everything La Signora did was because of a man who died 500 years ago.

“Of course,” the Knave mumbled. “When do you leave?”

“In a week, but I need to start preparations now.”

Arlecchino nodded slowly. “So, I take it that this is goodbye then?”

“Yes,” The Maiden said. “That is why I came here.” Rosalyne stood, and moved back to the door. She turned to face the Knave. “Farewell, Arlecchino. We shall see eachother again soon.”

Rosalyne walked out of the room. Arlecchino’s body suddenly felt heavy, like it was a shirt drenched in water. She looked at the door frame, wondering if she should say anything.

A sudden jolt of adrenaline had the Knave sprinting to the hallway. “Wait!” She called. Signora stopped, and looked at Arlecchino. Her mouth suddenly felt dry. “I… be safe. Rosalyne.” The Maiden nodded, then continued on her way out.

Arlecchino felt a rock form in the pit of her stomach. Rosalyne had died… in Inazuma of all places. She had probably died all alone, or worse, with Scaramouche by her side. How did she die? Who was strong enough to defeat La Signora? The Knave scanned the page for any sort of explanation. Nothing. Drops of water fell onto the page. Arlecchino looked up, the sky was bright blue, not a single cloud to be found. It was like the weather was mocking her.

Then Arlecchino realized she was crying.

The Knave lifted a dark finger to wipe away the tears from her cheek. She sniffled, then stood upright, and looked around, making sure no one was there to witness her moment of weakness. She folded the paper, and placed it back in the envelope, then stuffed it in her pocket. She started walking back towards the orphanage. She was leaving the twins without an explanation. They would be fine, they could practice on their own. She would probably have to whip them back into shape when she came back. But none of that mattered now.

Arlecchino hurried into the House of Hearth. Upon her entry, the man sitting at the front desk leapt to his feet.

“My Lord!” The man exclaimed “I heard the news,” The Knave did not acknowledge him, but he followed her footsteps, and continued to talk to her. “It is a great loss to the Fatui that the Eighth Harbinger has died.” Arlecchino continued to ignore him. “But I was thinking… this would be a wonderful opportunity to raise your prestige, My Lord.”

The Knave pivoted on her toes. “What did you just say?” Her eyes were dark, and her voice sounded like a low hiss.

The man started to sweat. “I-I was just saying that we should take advantage of this situation…”

Before the man could take another breath, the tip of a sword was pressed to his neck. “How dare you! Speaking such vile words about a Harbinger. Who gave you the right? Taking advantage of La Signora’s death… I did not raise you to be so disrespectful.”

“M-my apologies my L—” but before the man could finish his apology, the sword made its way through his throat.

The Knave yanked her sword back. Crimson immediately dripped down the man’s neck. A copper smell filled the room. Arlecchino inhaled, and felt her spirits lift, just a little. She bent down and wiped her blade against the dead man’s coat.

The Knave stood straight, and continued to her office. She stood in front of her desk, and grasped the ornate handle of a drawer. Within that drawer was another drawer. And within that drawer, was yet another drawer. And in that drawer, was a small golden key.

Arlecchino then walked to the other side of the room. She approached the bookshelf in the corner. The Knave shoved a bunch of books to the side, and traced a dark finger across the wood. She found a slight notch, and lifted it up. Behind the piece of wood, was a red enamel box, decorated in exquisite hand-made gold detailing. Arlecchino grabbed the box, inserted the key, and lifted the lid.

Inside the box was a stack of papers. The Knave took the papers, and sat by the window. Reading each one over and over again. They were old letters from Rosalyne, all sent to Arlecchino after the maiden left for Mondstadt.

Hello Arlecchino, I have arrived in Mondstadt. It seems the Abyss has taken hold of the Archon’s ugly dragon. That beast is wreaking absolute havoc in the city. Yet, their knights refuse to kill it. Interesting how they tolerate monsters, as long as they’re in favor with the Archon. But no matter, that makes things easier for me. I’ve instructed my underlings to make an offer to their Acting Grandmaster. If they won’t handle the dragon, we’ll take care of it for them. Then, they will owe us. I’ve yet to find the Anemo Archon. I’m sure he’s hiding in plain sight, refusing to take responsibility once again. He’s always been a coward. Hopefully the dragon will force him to take action, and then the gnosis is mine. I hope all is well in Fontaine. ~Rosalyne

Rosalyne’s handwriting was swoopy and frilly, but the ends were always pointy, and the lines were always dark. Feminine, elegant, but dangerous. Just like Rosalyne herself. The Knave felt herself choking up. She put the letter down, and moved to the next.

Dearest Arle, I’m sure by the time you get this letter, you will have already heard the news. But I’ve retried the Gnosis from the Anemo Archon. I wish I could tell you that my revenge was sweet, but I was honestly a little disappointed. After I kicked the Archon around a bit and froze him in place, he just gave up the Gnosis. He didn’t put up a fight at all. I pity the people of Mondstadt for having such a weak god as their Archon. I would have really enjoyed killing him, or at least torturing him a little. But such actions would be careless, and now is not the time for a war between countries. I wish I could return to you, I miss your company. But sadly, I’ve been assigned to a new mission. Childe will be participating in his first big mission in Liyue, and it’s my job to supervise him. How dull. But I will thoroughly enjoy getting to boss him around. It sounds like things are going smoothly at the House of Hearth. Perhaps the twins will be ready to make their debut soon. I look forward to seeing their act someday. Yours truly, ~Rosalyne

Rosalyne never did get to see the twins perform. Perhaps this was for the better. Their act was still a mess, and Arlecchino didn’t need the Maiden seeing such sloppy work. Still, the loss of what could have been weighed heavily on the Knave. She would have loved to treat Rosalyne to a date in the theatre as a celebration of her hard work. The two of them would have been dressed to the nines, Rosalyne in a sexy yet refined dress, and Arlecchino in a nice silk tuxedo.

The Knave pulled out another piece of paper. The last one Rosalyne had sent to her.

Greetings Arlecchino, The trip to Liyue has been… interesting to say the least. Way more entertaining than Mondstadt. I wasn’t able to say in my last letter, but Childe was merely a pawn in the larger plan to obtain the Geo Archon’s gnosis. He played the part perfectly, without even knowing about the plan. You should have seen his face when I showed him the gnosis. He had no idea what was going on, as per usual. There was a slight complication. A blonde outlander, who goes by the name Traveler, managed to defeat Childe in battle. Not that it’s a difficult task. But still, they are someone to watch out for. I heard of them back in Mondstadt, they apparently helped the Anemo Archon with the dragon situation. If you ever hear about them in Fontaine, please keep your wits about you. Fortunately for us, the Traveler was only a small hiccup. The Tsaritsa’s genius can’t be conquered that easily. Sadly our reunion has once again been postponed. This time, I’m going to Inazuma. With Scaramouche. All this traveling is getting quite tiresome, but I’m hoping that maybe if I continue to be successful, I will get a promotion. I think I deserve better than the Eighth position, don’t you agree? Maybe one day I can replace that ugly old man as Number Five, then we could be right next to each other. Wouldn’t that be wonderful? I have received your gift, and I absolutely adore it. A hundred red roses, all preserved in an everlasting ice. However did you get the idea? I must give you some advice though, darling. Red roses are associated with romance. You ought to be careful when giving them out. Before I found your letter, I thought the gift was from some random suitor! Even though it has been a long time, I promise you Arle, I will see you again. Please, take care, and keep an eye out for The Traveler. Sincerely, ~Rosalyne

Try as she might, Arlecchino could not hold back her tears. Rosalyne had broken her promise. She had died, and in a place she had never been before. It wasn’t right, it wasn’t fair. La Signora did everything she was told to do. She shared the Tsaritsa’s ambition, her drive for revenge. She deserved that promotion. She deserved everything.

The Knave felt a fire burn within her. She threw the box against the wall, leaving a dent in the wood. She tore the place apart, thrashing and throwing things every which way. Her long nails left deep scratches in her furniture.

She would find whoever was responsible for this. She would find them, and kill them. Oh how she craved blood. The thought of someone dying in her hands, their life draining from their body for her, for Rosalyne, it thrilled her. She suddenly understood Rosalyne’s desires after all this time. Revenge. The idea made her hot, her fingers twitched with excitement. She didn’t care if Rosalyne’s killer was an enemy, a Harbinger, or even a god. She would enact justice for the Maiden. And it would taste so, so good.

The Knave was laying on her back, breathing slightly heavy. La Signora collapsed on top of her, resting her head on Arlecchino’s breast. Both of their bodies were covered in red marks and bruises. The Maiden was humming, and dragging her finger across the Knave’s bare skin.

“That was lovely,” Rosalyne said, her voice soft and breathy. “I needed that.”

“I’m glad,” Arlecchino murmured. She hesitantly placed her hand on the small of the Maiden’s back.

“Y’know,” Rosalyne said, looking up at the Knave. Her normally icy-blue eyes had a hint of warmth in them. “I don’t think I’ve had an experience like that in several hundred years.”

Arlecchino raised an eyebrow, unsure of what to say. After a few more moments of tracing patterns on the Knave’s skin, Rosalyne leaned forward, and pressed a kiss on Arlecchino’s cheek. The Knave’s heart fluttered. She bit her lip, still at a loss for words.

The two laid there for what felt like an eternity, but also no time at all. They said nothing, but the silence felt comfortable, like a plus blanket wrapped around them.

Arlecchino tucked a piece of long white hair behind her ear. She decided to break the silence. “I’ve been thinking of cutting my hair.”

Rosalyne adjusted her head. “How come?”

“It gets in the way,” the Knave said. “Besides, I think it would look better short.”

The Maiden wrapped a piece of Arlecchino’s hair around her finger. “I would be sad if you cut it short,” she said. A smirk made its way to her face. “I like having something to tug on.” The Knave tried and failed to keep herself from blushing. “And besides,” Rosalyne continued, “you’re already so dashing with it long. Just keep it tied up, and it shouldn’t bother you.

Suddenly, the maiden rolled off of Arlecchino’s body. She stood from the bed, and made her way to the pile of clothes on the floor.

“I suppose I must leave,” she said. “I have a lot of work to catch up on, and I’m sure you’re terribly busy producing soldiers for the Tsaritsa.”

“Yes,” the Knave replied, trying to hide the disappointment from her voice. “You’re right, work comes first.”

Just as Signora was about to leave, Arlecchino sat up. “We should do this again sometime,” the Knave said.

Signora smiled. “Yes, I think we should.”

Arlecchino made her way up the frost-covered steps of the Zapolyarny Palace. Rosalyne’s funeral was in three days. The Fatui Harbingers will all be together, for the first time in a very long time, to pay their final respects to her. Although, the Knave seriously doubted how respectful they all would be.

Inside the castle walls, stood four other Harbingers: Pierro, Dottore, Pulcinella, and Tartaglia. The Rooster stood, and went to shake her hand.

“Arlecchino,” he said. “How nice to see you again. You’re actually the first of the out-stationed Harbingers to arrive.”

“Out-stationed?” the Knave asked. “I thought the Doctor was working in Sumeru.”

“One of them is,” Dottore replied. Ah yes, how could Arlecchino forget about the Doctor and his crimes against nature.

Tartaglia stood up from his spot. “Hello there, Lady Arlecchino.”

Arlecchino’s eyes flashed in his direction. “Watch your tongue Childe,” she growled. She turned back to the Rooster. “I take it Scaramouche isn’t around to give an explanation on Signora’s death, then?”

Pulcinella shuffled his feet. “Actually… we don’t know where Scaramouche is. At all. All we know is that he has the electro gnosis.”

“What,” the Knave yelled. “How do you lose a Harbinger? How do you lose a gnosis?”

“A few of my other segments are working on tracking his location in Sumeru,” Dottore said. “Meanwhile, Tartaglia will be looking for him in Inazuma after the funeral.”

Arlecchino squinted. “Are you sure he’s competent enough? I heard he lost a battle to some simple outlander when he was in Liyue.”

“At least I survived,” Childe remarked.

The Knave’s head snapped in his direction. “What is that supposed to mean?”

The ginger buffoon was wearing the most irritating smirk. Arlecchino wanted nothing more than to dig her nails into him and cut that smirk right off his face. “I may have lost to the Traveler, but at least I survived. That’s more than La Signora can say.”

The Knave felt like the wind was just knocked out of her. Rosalyne’s death was at the hands of an outlander? Childe survived, but Rosalyne didn’t? Why spare his life, what did he have that she didn’t? It just didn’t make sense. What did Rosalyne do to deserve such a fate? Arlecchino could feel a wrathful flame burning in her chest.

“You seem awfully worked up about this,” Tartaglia said. “Perhaps you two were closer than I realized?”

The Knave had had enough of Childe’s grating voice. He had no right to talk about Signora this way. She dug her claws into his throat, and lifted him into the air. Tartaglia gurgled and gasped, trying to make a sound. His hands gripped hard on her own, but the pain meant nothing to her.

“The Traveler may have spared your life, but I will not,” she spat. Tartaglia turned more purple as each second passed. “Consider yourself lucky, you get to see Signora again.”

“Arlecchino, that’s enough,” Pierro said. The Knave dropped her grip on Childe, his body fell to the floor with a loud thud. She glared at the director, but said nothing. She knew better than to go against the orders of the Jester. She stood over the crumpled up body of Tartaglia.

“Understand this, little Ajax,” She hissed. “Others won’t always be around to protect you. You are blessed to even be considered a Harbinger. To me, you are only a small step above some meaningless soldier. You are cannon fodder, nothing more.” She walked away to her quarters, making sure to dig a stiletto heel into Childe’s torso on her way out.

Arlecchino was in the lobby of her orphanage, delegating tasks to her soldiers. Ivan was in charge of training the children for the day, Anya and Nikita were on intel, and Vladimir was going to be taking care of the Knave’s paperwork.

Vladimir left the room to retrieve the papers from the court. But as soon as he left, he came back in.

The Knave raised an eyebrow. “Is there a problem Vladimir?”

“M-my Lord,” he stuttered. “An unexpected guest from Snezhnaya has just arrived.”

A tall woman strode into the room. Arlecchino recognized her as the newly appointed Eighth Harbinger, La Signora. The woman donned extravagant lace accessories, and expensive looking jewelry. It was clear she was enjoying her newfound power as a Harbinger.

“La Signora,” The Knave said, her voice cool and smooth. “What brings you to the House of Hearth?”

The Maiden slowly walked around the room, each clack of her heels echoed against the wood. “I was sent here to check things out, make sure operations are still running smoothly.”

Arlecchino could feel annoyance pricking in the back of her throat. “Rest assured, things are running just fine.”

“My my, so icy,” Signora laughed. “Don’t take it so personally, Arlecchino. I’m sure I was just sent here to get some experience, to see how the Harbingers run their affairs.” She leaned against the front desk. “You know, I specifically asked to come here, to your little orphanage.”

The Knave was still rather irritated at the intrusion, but she decided to humor the Maiden. “And why is that?”

“You turn children into soldiers, am I understanding that correctly?” Signora did not wait for an answer. “The concept sounded delightfully cruel, I just had to learn more.”

Arlecchino walked in front of the Maiden, her hands clasped behind her back. “You should exercise caution when interfering with the affairs of higher ranked Harbingers,” she said. “Curiosity killed the cat.”

“Ah, but satisfaction brought it back,” the Maiden wore a coy grin on her pale face.

The Knave hummed, unable to think of a response. She stood in silence for a few moments, contemplating her next move. She came to the conclusion that the Eighth meant no harm, and if she did, then Arlecchino could just kill her with ease and move on.

“Would you like some tea?” The Knave offered.

Signora paused. “I don’t think I remember the last time I’ve had tea. That sounds lovely, thank you.”

“I’ll show you to my office, and make you a cup.” Arlecchino walked up the spiral stairs, the Maiden following close behind. The Knave opened the door to her office, letting the Maiden go in first.

“So spacious,” the Maiden said. “I assume your underlings don’t get to enjoy such luxury?”

“Such privileges are earned, not given,” Arlecchino replied.

La Signora looked at the Knave, her icy blue eyes staring into Arlecchino’s dark ones. “And what exactly did you do to earn such a life of opulence?”

The Knave held her gaze, unbothered by the Maiden’s challenging words. “I do not give my secrets away so easily, La Signora.” Arlecchino’s stare was unblinking, unmoving. “Now, did you want that tea, or not?”

The Maiden finally backed down, her head turned away slightly. The Knave allowed herself to feel the slightest bit of triumph.

“Yes, I would like the tea,” she mumbled. Arlecchino smirked, and got to making the Maiden’s tea. She took out two delicate porcelain tea cups, painted in an elegant swirly blue design. She poured a cup for the Maiden, and then one for herself.

She handed the Maiden her cup. Her gloved hand wrapped itself delicately around the handle.

“Mmm,” Signora hummed after taking a sip. “This is wonderful. What is it?”

“A floral tisane,” the Knave replied. “A much more delicate blend compared to those from other countries.”

“Indeed,” Signora agreed. “You didn’t poison it, did you?” The Maiden was smiling, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Arlecchino could tell that there was a hint of genuine worry behind her question.

Arlecchino smiled back. “I guess you’ll see.” She didn’t poison the Maiden’s tea, the thought didn’t even cross her mind. But she was awfully fun to tease. The Knave could see Signora’s smile faltering a bit. The Maiden placed her cup on the countertop, and folded her hands in her lap.

The Knave took another sip from her cup. “Is that your delusion?” She asked, gesturing to the floating catalyst next to her.

The Maiden looked to where Arlecchino was pointing. “Ah, yes,” she said. “I received it not too long after my Harbinger initiation.”

“What element?”

“Cryo.”

“Interesting,” Arlecchino raised an eyebrow. “Bit of an ironic choice, isn’t it? Considering the whole Crimson Witch thing?”

“The Jester said it would help keep my powers under control,” Signora said. “He said it would help me learn about balance.”

“And? Was he right?”

Signora sighed. “It seems so. It’s a shame I didn’t come up with the idea myself.”

“Well,” Arlecchino said, putting her cup down. “You still have much to learn, La Signora.”

“Yes,” the Maiden said, narrowing her eyes at the Knave. “I suppose I do.”

The Knave stood, and brushed off her shirt. “Well that was fun. I quite enjoyed our little chat. But I’m afraid I do have work to attend to, So I must ask you to leave.”

Signora stood as well. “I understand. I appreciate your hospitality.” The Maiden made her way to the door, then turned to the Knave. “I think I’m going to be visiting more often,” she said, making eye contact with Arlecchino once again.

The Knave held her gaze, still unbothered by the Maiden’s challenge. “Please do, I’d love to show you around Fontaine when I’m not busy. Farewell, Signora.”

Signora turned away, much quicker this time. She almost left Arlecchino’s office, but she turned back to the Knave again.

“Arlecchino?” She called.

“Yes?”

“You can call me Rosalyne.”

Nine dignified men and women stood in a dark blue room. Or rather, eight dignified men and women stood, and one sat on the floor, singing a haunting tune.

At the center of the room, laid a white coffin. The light reflected off of its surface in such a way that it looked like it glowed. The Damselette rested her head on the coffin, her eyes closed, and her mouth in a smile. Arlecchino thought the whole scene was utterly disrespectful. She had tried to get Columbina to stand, but her efforts were futile. “It’s a funeral dirge,” the Damselette had said. “It’s my way of mourning.” Arlecchino knew very well that the Damselette did not give a rat’s ass about Rosalyne, but she knew better than to argue with the Third Harbinger.

Pulcinella stepped forward. “We are gathered here today to remember our dear comrade,” he said. “In honor of her sacrifice, all work should halt for half a day as the nation mourns her passing.” Half a day? That was all Rosalyne would get?

"“Merely half a day?” The Regrator interjected. Finally, someone with some sense around here. “People say the Northland Bank’s true currencies are blood and tears… But Mayor, even speaking as a banker, that sounds a little unconscionable.” Ah, just an excuse to boost his own reputation.

Arlecchino could feel herself getting worked up again. Unable to bite her own tongue for any longer, she decided she had to say something. “Rosalyne died in a foreign land,” she said, stepping forward. “But you heartless business men and dignitaries, always with a convenient excuse to remain in the comfort of your homeland.” Her voice was cold. “You couldn’t hope to understand. So why don’t you keep your mouths shut!” Everyone turned to look at her, surprised at her sudden outburst. “...We don’t want to make the children cry,” She added on. She couldn’t care less about the children. The real one in danger of crying was Arlecchino.

“Hey, c’mon now,” Tartaglia said. “Even I don’t think this is the right time or place for a fight.” The Knave glared at him. That boy was so unbelievably lucky that he had the Jester to protect him.

The funeral continued on, with barely any mention of Rosalyne. No, the Harbingers were too focused on the war, and the location of the electro gnosis. Arlecchino couldn’t stand any of them. They were all selfish, each and every one of them. Arlecchino had just about enough of the Fatui Harbingers, and everything they stood for. As soon as she returned to Fontaine, she was going to find a way to turn the Fatui to dust. The Traveler, too. They would pay for what happened to Rosalyne. Everyone would pay.

Pierro was beginning to wrap up the funeral. “Absolute peace,” he said, as ice started to crawl across the walls of the palace. “Such is the gift from the Tsaritsa, such is Her Majesty’s benevolence.” The ice encapsulated Rosalyne’s coffin, preserving it there, forever. “Now you rest in this coffin, encased in layer upon layer of ice. But Rosalyne, I promise you… your final resting place will be the entirety of the Old World.” The Knave was about to interject again, she couldn’t believe that the entire funeral was being used as war propaganda. But right as she opened her mouth, a crimson moth fluttered around the room. Could it be…? The moth landed on top of the coffin, and immediately disappeared.

Arlecchino looked around the room, gaging the reactions of the others. Had anyone else seen the moth? Everyone seemed as they were before, varying levels of bored, except for the Damselette, who still wore her sickly gleeful smile.

The Knave returned to her quarters. It was night now, an aurora borealis danced across the sky, lighting up Snezhnaya in beautiful purple and green hues. But Arlecchino was in no mood for beauty now. She shut her curtains, and collapsed on top of her bed. She laid in silence, staring up at the ceiling. Through the course of a week, Arlecchino had experienced every feeling known to man. But now, she was numb. She felt nothing, she thought nothing.

The Knave could feel her throat tightening. Hadn’t she cried enough already? She was frustrated with herself, with her emotions, for betraying her. This time though, she could no longer hold back. Tears cascaded down her face, like the waterfalls from Fontaine. Sobs tore through her body. She cried and screamed, sounding like a dying animal. She didn’t know how long she was in that state. It had to have been hours.

When she finally started to calm down, a warm glowing light appeared in her room. She was so startled by the light, that she had almost forgotten everything else that had happened. The light came closer and closer to her. It was a crimson moth, like the one she had seen before. She held out her hand, and the moth landed on top of it.

“Rosa..?” Arlecchino whispered. The moth flew away from her hand, and relanded, this time on her cheek. She could have sworn she felt the tiniest kiss against her skin. She felt tears falling again. She leaned back on the bed slowly. She let herself be weak again, this time it was a more gentle cry. More moths appeared in the room, all flocking to her body. They wrapped around her, and for the first time since Rosalyne left, Arlecchino felt warm.

She felt so safe, she felt so loved.

#genshin impact #arlecchino #signora #arlenora #fanfiction #angst #mild gore #suggestive content #genshin impact fanfiction #this is my first time posting a fanfic to tumblr so im sorry if i did anything wrong!!#arlecchino x signora #written before 4.0 update btw!#you can also find this fic on my ao3 :)

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saltygilmores · 1 year

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Thoughts While Watching Gilmore Girls-Season 2, Epsiode 13 ("A Tisket A Tasket") Part 1 of ???

So this is like, the first heavily Jess-centered episode after his debut back in 2/5. He's kind of been chilling behind the counter at Luke's for 8 episodes. He's been seen, he's been mentioned since he lives rent free in the head of every citizen of Stars Hollow. But here, he has truly arrived, making his debut in one of these shitshow eps that combine Dean, Jess, the DALA (Dean and Lorelai Affair), etc etc. A real fucking doozy. PS: All previous commetary is now linked in my pinned post.

What have we here? Oh, look everyone, it's yet ANOTHER fundraiser/excuse for Taylor Doose to embezzle money from the citizens. All proceeds to go to the retirement home, right. Sure. Where is this mythical retirement home that no one has ever mentioned and has never been seen before? I think he mis spelled "All proceeds line Taylor Doose's pockets."

Pictured below: A senior citizen of Stars Hollow after receiving money raised for the retirement home.

Oh, Lorelai is just STARVING for some Dean Forrester today. She’s foaming at the mouth. Patty: Do you have any change? I don't know where all my quarters go. Lorelai: Down some guy's g-string? Patty: Oh no. A quarter would be insulting. Miss Patty for Prez. On my gritty adult Gilmore Girls Reboot titled The Hollow I would make sure we'd see a scene of Miss Patty at the male strip revue, it would be hilarious.

I've never seen "You". Is this "You"? Is Dean Forrester the guy from "You"?

I've warned you two to stop doing this. Time to resort to drastic measures.

Go and get him Lorelai. This fine specimen is right there waiting for you in the Cheese Ball aisle.

The way Jess Mariano's name rolls off of Dean's tongue with such vitriol, such disgust, the way Jess Mariano clearly lives rent free in Dean Forrester's otherwise empty little head 24/7, it gives me tremendous joy. Jess' jacket may as well be the equivalent of a cold blast from a garden hose. It's so ugly that it will put a damper on even the most passionate makeouts (of which Rory and Dean's was not) because you must stop whatever you’re doing and gaze upon it, to wonder what rock-bottom of a church donation bin his mother scraped that thing from, or maybe he took it from one of Liz's lousy husbands who left it behind. I'm telling you, that in my opinion, this is the ugliest man's coat to ever exist, and the other thing that makes it so ugly is that it's way too big on Milo's tiny frame. He's drowning in it. Where was I? *ugly coat ugly coat ugly coat* Uhh, let's get back to it...

Does anyone else think about the fact that Gilmore Girls (2000) was the last time anyone would see Milo with even a single curl in his hair? He had jumped to Peter Petrelli hair by S6 and never looked back.

RENT-FREE. Someone: Can you sum up the relationship between Jess & Dean in 15 words or less? Me: I Gotchu fam.

Rory Giving Dean Completely Sensible Advice: I wish you two could get along. He lives here. You run into him. He goes to school with you. It's a waste of energy to fight with him. Dean:

Alexis Bledel's acting can be pretty wooden, but her "Rory is fucking sick of Dean or Tristan's shit" facial reactions are priceless.

I wrote a Haiku: His ugly brown coat Ugly coat you are so brown Vomit colored brown.

For anyone keeping score, Rory has been snuck up on from behind and frightened by two different people in the span of only a few minutes. Give my girl a break.

Rory: "Dis guy.... sigh." And now for some other Goings On in this episode: Lane has yet another insane and convoluted plan to meet with Henry behind her mother's back, involving her male cousin and using the Line Taylor Doose's Pockets Auction as a cover. If she has to go through all of this to hide a nice Korean boy like Henry (and later, Dave Rygalski, the Best Boyfriend On Tv) from her mother, it once again makes me yearn to see Lane and Jess date openly if for nothing else but to give Mrs. Kim chest pains. This will happen on my adult Gilmore Girls reboot titled The Hollow. Lane: Mom, I had sex with Jess Mariano. Oh and I might be pregnant. Mrs Kim: Evaporates into the ether, ascending to the heavens to meet Jesus. Jackson wants Sookie to move in with him, but she's not getting the hint. Miss Patty thinks Lorelai needs to get laid and has taken it up on herself to try to remedy that, much to Lorelai's annoyance, but Patty is obviously blind to the fact that Lorelai Gilmore waits for only one man.

For anyone keeping score, Rory has been snuck up on from behind and frightened by two three different people in the span of only a few minutes.

Stars Hollow video can be seen in the background in this scene, so I withdraw my take that it was never seen again after the previous episode.

Perhaps there was some deeper meaning, a metaphor of some kind, something AmyShermanPalladino was trying to say, with these repeated references to people being shoved into closets against their will. The bidding wars have begun.

I had to listen to Milo Ventimiglia talk about being Team Dean again this week (we all know he's really just Team Jared) and he said Dean was "A sweet hometown boy" and obviously he doesn't remember this show at all if he thinks that, and he would probably be pretty upset with me if I said I wanted to smack that stupid smug grin off of Jared Padalecki's face right now. Jess, I will give you $1,000 if you burn this coat and I'm allowed to watch it go up in flames. Glorious, glorious flames.

Are we talking about Dean Forrester's weiner here?

Does anyone else wonder where Jess gets $90 of easily disposable income from? Not like he can make that in the short time he's been working at Luke's since his uncle is probably paying him sub minimum wage and no one in Stars Hollow pays for their food or tips their servers.

Just a baby! Just a little guy, in an ugly brown coat!

When his lips get real thin you know he's mad. Guy behind him in the black coat is like ha, you putz, you almost spent $80 on a basket for a girl who won't even put out until you're already married to someone else.

Kiss my ass, Doose.

Okay, that was just the first TEN minutes of the 42 minute episode. We may have a 4-parter on our hands, people. Be patient for the next chapter.

#gilmore girls #lorelai gilmore #rory gilmore #jess mariano #milo ventimiglia #literati #denise rewatches gilmore girls #gilmore girls season 2 #a tisket a tasket #a-tisket a-tasket #anti dean forrester #dean forrester can stumble face first into an active volcano #virgin sacrifice #ugly brown coat #ugly coats

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grell-writes-stuff · 3 days

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ROY G BIV Tag

I wasn't tagged, but I saw this and wanted to do it. Share lines with the colours of the rainbow!

red:

We leap apart the second we’re alone like two magnets with the same pole. “Ew,” she grunts. “You reek of sweat and vomit.” “Don’t act like you’ve never freaked out before.” “Not like that.” My eyes roll, but she’s not paying attention to me. She’s holding her phone out in front of her and using the camera to apply another coat of obnoxious red lipstick to her already-obnoxiously-red lips. “Can we just get this over with? I’m meeting this guy in, like, half an hour, so-” “You lined up a date on our fake-breakup night?” She glares at me. “Fine. A hook-up. Whatever."

orange:

Even distracting myself to air-drumming along to Bon Jovi – and ignoring as Travis tries to sing along, sounding like a dying ostrich – I start to get a little fed up with how long this road-trip-apparently is taking. We’re a long way into fucking Orange County when I consider breaking my longstanding rule of not ever calling Selena’s phone number so I can yell at her directly.

yellow:

The relief I feel is microscopic as Bryson herds everyone through the stage door and out to the bar. The contract looms over me like a heavy, yellow fog. Why did I ever think I could do this and challenge the natural order of things, disturb the righteous organization of the universe? A four-minute sacrifice between me and my freedom.

green:

“Aren’t you supposed to pour one out? You know…” “Sure, but I wanted to have some first. I’ll dump the rest for him.” “We’ll be here.” Bryson sighs. Then, “Outside, genius.” “This is closer,” says Cole. Matt and I follow Bryson’s eyes and watch as Cole approaches a plant that looks like a more permanent installation in this room: a leafy green thing confined to a pot of dirt in the corner. “Cole, don’t water the plant with Fireball,” Bryson says as Cole proceeds to water the plant with Fireball.

blue:

I wish he wasn’t able to look at me. His blue eyes are full of water. There’s this terrible way that he can’t stop his lip and hands from trembling. My mom squeezes my hand so fucking tight, but the other is over her face as she breaks. They’re all breaking. They’re broken.

indigo

purple:

I look into my digital reflection displayed on my laptop screen as I wait, and it’s not pretty. The bruising beneath my eye is an ugly dark purple and my cheek looks too flat.

white:

There’s a tattoo on her lower back that I can see from behind my drums. It’s a tramp stamp of a flower – a daisy or something – done without linework. The white ink of the petals against her skin makes it look like weird, round scars.

black:

My cheeks are wet. I half-hiccup, half-gasp for not enough air. I can’t live in this terrible universe the way it is, but I can’t do anything to change the things it has already done to me. I can’t take back what it’s taken from me. I wipe my sleeve against my eyes and the black fabric of this uniform futilely hides the tears.

grey:

He glances off-screen suddenly at a knock that I can hear through the speakers, two thousand miles away. He looks back and his grey eyes rove the bottom of his screen.

brown:

The second the side door shuts behind the Rays, she whirls on me, brown eyes ablaze, and yells, “You motherfucker!” She wastes a good ten minutes screaming at me and only backs off when Bryson’s sister comes out to the garage to tell her to shut the fuck up.

I'm not gonna tag people; this is for whoever else wants to take part :)

#wip: interlude #writing #my writing #writeblr #writing excerpts #roy g biv tag #writers on tumblr

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artdrawsok · 4 months

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Reflection

A Crocodile angst short writing/drabble. (Also on Ao3). I recommend listening to Christopher Larkin's instrumental song 'Reflection' for this.

TW: Heavy mental breakdown, talk of being previously trans ( it is loose, hard to describe specifics apologies!), bile, dry-heaving/gagging, talk of past harm to another person, and a vomit plus blood mention.

A NOTE: This is based on headcannon not cannon. No fighting about it.

As soon as Crocodile got back to a somewhat safe place, away from that blasted prison that reeked of metal and rotten flesh; he collapsed onto the fairly rickety bed—kneeling next to it as his head hit the worn mattress. His golden hook was tossed to one side.

Everything hit Crocodile at once. His past, his past self, was supposed to stay dead. It wasn’t supposed to hit him in the face as soon as he learnt that boy’s name. The boy he skewered like a damn kebab back in Alabasta.

“I nearly-” Crocodile couldn’t stop his throat quickly shutting him up in an ugly sob. He couldn’t breathe properly, everything spun and noises almost comparable to the hacking of vomit or bile left his nicotine-ridden mouth. His tears blurred his vision as they dripped onto the rough wooden flooring below him.

“I thought, I thought, I,” Crocodile incoherently voiced his thoughts in the empty and old room, his working hand practically clawing at his neck. Wanting something to remind him he wasn’t back in that horrible body. But it also reminded him of the wrong he’d done. He nearly killed his damn kid, that was his son out there. And he didn’t even recognise him. Crocodile’s mind replayed the boy’s wide brown eyes over, and over again. Crocodile saw his eyes, his past. That sick and disgusting past he had. He thought he left that boy in his past.

The floor groaned like a frog’s muffled croak from the weight of Crocodile going face down on it, still on his knees as everything screamed in his mind. The weight of regret held Crocodile down in submission, keeping him low and sodden. His faux fur coat felt too heavy, everything felt hot.

“Get it off.” His working hand frantically yanked the faux fur coat off him in an almost violent way, it made a loud thwack noise as it smacked into the poorly plastered-over cream wall. Crocodile felt the weight show mercy, but only a little. His body was sat up, leaning heavily on the worn mattress and slightly rusty frame of the bed. The gagging, the darkened bile at Crocodile’s feet. It felt like he’d swallowed poison and immediately hacked it back up, his throat burned and it was drier than those bloody Alabasta sands.

“I’m a fucking mess,” Crocodile’s voice came out as a garbled groan and heave, as he wiped away the bile on his lip with his working hand. The scene around him was, unappealing of the image he usually presented. His faux fur coat twisted and bundled in a heap next to him on the floor, and his golden hook was near the door of the room, it dented the wall and had a new scratch on it. Also a chip. Crocodile laughed weakly at the mess he created, it had been a while since he’d fallen so low. The last time this happened he was getting rained on while he laid in his blood.

He needed to sit there for a bit. He wasn’t up for moving around or getting up. That puddle of bile wasn’t getting cleaned up anytime soon. His breathing was slow and still came out in shudders that were akin to a door’s slow rattling. Everything started to cool down and was a bit less hot, the weight eased up a little but still subtly pushed on his shoulders. It definitely wasn’t going to leave Crocodile alone for a long time. He wanted to rest, but not in this place. He wanted to leave this moment in this room, not wallow in it for too long. But maybe he’d sit for a little bit longer, just to let the noises get a little bit quieter. Get the spinning a little less frequent.

Just sit alone for a bit.

Calm down.

Breathe.

#one piece #one piece crocodile #crocodile one piece #sir crocodile

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not-a-space-alien · 2 years

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Savage Sunset Chapter 10S

Let's see what Lex is up to in chapter 10 :) (hint: she's also not having a good time)

Story masterpost

Complementary chapter

Little reminder...my stories gotta have a happy ending, it's the entire reason why it's fun for the characters to get dragged through the mud for me. so dont worry :)

Content/Content warnings for this chapter: Aftermath of torture, starvation, heavy emotional distress, mind control, whump of a female character, blood blood BLOOD, unsanitary/vomit, brief eye whump

Ari was only lying in the coffin for about ten minutes before she heard footsteps upstairs. She craned her neck to see Nick at the top of the stairs, a stupid grin plastered on his face. “Well, well, I bet now you’re happy that I didn’t listen when you tried to chase me off.”

“I’m never happy to see your ugly mug,” Ari said.

Nick came down the stairs. “You could at least try being nice to me.”

“Just let me out. The key is on the table.”

“The vampire left the key, how thoughtful.” He picked up the key. “Maybe I will, if you apologize to me.”

“For what?”

“For threatening me.”

“I’m not doing that.”

“Don’t you want to save your girlfriend?”

“I will, as soon as you let me out.”

Nick frowned. This wasn’t how it was supposed to work. Nick had the power; that meant Ari was supposed to grovel, the way his vampire toy did. He’d never met anyone so utterly impervious to bullying.

Ari stared at him with hard eyes. He relented and came over, unlocking the coffin. She sprung out of it, getting up and immediately starting to rifle through Nick’s supplies.

“I see you destroyed all my hard work,” said Nick, seeing the pile of molten goo in the furnace.

“Yeah, I’m sure there’s some stuff left, though.” She made a face as she dug in a box and stumbled upon a whip.

“Ah,” said Nick. “Well, maybe we can scrounge up some supplies…If we want to do some real vampire hunting, though, we can simply forge some of our weapons again.”

“Hm?”

He smiled. “We won’t have time for anything complicated though, like padding or steel coatings. Just simple silver.”

***

The ride there was long and awkward.

Lex was tense the whole time, fully expecting him to at any moment have her pull over so he could feed. He was obviously starving, and when she saw the flash of fangs in his mouth, there was also drool pooling in the corner, like a well-trained dog sitting at attention in front of a juicy steak. Maybe he just didn’t want to affect her ability to drive, since he was clearly in no state to do it himself.

They went deeper and deeper into the night, away from salvation. Lex tried to cry, but it felt like her emotions had been locked behind bars.

As long as Ari was out there, she had a shot, had hope. Ari would move heaven and earth to get her back. Ari would walk through the fires of hell to save her. Ari would gnaw through the metal cage to get out if that's what it took. She was willing and more importantly, she would figure out a way and not just sit there crying and feeling overwhelmed like Lex might.

Ari had already done it once before. Teenage Ari had simply driven her father's pickup truck straight into vampire territory to retrieve her, against all odds, and come out successful, somehow. Adult Ari could handle this. Adult Ari would crash through the door soon with fire in her eyes.

It was the only thing that was keeping Lex from having a total breakdown. She was suddenly 18 again, snatched up by vampires and taken lightyears away from her home, in the middle of the night, crying and begging for them not to hurt her, which had only earned her scornful laughter.

Of course we’re going to hurt you, girl, that’s what you’re here for.

She looked at the vampire in the passenger’s seat out of the corner of her eye, tense panic pooling in her stomach, building. She knew exactly what he was going to do to her once he had her where he wanted her, in his lair, in safety.

He licked his dry lips, eyes bouncing to her and back. And then:

“For the record,” he croaked, “I never killed anyone.”

Sure, maybe not directly. But he was with the blood farms, here to snatch up helpless people like her, to cause years of nightmares and anxiety in the case of someone like Lex, who was the best case scenario. He’d personally ferried hundreds or maybe even thousands of people to their untimely ends.

Of which Lex was the latest in line. Her hands shook on the steering wheel. The persuasion made it an uphill battle to do anything he hadn’t commanded her to do. She wanted to cry, but it was stuck inside of her.

The irony of the sudden reversal of their situations wasn’t lost on her.

His bony hand suddenly reached out and turned on the radio. The squeal of the emergency broadcast system came out. There was a V alert on the radio, which meant someone had called in and reported a vampire had been spotted somewhere in the county.

Had Ari already gotten out and sounded the alarm? Normally this would be accompanied by chatter from a CB radio with details to coordinate movements in the field, but it was turned off right now and he showed no inclination to turn it on, if he even knew it was there.

He said nothing and, with shaking hands, turned the radio back off.

Time crawled by in silence, but eventually the sun started to come up. They were still on the road, not to his safety yet. Maybe this could be her salvation.

He let out a terrified moan and crawled over the seat into the cargo space in the back of the van. Lex glanced in the rear view mirror, but caught no sight of him. He must have been taking cover away from the windows.

Finally, when they were truly out in the middle of nowhere, Lex found her hands pulling the van into the driveway of the house they’d pulled Valen out of. The one car out front–presumably Valen’s car, since it didn’t appear to have moved an inch since her first visit–was missing its tires, up on four cinder blocks. The front passenger’s seat window was also smashed in.

The vampire behind her scrabbled to get upright, to peek out. Lex caught a glimpse of him in the rear view before a stray patch of sunlight reflected onto his face.

Lex nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound he made. It was an earth-shattering, preternatural screech no human would ever be able to make. He immediately dropped down out of sight once again.

Her ears were still ringing a few moments later, but she heard faint whimpering, followed by the next round of persuasion: “You will– You will go–go inside–into the house and–and you will–go into–the closet–and find–and bring to me my cloak–and boots–and–enough to cover myself.”

Here we go. Dread built up inside her again. As soon as he managed to get her inside the house, it was coming. The thing she’d had nightmares about for years.

Her feet moved mechanically to get her up onto the porch. The front door wasn’t locked. The lights were all off–the electricity must have been shut off long ago when no one had been paying the bills. The broken kitchen window had been boarded up–by who? A neighbor?

She checked the first floor closet and found a cloak and boots, but nothing else. She went upstairs and found pants and shirts. She did not find that getting further away from him would let her break the persuasion, somehow.

She bundled up her finds and brought them outside, walking harmlessly through the sunlight and throwing the van doors open. The vampire scrambled backwards in terror as though she weren’t literally his slave at the moment.

She clambered into the cargo space and dropped the clothes next to him, waiting for the next command. She stood perfectly still like a coat rack as Valen shakily stood, pulling his pants on painfully slowly, one hand on her for balance. He stepped into the boots, kneeling to try and tie them and failing miserably. He did not make Lex do it. His torso disappeared last, a t-shirt swallowing his breasts, followed by the cloak coming over his whole body and being cinched tight. “You will–you will escort me into the house.”

She helped keep him upright as they crossed the lawn. She could feel him shivering with fear.

Why are you scared. Why are YOU scared. I’M the one who’s about to be drained of my blood.

Every step towards the house increased her anxiety. This was it, she had managed to escape being a vampire’s snack all those years ago, only to fall back into it now. If he didn’t kill her, it would probably only be because he wanted to keep her as a thrall for the rest of her life.

She was having flashbacks, trudging through the muck to get her brain not to freeze in the way it had when she’d been narrowly rescued from the blood farms. But this was so much worse. Being taken hostage by the nobility who kept humans like pets would be so, so much worse.

They came into the shelter of the house. Safety for him, a death knell for her. She expected him to fall on her and start tearing into her throat then and there.

He shut the door. “Close all the blinds.”

They were mostly already shut, but she walked around and pulled the blinds, drew the curtains. Her feet padded from shag carpet to tile as she finished up in the kitchen, finding herself compelled to draw the shade over the broken, boarded-up window despite the lack of sun.

He hovered in the dining room, lurking, looking like he was making a decision. Where to bite me? Where to dump my body when he’s done?

He walked unsurely into the kitchen, ignoring Lex and going straight for the fridge.

The fridge. The fridge that had been full of blood when they’d been here last. Besides the fact that the electricity was off, and the fridge surely hadn’t preserved it in the intervening months…What was so special about that blood that he would rather have it, old and spoiled, than feed from Lex?

He leaned forward to stick his head in the fridge, then jerked back at the smell. Lex nearly gagged when it hit her nose as well. She couldn’t see into the fridge. She was thankful for that.

His face dropped into despair. Why aren’t you feeding from me? What are you waiting for?

“F-follow me,” he stammered. “Help me–help me down the stairs.”

Ah, downstairs, into the murder basement. Of course he would rather do it down there.

She supported him as he wheezed and chugged down the stairs, clearly grinding against the limit of his physical endurance. Lex saw a blur of motion in the dimness, and he gave a shriek, stumbling backwards into her arms.

Based on the pittering feet, it’d been a rodent of some kind. Of course. The house was abandoned.

Lex couldn’t see very well, but the basement was mostly as she remembered: a laboratory bench of some kind, glass bottles and bins everywhere. She could see their outlines in the dim light.

He let go of her, staggering over and nearly falling, catching himself but knocking over some of the glassware and shattering it.

Was he going to clear it off and have her lie down on it to feed from her?

But no, he didn’t clear it off. He started tinkering with the supplies there, lighting a flame and then extinguishing it, desperately scrabbling for bottles that turned out to be empty, letting things fall to the floor in despair when they turned out to be insufficient.

He clung to the workbench and leaned over, head down, crying pitifully.

This was the point at which she realized. Realized what he was doing.

The frantic, hungry quality of his motions. The fact that half the glassware was still crusted with red. The output nozzle positioned so perfectly above a glass jar, identical to the ones in the fridge. He was trying to make something to eat. This setup that had so baffled them, it was for synthesizing blood.

The blood in the fridge wasn’t actually blood. There had never been any human captives because he’d made the blood from scratch. Some of Lex’s off the wall guesses about him had been correct. She’d never heard of such a thing, never would have thought she would have been right.

He wasn’t biting her because he didn’t want to. He was looking for some other way to feed his starving body, and was despairing because it wasn’t working.

He’d been telling the whole truth about never having killed anyone. His family name was that of the blood farm owners, but he himself…?

Who are you, Valen Kithrara?

It seemed absurd, impossible, but what other explanation was there? She could think of nothing else that so neatly encapsulated all the evidence she’d seen so far. And she probably wouldn’t have believed it, unless she’d pieced it together herself.

Had they somehow managed to find the one vampire out of the whole population who was inclined to be nonviolent?

Her stomach dropped out from under her. Had they somehow managed to find that one vampire and…given him to Nick?

Her overwhelming terror gave out under the weight of the guilt. She’d been trying so hard to make herself believe he’d deserved it, and he hadn’t even deserved it.

She’d managed to find one vampire who was actually trying to be a good person, and just utterly crushed that out of him. She’d forked him over straight into months of brutal torture.

Yet he still didn’t want to feed from her. That was the kind of person she’d so completely torn apart, someone who would look the person responsible for his torment in the eye and still try to find a way to help himself that didn’t involve hurting her.

She’d held something so incredibly rare and valuable in her hands, oblivious, and had destroyed it.

Could she still save that side of him? Could she appeal to it to save herself?

He got up, knocking more things off the counter, and snarled at Lex, tearful face twisted up. “You will help me up the stairs.”

What is he going to do now? The looming panic about being fed upon was still there, but now there was crashing terror about the possibility that he wanted revenge. And weighty guilt about what a rare thing she might have thrown away.

She supported him up the stairs, now reading into every little motion of his, every wheezing breath and shaking step.

She helped him back up, trailing off as he staggered back into the kitchen, ripping the door of the fridge open again. She was behind him this time, and saw the bottles of rotten, congealed blood, with mats of mold floating in them.

She stood catatonic and watched him, unable to decide what to do, unable to think of any way to solve this huge nightmare the both of them were in. Not knowing what she could say even if she wanted to fight through the fog to say it. Still processing the implications of what she was seeing: a vampire desperately looking for an alternative to feeding on a human, as though it were unthinkable.

He knocked bottles out of the fridge, shoving them to the side, heedless of how they cracked and rolled away. He took out one that looked like it didn’t have any mold, holding it up to the light and looking at it like a man drowning.

Don’t…please don’t drink that.

He tilted his head back and upended the bottle into his mouth, clumsily spilling half the thing on himself, the thick, rotting fluid dripping down his neck and onto his clothes. He immediately gagged, spitting it back up, throwing it to the ground.

He sat there on his hands and knees among the glass and dark, lifeless liquid around him, heaving with desperation, a vampire painted with blood and still starving. Water water everywhere, and not a drop to drink.

Why don't you want to feed from me? Why do you care this much?

As if he’d heard her thoughts, he slowly raised his head, looking at her with fresh, hungry, appraising eyes.

She caught a sob in her throat. Please. Please, don’t hurt me.

He scrambled to his feet, his face and arms and torso absolutely drenched with blood, a terrifying, ghostly image, a skeleton approaching her with vicious intent. “Kn-kneel down.”

Lex did so. Please don’t, please please don’t hurt me. There was something inside of him that wanted to be good, that didn’t want to be cruel, she knew it now. Was it too late to appeal to that? Or had that already been completely crushed out of him?

I know I made this monster, but please. You’re just doing this because you’re starved and terrified. You aren’t too far gone. It’s not too late. She tried to open her mouth to say something, but nothing came out.

Lex whimpered and averted her eyes as he came closer, kneeling, the stench now overwhelming. He fell onto her, smearing bloody handprints down her top, smearing rotten liquid on her thighs with his own.

He lowered his head into the crook of her neck. A disgusting, slick hand came up and took a handful of hair, tilting her head, opening her neck. She could feel his breath and his too-cold lips. It was surprisingly tender.

His body trembled with sobs, and she felt a gentle kiss on her neck. Just one, a shocking, miserable action, an act of yearning for gentleness when none could be found.

She slowly brought her hands up behind him, onto his back, hovering there as though she wanted to return the embrace, to hug him. Maybe she should say something.

Please just stay here. Just stay right here. Just cry right there, and when Ari gets here, I’ll explain everything to her. You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to, but you can. We’ll be gentle with you, we’ll help you. I see you now. I see–

Her eyes widened as she felt the softness disappear, the sharp bite on her neck, the two points sinking in and releasing blood. She felt the warm, wet drip down her neck.

She felt his tongue lapping at her broken skin, his breaths getting heavier and more intense. She tried weakly to pull away, but his grip had suddenly become iron-tight, hand in her hair keeping her bent that way, other hand on her shoulder, pinned underneath his legs.

No, no, this can’t be happening. I’m not food, I’m a person, you know that, you see it, please, please–

She cried out at the pain when he bit down a second time, making a bigger wound, opening the firehose of blood even more, slurping it like a drowning man.

She heard the sound of his throat swallowing right in her ear, again and again and again. He wasn’t stopping. Blood dripped down her shoulder, soaking her shirt. He’d released so much of it that he couldn’t even drink it all, and yet he still ravaged her neck for more. She started to feel light-headed. Her limbs grew heavier. He’s not going to stop.

“You’re–” she choked out. “You’re going to kill me.” Please don’t kill me. I don’t want to die. Don’t make yourself a murderer.

His tongue dipped into her wound over and over, mechanically, like a cat lapping up water from a bowl. Black started to creep into the edge of her vision.

He released her suddenly, staggering away. She gasped, panting, shaking with panic, clamping her hand over her neck to try and stem the flow of blood, blood running through her fingers immediately. She heard him retching distantly, collapsing onto the floor himself.

Lex cried, expecting each breath to be her last, fighting the urge to pass out.

She was vaguely aware of the vampire moving past her, to the phone on the wall, dialing. She slipped in and out of consciousness, only hearing snatches of the conversation.

“I want to talk to–”

“-come get me.”

“-please, please, please. Please come rescue me. I’ll be-”

“I even–I even have my own–”

“I’ll do anything.”

“--it doesn’t matter now. Just–just please, please”

“The hunters know where I am, they’re coming, they’re going to find me. Please, Priscus, please save me, I’ll do anything, anything.”

In, out, in out. Her eyes fluttered closed, then open. Vague shapes moved above her, a loud sound, followed by another, activity and people shuffling far away, way up there.

“Give her back!” yelled a voice, breaking through her haze. Ari. Ari!

“Ari…” she managed to get out, before her limbs collapsed under her and she passed out one final time.

***

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