#Food related whump

[the-three-whumpeteers]

The whumpee bottled up their emotions after being rescued, because they knew their friends would never approve of how much the whumpee wanted to hurt the whumper. The whumpee couldn’t help it though- their anger had been festering during their captivity and after, and they would do anything to get their hands on the whumper, no matter the cost.

[little-peril-stories]

The Queen of Lies: Nullum Magnum Ingenium

Story Intro | Content Warnings | Mood Board | Vibey Song Lyrics | Ao3

Contains: lady whump, asylum, outdated/problematic/ableist language, bullying (includes food-related taunting, Victorian-style slut-shaming, sexist language), feeling humiliated, drugging/sedation

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Word count: 4700 || Approx reading time: 19 mins

Nullum Magnum Ingenium

Teaser: This room was so cold, her teeth chattered. Perhaps the presence of a few other bodies might have dispelled the horrid chill, or even kept at bay the nightmares—horrible ones, dark and sinister, filled with screams and the blood-flecked ghost of Will’s face.

Bree awoke from an ordeal that vaguely resembled sleep, curled into a ball and shivering, her face stiff and sticky with dried tears. The night had passed slowly, filled with constant interruptions from heavy-footed nurses. Each time, they’d noisily opened her door to peer into her face. Checking, it seemed, to ensure she was alive and calm and who she said she was.

From what she understood, Baden was paying handsomely for a private room, but she had to wonder if a shared dorm wouldn’t be more pleasant. This room was so cold, her teeth chattered. Perhaps the presence of a few other bodies might have dispelled the horrid chill, or even kept at bay the nightmares—horrible ones, dark and sinister, filled with screams and the blood-flecked ghost of Will’s face.

A basin of water was delivered, its arrival foretold by footsteps and the scrape of a key unlocking her door. Bree shivered through her ablutions, splashing her face and drying it with a yellowed towel that scraped her skin. Smoothing her hair with an old hairbrush made her skin crawl; she tried not to fixate on how many other locks it had brushed before. The morning nurse, a smiling woman whose black hair was braided away from her face and tied with a pink bow, provided her with a coarse, grey dress. Bree did not object, even though it was as hideous as her slip and equally uncomfortable. It, too, was stamped with its inventory number and Greyhurst’s name.

First, property of Baden Hatchett; now, property of the asylum.

“Come along, Mrs. Hatchett,” said the nurse in a sweet, accented voice when she was done. “Shall we see what they’ve made for breakfast?”

It seemed impossible that this kindly girl could be in the same profession as the blonde gossip from the day before.

In the dining room, Bree quickly found her way to Mrs. Strickland, certain she would need the encouragement to choke down her food when she saw what was being served: unbuttered bread and bowls of watery oatmeal striped with thin drizzles of molasses.

“Remember what I told you yesterday,” said the older woman, sipping daintily at her tea. Bree’s eyes filled with tears when she tasted hers. Will’s voice came to her, complaining about a different cup of tea; now she, too, knew what tea tasted like when it was made with care and love—and when it wasn’t.

“How long have you been here?” Bree asked, trying to take her mind off the lamentable bill of fare.

Mrs. Strickland’s face fell. “Almost three years.”

Bree nearly spilled her tea into her lap—not that it would have hurt much, considering that it was lukewarm. “What?” Her face drawn but collected, Mrs. Strickland nodded. “But—I thought—Dr. Armstrong said a few months—”

“For some, yes.”

Biting the inside of her cheek, Bree put down her teacup and took the woman’s hand. “I…I’m so sorry.”

Why on earth should this gentle woman have been locked away for so long? “Wh…” Fearing to pry, she cut herself off, but Mrs. Strickland grasped her question nonetheless.

“My husband and I have different ideas about how children ought to be raised.” Mrs. Strickland’s gaze, clouded with sorrow, fixed upon something on the opposite side of the room. “It was a battle I couldn’t win, since… Well, perhaps you know better than most. The law is not on our side, is it?”

Recalling Baden’s voice as he declared her forcible commitment entirely lawful, Bree shook her head.

“Some things are beyond our control, regardless of how hard we try,” said Mrs. Strickland. “Or how valiantly we fight.”

Something shivered and trembled inside Bree’s chest. That simply couldn’t be true.

But she thought of herself standing helpless, frozen, and silent as Baden walked away.

“We do our best,” said Mrs. Strickland, “with the lot we’re given. We keep going. We…” She glanced around the room, and for a moment, Bree could see the anguish swirling around her like mist. No, not just anguish; there was anger, too, and determination. Quiet, subdued—but not extinguished. “Survive.”

The rest of the meal passed largely in melancholy silence. When it was done, however, Mrs. Strickland got to her feet and informed the nurses, in a voice as reasonable as any Bree had ever heard, that she would take the new girl under her wing, if you please, and so Breanna Hatchett would accompany her for work in the sewing room. To Bree’s astonishment, no one scoffed or objected; in fact, the pink-bowed nurse beamed and said she thought it was a marvellous idea.

The sewing room was a surprisingly bright area filled with natural light and quietly chattering women. Work, Mrs. Strickland said, was part of the healing regimen at Greyhurst. Thus, much of the day would be passed with needlework, sewing clothes, pillowcases, sheets, and more.

“Saves them a great deal of money to have us do it,” Mrs. Strickland whispered with a roll of her eyes, and Bree couldn’t help but return a cynical laugh.

It was undeniably a relief to have something to occupy her mind: in every moment she wasn’t working, she fretted about whether Will was safe. If, as her slim silver needle wove in and out of her fabric, he was being locked in chains, carted away, or put to death. If each loop of her thread perfectly mimicked the deathly coil of a noose.

The first day ebbed into a second, and then a third, settling into a routine: rest, meals, work. The nightmares did not fade, nor did her sleep improve: if it wasn’t the nurses disturbing her with their stomping footsteps, it was the cries of poor souls elsewhere in the asylum. Bree burst into tears the first time she was jolted awake by a haunting, woeful scream.

Even so, her days passed in what might have been pleasant mundanity—if not for the ever-present terror that the next morning would be the one when a nurse or doctor burst in bearing news that those wicked Iustitia aecum thieves had been caught and put to death.

She was on her second pillowcase of the day when a nurse summoned her, announcing that she had a visitor. Bree’s mouth went dry. So, Baden was back. Perhaps bringing her belongings, perhaps some extra clothes.

Perhaps tidings of misery and death.

Squaring her shoulders, Bree followed the nurse from the room, her mind racing. Today, she would not face Baden with terror, hysteria, tears, or ravings. She would overpower him with strength of argument and soundness of mind, and she would convince him she had been wrongfully detained. Then, the moment she was free, she would find Will—and make sure Baden never laid a finger on him again.

It was a fine plan, or it would have been had Baden Hatchett been waiting for her.

“Breanna?”

Alice Wright stood stiffly in the parlour, twisting her fingers together. Her hands shook.

“Alice,” Bree whispered.

The afternoon light was weak and silvery. Spilling through the window, it glinted off Alice’s dark hair, and even though it was a miserable, grey sort of glow, she looked as beautiful and put-together as she always did.

Judging by how Alice clapped her hands to her mouth, Bree knew the light did not have the same effect on her.

Fleeting glances in the mirror had revealed an unpleasant truth: although only a few days had passed, her appearance was already deteriorating. There remained not a whit of shine to her hair; her skin was growing sallow; ringing her eyes were circles of dolorous, ashy grey.

Altogether, she looked positively frightful.

“Oh, Breanna,” Alice squeaked, darting forward and embracing her tightly. “What’s happened to you?”

Bree swallowed swift, smarting tears, unsure whether to be mortified or grateful that Alice bore witness to her imprisonment. Had Baden told everybody, then, that she was mad? Whenever anyone spoke the name “Hatchett” from now on, would it immediately be followed by condoling coos of, “Oh, that poor dear! Did you hear? Do you suppose they’ll ever let her out?”

But Alice merely murmured, “Oh, darling, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know he would—I didn’t know it would come to this.”

Baden hadn’t come, but Alice had.

Baden wouldn’t help her—but perhaps Alice would.

“Please,” Bree said dizzily, her heart beginning to thrum faster. “Alice, please, you must listen. I’m not mad.” She swung her head around, cognizant of how perfectly paranoid she must look even as she insisted she was sane, but what she wished to say next, the nurses could not overhear. “I need your help.”

“Breanna, I—”

“I don’t know how long I’ll be in here,” she interrupted. “Please, listen. I’m not insane. Baden, he—he’s just trying to protect his reputation, don’t you understand? Because—because I—”

Because I fell in love with someone else.

“You must find him,” Bree whispered. “And warn him.”

“Wait—”

“Please!” Bree squeezed her friend’s hands. “You have to warn…”

Will. But what meaning would that name hold for Alice? None. Fox. Why should she recognize that name over his real one? The thief—my thief. But wasn’t that much the same as confessing her crimes?

Bree froze as she realized she had not a clue of how to word her plea.

“Breanna,” said Alice gently, cupping her cheek, “perhaps you might listen to me first.” She turned to the nearest nurse, who, to Bree’s great trepidation, was Miss Dugford. “I wish to walk with my friend.”

“If you want to go outside,” said Miss Dugford sullenly, “you’ll need an escort. She roamed her gaze over Alice’s smart outfit and lofty expression—and apparently concluded that this was a fine lady who was not to be crossed or trifled with. Bree nearly collapsed with relief.

“Fine,” Alice sniffed. “Then we shall simply take a turn about the room.” With a haughty toss of her hair, she laid a hand on Bree’s arm and tugged her along.

The softest whisper tickled her ear: “I have news, but play along for a few minutes, all right?”

Alice prattled on for those few—yet agonizing—minutes, filling the air with questions. How had Greyhurst’s staff been treating her? Had she been sleeping? Was there anything she needed? Why on earth had Baden not yet sent any extra clothes? Unacceptable. Rest assured, she would arrange to have some dresses sent immediately.

After two and a half circles around the room, one nurse, clearly bored, began to plunk away at the piano in the corner, making what Bree thought was quite an unnecessary racket. A new light glowed in Alice’s eyes.

“I was sent here,” she said softly, her eyes on the musically-minded nurse, her face perfectly calm, “but it wasn’t your husband who told me you’d been committed.”

Bree stumbled to a halt. “What?”

“Shh,” Alice admonished. “Enjoy the lovely music, won’t you?” The tune was far from skillfully played, but it was loud—and distracting.

“Who sent you?” Bree whispered.

“A terribly rude young man.”

As it sank in what this meant—the only person Alice could mean—Bree’s eyes filled with tears.

“Stop reacting!” Alice said quickly. Raising her voice, she said, “Now, Breanna, I know you’re terribly homesick, but—” She wavered. “Remember, we all just want what’s best for you. No doubt you’ll be feeling much better soon.”

Will. He didn’t hate her after all.

“He sought me out,” said Alice quietly, “all for you.”

Washed away by these words was the conviction that Will despised her for dooming Jamie—but Bree’s relief was accompanied by horror. “He did?” When the constables could have found him at any moment? “Was he all right?”

“Well, I thought he was rather vulgar. But…” Alice nodded. “He seemed unhurt. Only…upset.” After a pause, she added, “And really quite incorrigible.”

Although she laughed, Bree’s throat ached with gratitude. Will, her Will—so reckless. Too reckless. “Alice, you have to warn him. Baden wants him dead. If you see him again, you must send him away. He can’t be caught.”

Alice’s face fell as she laid a hand on Bree’s arm. “He knows.”

“He—how?”

Whispering even more quietly now, Alice said, “A new arrest warrant. It says he’s done…terrible things. Awful things. To you.”

Bree’s hands moved of their own accord, taking hold of the end of her braid and combing through the ends. Every muscle seemed to tremble. “Alice, it’s not true. He didn’t. He wouldn’t.”

“So he insisted,” Alice said. “As did his friend. A woman.”

Colette was trying to help her, too? Bree pressed a hand to her mouth, trying to keep her sobs reined in.

“It’ll be all right,” said Alice soothingly, passing another worried glance around the room, apparently determining that Bree’s distress had grown too conspicuous. “You’ll be right as rain before you know it.” She took Bree’s hand again.

Something circular passed from Alice’s palm to Bree’s.

Quiet as a falling petal, Alice whispered, “I’m here to seek a way in, and I think I’ve found it.”

Without giving Bree an opportunity to react, she burst into loud, cheerful chatter. “Now, let’s rest for a few minutes before I go. Shall I tell you all about the literary society? No doubt you’ll be joining us in no time.”

They rested upon a poorly cushioned bench by the window. With a furtive glance around, only half-listening as Alice described the literary society’s current book and detailed her husband’s latest travels with the military, Bree glanced at the item in her palm.

A roughly carved coin, decorated on both sides: on one face, a tree with ringed roots, and on the other, two letters.

I.A.

Praying her shaking hands wouldn’t cause her to drop the precious gift Will had sent her, Bree slipped the coin into her stocking. She would not allow the nurses to see it, to find it, to parse its meaning—or to take it away.

His meaning, unwritten but clear: I’m coming for you.

“Don’t forget what Mr. Hawthorne said,” said Alice suddenly.

Bree frowned, trying to remember which quotation from The Scarlet Letter her friend meant.

“‘Do anything…’” Alice began, and Bree’s heart lifted.

“‘Do anything,’” she recited, “‘save to lie down and die.’”

“A dear friend once told me that,” said Alice, wiping her eyes. “I’m still trying to determine if she was wise or foolish, in the end.”

For the first time in days, when Bree laughed, it felt neither heavy nor forced. “You know,” she said, “I think you’d get along with him rather well. Once you got to know him. My…friend.”

Alice raised her eyebrows. “I don’t know about that. He frightened me, at first. And the way he curses!” Still, her lips turned upwards. Slightly. “Perhaps I shall have to take your word for it.”

Interrupting the contemplative silence that fell between them, Dr. Armstrong approached. Although he retained his usual mild demeanour, he seemed pleased. “You’re smiling, Mrs. Breanna.” If Alice found it indecorous that he referred to Bree by her first name rather than her last, she did not say so, although her mouth twitched. “I’m delighted to see that. Your friend’s visit has done you good.”

“Yes,” said Bree, praying he could not detect a suspicious amount of exuberance in her expression. “It certainly has.”

“You’re a doctor here?” asked Alice, getting to her feet.

Imperturbable and unoffended as ever, the doctor merely said, “I’m Dr. Armstrong, assistant physician.”

With sparks in her eyes, Alice strode up to him, held out her hand for a shake, and said, “Dr. Armstrong, my name is Alice Wright, the wife of Major Roger Merritt Wright of the 34th Regiment, and I would like to return to your hospital for a visit of a different sort. I noticed you have a lovely piano in the corner there, and I was touched by how—er—pleasing it was to have some music this afternoon.”

Bree blinked, wondering where Alice was leading this conversation, for no one with any taste would find the nurse’s playing pleasing to the ear.

“I was thinking,” Alice went on before he could interject, “of how nice it would be if I returned with a—erm—friend to play some music for the patients here. Might we discuss this?”

“Oh…” Dr. Armstrong appeared to give her proposition earnest consideration. “I suppose we could bring it to Dr. Richards and see what he says.”

“Splendid,” said Alice. “I’m sure he’ll agree that it would be ever such a nice thing to do. Music is simply delightful for the soul, isn’t it?”

Dr. Armstrong agreed, sending an affectionate look toward the shabby piano.

“Do you play, doctor?” Bree asked, a little surprised and genuinely curious.

“Well, not anymore,” he said, and she was rendered quite astonished, almost charmed, when his face turned red.

“Oh, but you did!” said Alice delightedly. “Why, then we simply must arrange this visit! Please, Dr. Armstrong, take me to see Dr. Richards right away.” Without giving him a chance to refuse, Alice gave Bree one quick embrace, bade her farewell, and led him toward the door. The sound of her airy laughter drifted away, more beautiful than any music.

In the blink of an eye, she was gone.

Bree stood still, heart pounding and hands tingling. Had that really just happened? Had Alice been there, slipped her an Iustitia aecum coin, promised to help her, and then vanished? It seemed impossible.

Yet the coin in her stocking insisted that something had been set in motion, a firm foundation laid.

For a plan.

For, she dared to hope, the plan that would see her once again set free.

***

If Bree went to dinner with her heart soaring, it did not take long for it to plummet.

“Madam Lawbreaker had a visitor today,” said Miss Dugford loudly toward upon seeing Bree. “Didn’t you, Mrs. Hatchett? Did you have a simply lovely time with your friend?”

Biting down hard on the tip of her tongue, Bree nodded and brace herself for whatever stinging remark or hissed innuendo was coming her way.

“I’m astonished,” said Miss Dugford. “The poor girl must not know what manner of people you associate with the rest of the time. Did you deceive her, too?”

Bree ignored her. Finding her prey dissatisfactory, Miss Dugford turned away, shifting her attention to a younger girl instead.

“Look at this! How shameful,” she said mockingly, pointing to the girl’s half-eaten meal. “You must eat up. It’s not healthy to eat so little, you know. And it’s so terribly ungrateful of you to leave half your food on the plate.”

The girl stared down in distaste at her lump of boiled beef, mumbling, “I’ve eaten my fill.”

“Are you quite sure about that?” Miss Dugford sighed dramatically and addressed another nurse. “These rich girls, wasting food like it’s nothing. Disgraceful!” She tutted, and the girl’s face flushed deeply, her eyes filling with tears. “Or perhaps her condition is worsening. A healthy young girl in her right mind wouldn’t refuse such a meal, would she?”

The girl ducked her head and said nothing. A tear dripped off her chin, splashing against the wooden tabletop.

“A woman in her right mind wouldn’t go anywhere near this meal,” Bree said.

Sharp intakes of breath up and down her table reminded her that talking back to any of the nurses, but especially this one, was ill-advised. At the moment, however, Bree didn’t care. She didn’t want Nurse Dugford’s attention, either, of course. But the poor girl looked so forlorn. So helpless.

If no one ever said anything, then what would it take to make that horrid woman hold her tongue?

“How extraordinarily impolite!” Said Miss Dugford, crossing her arms. “Didn’t you ever learn to mind your own business? Really, Mrs. Hatchett, you ought to be a bit more agreeable. More grateful. You’ve been given such a lovely place to stay while our kind doctors do their best to cure you of your nympho—” She paused dramatically. “Well, as I have a sense of propriety, I won’t say it here.”

Bree’s throat threatened to close up and choke the very words out of her. But instead of fixating on her atrocious meal, she looked up and met Miss Dugford’s gaze. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about. Perhaps you should say it.”

The nurse merely clicked her tongue and drifted away. “See? She is a hopeless case.”

“Don’t do anything untoward,” Mrs. Strickland said, clinging to her arm. No doubt she could see Bree’s fingers clenching into fists. “You’ll only regret it.”

Bree forced her breaths to calm.

It was a relief when Dr. Armstrong, making his rounds through the room, paused next to her, a smile on his face. “I must say, Mrs. Wright was very persuasive. We shall have a concert tomorrow.”

“What wonderful news!” she said, her mood buoyed by the sudden smiles beaming around her. “That will be lovely, I’m sure.” For everyone, of course, but especially, if Alice’s whisper was any indication, for her.

Oblivious to the plot he’d unwittingly abetted, Dr. Armstrong smiled again, lightly patted her hand, and moved on.

From where she stood, Miss Dugford watched them with her eyes narrowed. Bree threw her an indignant glare, resolving to keep her spirits undampened.

In this endeavour, she was successful—until it came time to exit the dining room, when Miss Dugford slithered toward her again.

“You seem quite taken with Dr. Armstrong,” she said coolly. “Everyone sees it.” Beneath the glow of the gas lights, her green eyes glittered menacingly. “How terribly improper. He’s a physician. A professional. Are you looking for special treatment or something?”

“I’m not taken with anyone,” Bree said through gritted teeth. “He was just telling me about the tomorrow’s concert.”

Something about today felt different; a crueller gleam burned in Miss Dugford’s gaze.

Bree knew she should duck her head and walk away. The coin in her stocking whispered to her softly: if only she could hold out, suffer just a little longer, her imprisonment would soon be over, and the gaping hole in her heart would soon be filled.

Miss Dugford giggled, shrill and girlish—more a caterwaul, a banshee’s scream. “Well, I’m no doctor, but it certainly seems to me that you’re utterly incurable. Married to such a prominent, respectable gentleman with a good job, then running off with a thief? Now throwing yourself at Dr. Armstrong? Why, there’s no fixing such deplorable promiscuity, is there?”

Hot, tingling prickles swept up and down Bree’s entire body.

“Your poor husband,” Miss Dugford sneered. “And I can’t believe I’m saying this, but your poor crook, too. I wonder what they’d say, seeing how you conduct yourself in here. No wonder your constable hasn’t come to visit.” Her head tilted to the side. “And your thief, well, he can’t, can he? He’d be arrested before he made it through the gates.”

Bree heard Mrs. Strickland calling her—Let’s go. Come away. Go on to bed.

“Be quiet,” Bree said, “and leave me alone.”

“But you know…” Miss Dugford continued, still tittering. “Supposing he could. Perhaps he wouldn’t be surprised at all. A man like that, straight from the gutter—why, I’m sure he’s very used to whores and trollops. Just like y—”

The slap of Bree’s palm against Miss Dugford’s cheek echoed through the entire dining room.

Aside from the gasps of alarm that rose among the women who had borne witness, there was only silence.

“How dare you?” Bree demanded. “You don’t know a single thing about me.”

“Did you see that?” Miss Dugford screeched. “You all saw that, right? She hit me!”

“Mrs. Hatchett, really!” one of the other women said. Perhaps it was Mrs. Strickland, horrified, disappointed. Perhaps it was someone else. Bree didn’t care.

Because Miss Dugford, clutching a hand to her bright red cheek, opened her big mouth again.

“Looks like Mrs. Hatchett’s time consorting with the scum of the earth was even more influential than we thought.” Her face contorted into a grimace—animalistic, bloodthirsty. “Were you always a violent little cow, destined to end up here from the start, or was it that Wardrew man who taught you?”

The name no one else was supposed to know struck Bree more fiercely than any blow.

Bree did not realize she had leapt for Miss Dugford until two pairs of arms grabbed her and dragged her away.

“How do you know his name?” It was her voice, she knew, crying out like that, but it came from somewhere far away, impossibly far. The voice of a woman gone feral, panicked and overcome.

And trapped.

Miss Dugford couldn’t know Will’s name, yet she did. Which meant that someone, somewhere, had told the police, and the police had told the rest of the world. Was it Jamie? Had he buckled under the pressure Will had suffered so keenly to withstand? Had someone else informed on IA? Or—worst of all—had the others been caught?

What if, at that very moment, Will was in chains again?

“How do you know?” she cried, tears already streaming down her cheeks.

“Everyone knows!” Miss Dugford snarled, scrambling away. “Wardrew, Marks, Haris! You just haven’t heard because you’re locked up like the bloody lunatic you are!”

Every name—revealed.

All her allies—doomed.

“That’s quite enough!” Dr. Richards bellowed, but Bree barely heard him.

She had consoled herself with the conviction that even if every constable was looking for a man with red-brown hair, hazel eyes, a tattoo, and a price on his head, Will was still protected by his anonymity, and that his name and whatever history remained attached to it would stay hidden long enough for him to get away.

But if everyone knew…

Something pricked her arm. It hurt—but it paled in comparison to the ache inside her soul.

“To your room at once, Mrs. Hatchett,” said Dr. Richards coldly, as a pair of nurses urged her to walk.

They didn’t understand. They couldn’t.

“Perhaps she is mad after all,” said Mrs. Strickland sadly. “She seemed such a sharp little thing.”

How could any of them understand?

“Come on now, Mrs. Hatchett,” a nurse said. “Don’t fight us. We’re here to help you. We know you’re upset. You’ll be all right soon. Just come along.”

It was not until she was almost at her room that Bree realized she felt strange. Not the kind of strange that came with having her soul shredded to ribbons—that remained.

No, this sensation was unfamiliar—limbs growing heavy and weak. Eyes growing dim. Mind growing foggy.

“What did you do?” she whispered. “I feel…”

“I know, lamb,” said the nurse, patting her cheek. “You were distraught, and violent, and you slapped Miss Dugford, didn’t you? That wasn’t kind, but anyone can see you’re suffering. You need rest. The chloral will help you sleep, that’s all, and you’ll feel better in the morning.”

“And then we shall have a conversation about standards of behaviour in this hospital.” Dr. Richards’ voice. Drifting from somewhere behind them.

“Are you with it enough to get into your nightgown?” the nurse asked. “Or do you need help?”

“Don’t touch me,” Bree said. She was crying. Was she? She wasn’t certain. She had been so happy. So hopeful. Earlier. Why? Alice. Colette. Music. A plan.

That Wardrew man. Everyone knows. Whore. Trollop. Bloody lunatic.

“Please leave me alone,” she sobbed when the nurse drew closer. “Don’t touch me. Don’t.”

The invisible spectre of Dr. Richards sighed heavily. “Just wait until she’s out,” he said. “Then you can finish up and help calm everyone else down.”

“Please,” Bree said. “Please. Please.” What was she crying for? Pleading for? She wasn’t certain.

She was so tired.

“You’ll be all right, Mrs. Hatchett.”

A lie, Bree knew, but the room faded, and she knew nothing more.

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[whumpacabra]

Day 8 - Comfort Food

Comfort, recovery, fast food, drug mention, implied head injury [in a joking context]

[Follows One step at a time]

He should have been happy. His room was full of light and laughter and the smell of fryer oil and grease. It was the first real food he had eaten in over a year - real, warm food without the silent threat of drugs or poison.

But it didn’t taste right. It didn’t taste the way he remembered it. And he was apparently terrible at hiding his disappointment.

“Did I get the wrong kind?” Casey’s voice had a thin undercurrent of anxiety, only worsening David’s frustrated guilt.

“No - no it’s…it’s exactly what I used to get, it’s fine.” David didn’t quite make eye contact but tried to keep his eyes soft as he looked somewhere behind Casey’s worried face. “I think they tweaked the recipe a bit while I was…you know.”

“Oh.” The guilty discomfort in the single syllable made him nauseous. Casey was trying so hard and the last thing David wanted was to make him feel like it wasn’t enough.

“It’s really good though.” He licked the salt and grease off his fingers before grabbing another French fry for emphasis. “Don’t you think so RJ?”

They looked up from the chicken tenders they were hoarding, a smudge of barbecue sauce on their shirt.

“I would kill for this.”

“That’s not - please don’t.”

“It was a joke.”

“Sure, sure…”

—

“Casey it is…4 AM what are you-?”

“I think I got it right; just try it. Please.”

David rubbed sleep from his eyes, sitting up the adjustable chair. Moving into and sharing a penthouse apartment with former hitmen and CIA agents had its quirks. A collection of knives and other assorted weaponry in the gym, Harrison’s high tech and overzealous security system - normal and understandable extensions of the lives they once lived.

Casey shaking him awake with a plate of fast food was new.

The Jeopardy episode he had been watching had long since ended, some obscure game show’s laugh track the only sound as David took the plate from Casey. The food was homemade, even if the smell brought back memories of midnight munchies and lunch rush snacks.

It was perfect. The taste had the right tang, the texture the right consistency. Half way through his first bite Casey started to explain.

“Had to make sure they actually did change the recipe - survey some folk who ate there regularly over the last few years. Employees too; they had a more accurate estimate of when it was changed. From that I just needed to fly out to Kansas, find the records from that year, and, well, tada!” The relief was palpable in his voice, tinged with sheepish pride. David paused before taking another bite.

“You broke into the vault of a fast food goliath to get an out of date chicken tender’s recipe?”

“Yes, that’s what I just said.” Casey quirked an eyebrow. “Does Katie need to give you another MRI? Quick - what’s your name? How old are you?” He laughed, easily dodging David’s playful smack.

“There’s something wrong with you.” He chuckled with affection, turning back to the perfect food on his plate.

If RJ would kill for the current recipe, he could only imagine what they would do for this.

[Before Independence]

(Part of my Freelancers: Retirement series)

[whumpitisthen]

What's a movie/tv show/book/etc. you watched that had unexpected good whump?

Also, what's your favorite vegetable? How do you like it prepared?

One that def comes to mind is the owl house! It wasn't completely unexpected, i literally started watching it after seeing some gifs of Hunter, but even knowing about it it still surprised me how in depth some of the scenes are in it! It is now one of my all time favourite shows, not only bc of whump but many other reasons too, like animation quality and the story itself. Especially bc its a disney cartoon! Theres blood in it! And panic attacks! And dead people! And abuse! And scars (i love scars)! And when someone gets hurt, they retain that scar for he rest of the show! And Hunter is Covered in them! And there's that one short scene of Raine tied up with tear track scars running down their face and being scared when they are being rescued bc they dont have their glasses on and cant see whos approaching them and its gorgeous!! They whimper!!!!!

That being said, a lot of it is minor whump, as it is made for kids and so the characters are in their teens, so i get why a lot of people wouldn't rly wanna associate the two together, but i dont really mind it. Just wanted to say this in case someone wanted to watch it because of me unaware of how old these characters are :3 its also still just a rly good show aside from the whump aspect

Another one is seraph of the end/owari no seraph, which is a vampire anime. That has some lovely whump too, but, again, lots of teens. Still very good tho, i hope they continue it at some point. Helluva boss has some good whump, esp in one of the most recent episodes (there was a torture scene 👀), that ones an adult cartoon. I watch a lot of cartoons can you tell hfjhfjn the only slight problem with that one is that it being mainly a comedy, it struggles to take itself seriously even during serious scenes sometimes

I cant rly think of anything else, but then again, i dont rly consume much traditional media, most of my time is spent on video games and yt vids

Oh and my favourite vegetable must be broccoli, i love it!! Its so good in anything you put it in, i never understood why kids shows always put broccoli in with the nasty vegetables, its so tasty!! And you can do so many things with if and eat it with so many meals!! I think fav way to eat it must be just steamed. I love it in cream stew too......Eat more broccoli whumpitisthen enjoyers, or Whumper will getcha

[scattered-winter]

2, 15, 28

2: thoughts on veganism?

I personally think it's dumb af. like if you're a vegan I'm not gonna hate you or anything but like?!?!? I love meat and I love eggs and I love milk and that will never change

15: rank the methods of death: freezing, burning, drowning

in terms of least to most painful: freezing, drowning, burning

in terms of fastest to slowest: burning, drowning, freezing

in terms of what I like to write: drowning, freezing, burning

28: last meal on earth?

pasta. with delicious sauce. and garlic bread. and chocolate cake (specifically my great-grandma's recipe because it's sooo good ❤)

ask game

[make-me-imagine]

Headcanons: Taking care of each other when you are hurt (Evan Buckley)

Headcanon Prompts: 'Taking care of them when they are hurt.' + 'Them taking care of you when you are hurt.'

Pairing: Evan Buckley x Gn!Reader

Requested By: @spuffyfan394

Warnings: Mentions of injuries, bandages, scars and other related terminology.

-

Taking care of him:

Evan gets hurt A LOT. I mean, this guy is the whump king at this point lol.

So, though you hate seeing him hurt and you worry about him a lot, you are used to his habits when you take care of him.

He tends to play down his injuries, insisting he can do things himself or insisting he is "fine".

"Fine? You can't even take three steps on your own, sit down."

But, at the same time, he does enjoy you taking care of him.

It feels very domestic to him, and he enjoys spending the time with you, though he doesn't like feeling helpless.

He has also learned that you get comfort when helping him after he's been hurt.

You worry so much, that helping him, no matter what with, reassures you that he is going to be okay.

When he is hurt, he acts different then when he is sick (meaning he doesn't act like a toddler who needs attention constantly).

Evan appreciates your gentle nature when you help him change any bandages he has, or when you need to apply some sort of cream to a wound.

Though he does not like being hurt, he does enjoy the moments that you are there for him.

Like when you help him wash his hair, or get dressed if he can't quite do it himself. When you massage sore muscles, or talk to him until he can comfortably fall asleep.

He is used to being injured, it comes with the job, but he hates worrying you. He apologizes a lot, though you always reassure him that you are just glad he will be okay.

If his injuries scar you have a tendency to run your fingers over them, tracing them, and remembering what the aftermath was like.

Evan reminds you that they are marks of survival, and that they also remind him of the times you were right by his side when he needed you.

You may chastise him for getting hurt, but it's always in a loving and joking tone. He knows you care deeply for him, and just want him to come home safely.

He always says he would do the same for you any time you are hurt.

"But don't get hurt, please."

Him taking care of you:

When you get hurt, Evan realizes why you act the way you do when he gets hurt.

The worry, and constant nagging feeling that he needed to do more, ate at him.

So, he would hover, usually a bit too much, but you knew the feeling well.

So, you let him help you, even if that meant him carrying you to the bathroom when you can walk perfectly fine.

It's cute, if not overbearing.

You would make fun of him and his "mothering" but he was just happy he could return the favor, though he would also chastise you for getting hurt, the same way you would do to him.

Evan discovered that he really enjoyed some of the more delicately intimate ways he could help you.

Brushing, washing or fixing up your hair if you couldn't reach it. Making you food and bringing it to you in bed.

Though the reason he was doing it came from something bad, he enjoyed the look on your face when he did these things for you.

It helped him to understand just why you insisted on helping him every time he got hurt as well.

If any of the others come by while you are hurt, he doesn't really let them help you in any way, he feels like it has to be him. If he doesn't do it, you wont get better.

He know's it doesn't make sense, but he doesn't it anyways.

You also learn what it's like to have someone worrying over you, and having to comfort their anxieties and remind them you are okay.

You both get to see and experience each side of taking care of your partner whether you want to or not.

You'd rather not have too, but it's a part of the job, and a part of your relationship.

xx

I know they aren't very long but I'm trying to come out of a serious case of writers block, so this is all I could get out. I hope you enjoy them anyways! And if you do please consider reblogging :)

General Taglist: @criminaly-supernatural, @imaginesfire, @rexit-mo, @onuen, @witchygagirl, @alexxavicry

911 & Evan Taglist: @spuffyfan394, @webreathfandoms, @locke-writes, @persephonesportal, @pockyandme, @soultrysworld, @averyhotchner, @iinmysights, @that-marvel-simp, @gatefleet, @bellarkeselection, @shiftingwh0r3, @rqmanoff, @fanboysfangirl, @readingbookelf, @luvwanda,

[thewiz9062]

Smiling Critters: Together, We Resonate (No.6) - Catnap

NOTE: THIS IS NOT RELATED TO CANON IN THE SLIGHTEST. An accurate description of this au is that I took every playtime.co poster art and promotional material from the game and lit up the rest of canon in a bonfire. This means that EVERY character is part of one big cartoon. That's it. No bigger bodies project, no child souls, no experiments, just a depiction of a cartoon. PLEASE do not ask me to do anything suggestive with anyone.

Let's start:

Catnap had a fairly normal childhood up until four, where his parents died in front of him (cause of death is still pending)

After that, he was put in the system, and he quickly learned that it wasn't exactly the safest place, so he ran.

He ended up wandering for a while, sleeping in alleyway to alleyway until he found a random abandoned house (shack? Its one room and fairly small) in a secluded part of a neighborhood, and set up 'home' there. But is it really home without them?

Anyways, he made himself as comfortable as possible in his living conditions. If the residents heard crying near that secluded part of the neighborhood, they didn't say......well, except for Boxy Boo.

Boxy was the only one who dared to go check out the slight commotion and was attacked on sight. Well, pounced on, as boxy is about 3 times bigger than catnap at the moment. Even once he got him to calm down, he still didn't say a word to him, just glared at him until he left. What if it was my fault? What if i was the reason theyleftwhatifpeoplediebecauseofmeleavedontcomeclose But boxy made a vow to check on him at least once a week.

(Time skip- present day? Technically)

Bobby bearhug and picky piggy were picking apples in the forest next to the former neighborhood when they started hearing noises. Picky demanded that whoever was "messing" with them show themselves. And out came catnap. Picky dug into him about being creepy, but bobby was more worried about the state he was in. He looked way skinnier than he should be, assuming that he was their age (he is dw) so before picky sent him off Bobby offered some of the cookies she made. He was a little distrustful at first, but practically lit up for a second before quickly changing back to his blank face. But she noticed, and told him she could meet him back here tomorrow with some other food she wants him to try. He waved his hands and shook his head in a 'no' motion, but they were already off before they could register his response.

For the next few days, bobby brought him food to try, and he gave his best input for someone who doesn't talk. But she never really got to know anything about him, because any questions would be met with a blank stare. She pondered...maybe she should bring Dogday next time? He's great at making friends!

Guys look I traumatized him :D

This is supposed to be the whump but I feel like I overhyped it ngl

Additional notes:

-Insomniac (duh. I tried to give him eyebags in the little drawing I made but idk if they actually look like that)

-Situationally mute

-the whole red gas thing doesn't exist. I know it appeared in the little cartoon introducing chapter 3 but it feels extremely out of place here sooo

-instead, he hums or sings a little lullaby or melody to try and help him (others eventually ;) sleep. It usually has an opposite effect for him though, as the only ones he knows are his mothers, which reminds him of.....yeah.

-he really likes music because of this, even if he doesnt get to listen to it often. its sorta the one thing that he sorta still hangs on to.

I really enjoyed this one!! Next is gonna be our resident friend making machine, with a built-in recap to go with. Anyways BYEEE

[littlemissmanga]

Home for the Holidays With You

Pairing: Tech x (gn) Reader

W/C: 2,335

Rating: E for Everyone. This is family (and Costco) friendly.

Warnings: Excessive fluff, Tech being a sweetheart taking ‘acts of service’ to an extreme, reader is dealing with homesickness at the holidays.

A/N: I wrote this as a secret Santa gift for @freesia-writes and her love of Tech inspired probably my fluffiest writing yet. Like, this is maximum fluff, guys. A little bit of whump, especially if you can relate to being homesick, but there is so much comfort here to offset it.

Just one note, I did change this to a GN Reader for tumblr. OG had she/her pronouns.

Dividers by @stars-n-spice :)

Omega’s excitement was like a sparkler. Small, bright bursts that one couldn’t resist smiling at.

Wrecker’s was closer to an explosion, as most things regarding his brother usually were: loud, bombastic, usually too much so to be contagious.

But your excitement was like a cup of caf, perfectly prepared and consumed at the optimal temperature. It was a warmth that seeped deep into his body and settled there, much as you already had in his heart.

He indulged in your presence whenever he could when you were like this. And the approaching holiday season seemed to bring out this flavor of excitement with consistency.

So, he’d chosen to spend his free time preparing with you — decorating to the soothing sounds of holiday music, shopping for and wrapping gifts (and pretending rather convincingly that he wasn’t curious about his own gifts you’d carefully hidden from him).

Tech researched the history of the holiday symbols, décor and music and shared them with you while you worked. You, in turn, regaled him with personal anecdotes of the same things, the two of you trading information as he, Wrecker, and Omega carefully followed your instructions to turn both the Batch’s home and your own into holiday wonderlands.

He blamed your warm excitement. Though even to himself, the word “blame” resonated with playful affection.

“I can’t wait to open these,” Omega chirped as she put the last of the gifts in the area you designated.

“Only one more week!” Your smile belied your pointed tone as you looked directly at Omega and Wrecker as the pair eyed the impressive pile. At least one of them had the decency to appear sheepish, and Tech was unsurprised that it was not his brother.

“I believe there’s more to Life Day than merely presents.”

“Exactly. Thank you, Tech,” you said, gifting him a smile and light touch on his shoulder as you passed by him to put away the last of the brightly colored wrapping flimsy.

“More?” Wrecker asked, excitement and confusion mixing in his tone and expression.

“Lots more,” you confirmed. “You open presents in the morning, sure. But then you get to spend the whole day with the people you care about most. Every family is different, but in mine, we play games, watch holos, and cook holiday treats together. And at the end of the day, you get to eat all that delicious food.”

“Oh! Now that does sound good! What kinda holiday treats d’ya make?”

While you regaled the others with rather detailed descriptions of your favorite holiday foods, Tech took a seat in the living room, pulling his data pad from his utility belt to once again struggle in finding a gift suitable for you.

None of the options so far had been acceptable. Most felt far too impersonal and underwhelming. Any that carried the intimacy he hoped to convey did not seem to suit your preferences as far as he knew them. And since he’d catalogued them, he’d say he knew them fairly well.

Tech knew if he voiced his frustrations to you, you’d laugh them off and tell him not to worry; that you’d love anything that came from him. And you would. Your ability to see past any errors on his part to see his intention underneath was one of the may things he loved about you.

But in this instance, that wasn’t enough. He wanted this gift to be perfect. As perfect as you made him feel. He could not — no, would not stand for his gift to be the only lackluster part of your holiday celebrations.

He was running out of time, however, and was beginning to grow rather anxious at the thought of not finding something in time.

Tech’s focus only lasted a few more moments, however, before his concentration was broken by Omega’s excited squeal.

“Those all sound amazing! And we get to try them!?”

“Oh, uh, not quite.” Your verbal stalling pulled Tech fully back into the conversation happening before him. “I’ve planned a few seasonal-to-Pabu snacks and a nice roast for dinner, but we don’t have access to a lot of the ingredients from my home planet. So we’ll make do with a Corellia-inspired, Pabu-provided holiday feast.”

The others continued the spirited conversation, but Tech was quick to notice a heaviness to you. It didn’t dim your smile or sharpen your words, but he could feel it all the same.

As the evening grew darker and slipped into night, Tech suggested Wrecker take Omega home. His thinly veiled excuse to be alone with you wasn’t questioned by anyone, least of all a tired Omega who yawned through her departure.

Once the silence had settled, you came to sit with him on the couch. He quickly turned off his data pad — not that I’ve found anything worth hiding yet, he thought bitterly — and you melted into his side, not quite cuddling but just letting yourself rest against him.

It was a position you had taken to, and he appreciated the concession that allowed him to keep his arms free while still remaining close to you. Tonight, however, he put his pad down and wrapped an arm around your shoulders, surrounding you with him.

“Now that the others are gone, will you tell me what inspired the melancholic air?”

The tilt of your head to press further into him pleased and concerned him in equal measure.

“Just … realizing what I’m missing, I guess. I mean, I knew when I enlisted in the GAR that I’d be away from home for the holidays. But I could always call, you know? Now that were on the run …”

The silence of your dropped sentence carried for a beat. Tech shifted so he could better see your face while you still rested on his torso.

“Now that we must conceal ourselves from the Empire, it’s too big a risk,” he finished for you.

“Yeah,” you sighed. “And it’s not like I didn’t know that before. We’ve been running for a while and next week is no different. Meg’s comment just made reality hit home.”

“That is understandable.” Tech paused, considering where to go from here. The most obvious solutions — visiting home, calling family, etc. — were all off the table. But leaving you as you were, clearly distressed and upset, was unacceptable. “What can I do?”

Your smile, though small, was genuine as you shook your head against his chest. “You’re sweet.”

“I am merely trying to resolve your current problem.”

“Yes, and that makes you very sweet,” you insisted. And frankly, with you tucked into his side like you were, he felt little of his usual compulsion to press his point. Still, for the rest of the evening, he struggled to himself with how to resolve your homesickness and prevent it from further tainting your beautiful spirit.

He had his list. He reviewed it multiple times to ensure he had not forgotten a single detail. And despite being certain he hadn’t, he still felt unnecessary adrenaline coursing through his body.

“Right! That’s the last of it!” Wrecker announced as he took the final side dish out of the oven. The small space was laden with delicacies, the recipes for which Tech ensured Wrecker and Omega had followed to the letter.

It all looked perfect to him. But — just this once — Tech would concede that his opinion did not matter. Only you could say whether he was successful or not.

The door to the Batch’s Pabu home opened, and Tech heard your voice carry from the entrance to the kitchen. “Hello?”

You were early. Kark.

Evidently, his anxiety was visible, as Wrecker laughed at him before Hunter stepped over to push him out of the kitchen. “Go. We got the rest.”

With little opportunity to do otherwise, Tech obliged. “Thank you. All of you,” he said, looking at his siblings in turn, trying to infuse his voice with sincerity before closing the door to the kitchen behind him as silently as possible.

“Hello, darling. Happy Life Day Eve.”

“Happy Life Day Eve.” You give him a quick kiss before looking around the empty living room. “Where is everyone?”

“They are finishing up some final preparations.”

Confusion colored your face. Understandable, considering you had been the leader of holiday prep … at least as far as you knew. But that was the entire point of a surprise, he supposed.

“Don’t worry, I’ve been supervising. We have a surprise for you.” Tech took your hand in his, giving it a small squeeze before leading you through the house to his room.

You give a small laugh, and he felt the knot in his stomach begin to loosen.

“Shouldn’t presents be saved for tomorrow?” You tease.

“I believe you’ll prefer enjoying this one tonight.”

Opening the door to his room, Tech led you inside to reveal a rather large — and if he permits, rather impressive — new comm station.

He watches your face closely as your eyebrows lift as you take in the sight.

“Wow, Tech! That’s really impressive! Did you build this yourself?”

“Naturally. However,” Tech pulled you further into the room to stand directly in front of the comm, “You cannot ascertain what’s special about this particular comm station by simply observing.”

“Oh?” Your crooked smile as you played along with him was possibly one of the most endearing expressions, and it reminded him to turn on his recording device. “Then please enlighten me. What is so special about it that it my surprise Life Day present?”

Instead of answering, Tech reclaims his hand to type in the frequency he’s come to memorize. He paused, looking up to you and smiling briefly before pressing the call button. “It’s encrypted.”

You tilted your head, eyes furrowed as you tried to make the connection. But before you could, a woman’s voice filtered through the comm.

“Hello? Tech? Can you hear me? Are they there yet?”

Instantly, Tech saw a multitude of emotions fly across your face faster than he could catalogue them as a tear slid down the sweet curve of your cheek. 

Most fortunate, then, that I remembered to begin recording.

Your voice cracked as you answered softly, “Mama?”

“Hi, honey! Oh, stars, it’s so good to hear your voice. Hold on, your father’s coming, too.”

Resting a hand lightly on your shoulder, Tech pressed a kiss to your cheek and whispered, “Take your time and come outside when you’re done.”

Your eyes were bright and wide, and Tech knew he could never catalogue the multitude or depth of your emotions in that moment. But what he did know was that look of melancholy had been well and truly banished. And that was all he needed.

Two hours later, you emerged with a wide smile painted on your face, despite the slight redness around your eyes.

“Tech,” you called softly, reaching out to take hold of him. He let you, falling into your embrace happily. “Thank you.”

“I am glad my plan was successful.”

“It really was.” You tightened your arms around him, and it was only slightly unpleasant. But Tech would have given you a pass even if you had Wrecker’s strength in this moment. “My brilliant genius. You have no idea what that meant to me.”

“Hm, I shall refrain from arguing for now. But that was only the first stage. Are you ready for stage two?”

Tech can feel his shirt dampen as tears soak the fabric even as you laugh.

“Part two? I don’t know. I can’t imagine topping part one.”

Keeping his arm around you, Tech turned you both to lead you to the kitchen, opening the door to reveal the rest of the Batch. In the time it took you to complete your call, his brothers and sister had plated and displayed the wide array of Corellian holiday dishes.

Admittedly, the smell was heavenly. Tech understood why the absence of this spread would be lamentable.

“What in the …” Your head swiveled between members of the Batch, mouth open in soundless surprise before Omega bounded forward, pointing to each dish and telling you how they followed your family’s instructions exactly. It was clear she was eager to hear your approval, perhaps more so than he had been.

“You and Wrecker made all of this?” You asked the young girl, pulling her into a hug when she finished.

“Yup! But it was all Tech’s idea! He got the comm station built and got the recipes from your family, told Phee and Echo where to get everything we didn’t have on Pabu, and he had Hunter distracting you all week so you wouldn’t notice anything!”

Your eyes narrowed at the Sergeant, earning a laugh from Echo. “So that’s why we’ve been re-cataloguing everything in the museum?”

“Sorry. It was the only thing I could think of that you’d believe,” Hunter said, hands raised in front of him as if to ward off your playful irritation.

“What do you think?” Tech asked, touching a hand lightly to your lower back to pull your attention to him. “Does part two satisfy?”

You bark a laugh before pressing into his side once again, sneaking your arm under his so it wraps around his waist, leaving no room between you before burying your head into his shoulder.

“This was… this…” He felt your deep, steadying breath and tightens his hold on you as he waits for you to collect your thoughts. “Yes, Tech. It beyond satisfies. I have never felt so loved.”

He reached forward, lifting your face to his so he can see your eyes. “But you are, darling. You are so very loved.”

And for a brief moment, Tech lost track of time. The shine of your eyes, fueled by love, awe, and just a few unshed tears, was all he needed. If this were the “meaning of the holidays,” then Tech finally understood why so many lifeforms craved the holiday season so.

“So, uh, can we eat? Or d’ya wanna keep starin’ at each other?”

Uncouth as ever, Wrecker’s question pulled you away from Tech with a laugh, though you never let go of his hand. “Yeah, let’s eat.”

Note about my taglist: My google account storage is so full that I can't update and export my sign up sheet, so if you signed up for my taglist and I did not tag you I am so sorry! It is a technical error and one that I am working on fixing!

Taglist: @dreamie411, @wings-and-beskar, @starrylothcat, @sev-on-kamino, @wolffegirlsunite, @secondaryrealm, @idontgetanysleep, @multi-fan-dom-madness, @dystopicjumpsuit, @sinfulsalutations, @sunshinesdaydream, @clonemedickix, @wizardofrozz, @anxiouspineapple99, @mythical-illustrator, @dhawerdaverd

Masterlist

[sickficideas]

Hello it’s me, Rui again (idk if you remember me, i left an appreciation comment a while ago)

but I have Chuuya headcanons if your interested (I’ve never wirrten headcanons out before so I’m sorry if they are bad help) I’m so embarrassed writing this

(if you end up liking them i can definitely talk to you about Akutagawa headcanons too if you want lmao)

Chuuya is nauseous for days after using corruption and dazai has to do his best at taking care of him (he sucks at it)

Having Arahabaki inside him causes him to need a lot more rest than the average person. Most of the time he tries to ignore this due to his loyalty to his work and he ends up either passing out or making himself sick for weeks because of it

Arahabaki in a small body like his makes it so that he tends to eat a lot more food than the average person due to energy being consumed faster. When he gets sick he tends to bring up a lot more.

Arahabaki loves to scream in Chuuyas head, causing him to get major migraines. Even when Dazai touches him, the nausea doesn’t usually leave

Chuuya usually ends up vomiting the second that corruption is nullified

HC (Kunikida bashing, i love Kunikida but i need chuuya to suffer so i can have Soukoku content) once chuuya ran to the agency office to get dazai to shut arahabaki up, but he ended up throwing up all over the agency floor and Kunikida yelled at him making his migraine worse, sending him into a panic attack. Dazai ran to his aid

chuuya often can’t make it to the bathroom in time because his migraine make it so that he can’t see or walk properly. Dazai usually keeps a bin nearby his bed during these times

chuuya has such a large amount of pride that he’s afraid of throwing up in fear that dazai will think he’s disgusting so he usually tries pushing him away (it doesn’t work)

arahabaki gives him the worst migraines when he’s stressed

due to past lab experiences, chuuya usually goes to sleep/passes out when he’s stressed because then he doesn’t have to deal with the pain. When he wakes up however, the pain isn’t gone

anyway that’s all i have for now. i was so embarrassed writing that honestly, but your so nice and accepting to everyone that I thought it would be okay. my headcanons aren’t great, but please tell me your thoughts on them qwq

I might make more if they end up being good enough or enjoyable qwq

sorry for bothering you ahhh

Rui!!!! Of course I remember you!!!!! Thank you for this beautiful list of headcanons these are absolutely fantastic and perfect inspiration for fics...don't be embarrassed or think these aren't great, I love them I'm so glad you took the time to write these and send them to me!!!!! Please feel free to send more in the future I'd be so happy to read them 💖💖 (and will certainly take you up on the offer for Akutagawa hehe you know I'll never turn down any content for him)

I really really love Corruption related whump for Chuuya it never fails to interest me....being sick as soon as it's switched off is so good because he has zero control over it, once he's conscious enough to understand what's happening it stresses him out even more...and the migraines !!! Chuuya is a perfect migraine candidate!!!!! I'm in love with your detail about them causing him to have trouble walking and seeing underrated symptom that's perfect for him 😭 especially since he usually carries himself very well it's super obvious to Dazai that he's struggling once his steps start to shift and he isn't picking up his feet right...catching him 😭😭😭 catching him whenever he passes out ughhhh my favorite....i just generally really love this idea of him often having zero control of when and where he throws up i know it super stresses him out ....💔💔💔💔💔💔

[whumpndump]

I like whump where TECHNICALLY the punishment is a good thing, just in excess or messed up in some way, so Whumpee can't complain without angering Whumper.

Whumper feeding Whumpee lots of yummy snacks after denying them good food for do long. They keep feeding them until they feel sick, and well past they've thrown up.

Whumpee finally being allowed to rest in a comfy bed, except they're strapped down and left there for days at a time.

Whumpee being left in a warm bath that slowly goes lukewarm, then cool, then cold, then freezing. Multiple hours later, Whumper retrieves a shivering Whumpee from the bath.

Alternatively a long bath constantly being topped up with boiling water that leaves Whumpee's skin red and raw.

Letting Whumpee go out into the garden for fresh air and sunlight, only to leave them there overnight in the cold.

Ive said this before: water til they puke!

Whumper gives Whumpee a book to read, their only entertainment. Its a psychological horror book, with themes relating to some of Whumpee's biggest fears.

Alternatively, they give a very smart Whumpee a little kids book, and if they complain Whumper goes "Aw I'm sorry, was it too complex for you? I'm sure I could find you one without words with only pictures dear."

Whumpee's favourite song played at a painful volume through headphones for hours and hours every day until they hate it.

[the-ellia-west]

Whump prompt

Used in: StF

StF has 2 Whumpees, Alkain is #1, This is for #2

AND I LIKE FOOD RELATED WHUMP

As torture, Whumper would drug every piece of food or water they gave Whumpee, even though it only came when Whumpee was on the edge of starvation. The food usually looked like paper and tasted even worse. But on the rare occasion Whumper brought Whumpee something that looked nice, they would ruin it with too much seasoning or sauce, and way up the drug dosage.

So Whumpee starved themself as long as they could to keep from being drugged, but they just couldn't resist when the good-looking food came along.

They didn't know the first few times. But they caught on quick. However, no matter how hard they tried, they would always give in.

Whumpee was never fully awake because of the drugs and lack of food, but every time Whumper decided to torture them, the pain shocks them awake.

Whumper would often invite sadistic friends to pull cruel jokes on Whumpee, like giving them scraps of food that had also been drugged and pretending to sympathize with them.

So when Whumpee is freed into Caretaker's hands, Whumpee trusts no food. Caretaker eats the portion meant for whumpee as a proof of trust, and eventually takes a bite of everything beforehand to prove that it hasn't been tampered with.

Eventually Whumpee cracks and takes a piece of bread, and just dissolves into tears because they haven't had bread in years and they've never been so greatful for anything in their whole lives.

Whumpee also takes to stealing food and hiding it in their room in case they're starved again, and Caretaker finds it, but just tells Whumpee that if they need it, they might as well just ask for it.

[earthry]

Dragon Secondo & Copia and a Human Reader (OT3 Headcanons)

This is for @copiasjuicebox!

tw: violence, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, whump, enemies to lovers, secondo and copia are NOT related, not proof read or edited, happy ending, poly relationship, ot3, secondo/copia/reader. more dragon hc content.

Secondo knew you first.

He rubs it in Copia's face every chance he gets, reminding the other dragon that all your firsts belonged to him too.

When you lived in that castle all alone and scared, when you were abandoned by the king to a cruel fate; he was your first protector, your friend friend, your first love.

It was him who held you in his arms during the nights of the first few months (even though at first it was so you would stop that awful crying), when you had trouble adjusting, when you were anxious about knights coming to take you away to a life you didn't want.

Him that showed you kindness despite his prickly behavior, teaching you to cook and take care of yourself. Showing you how to do mundane things you were never taught. He never called you foolish or dumb or stupid or selfish for not knowing these things.

He may have been a little emotionally distant at times, may have been hard to communicate with, but he was all you had and you loved him. He loved you too, but he was always afraid to tell you so he never did.

He should have though. He should have told you every single morning and every single night. He should have held you closer, treasured you more. Should have let you know how much you meant to him instead of letting you guess because he didn't want to be vulnerable.

You were hiding when you first hear those dreaded lies leave his mouth. Confronting more knights, he had been annoyed. Rather than killing them right away, he had tried to turn them away first. He didn't know you weren't in the library anymore, that you had finished your book and gone to search for him.

You didn't know he had felt that way about you. The lies he spun that he never meant for you to hear. That you were pain, that you could barely take care of yourself. That you were a burden. You were undesirable, unwanted. That's why the king sent you so far away after all. Besides, you were used goods. He'd already taken his fill of you and surely these knights wouldn't want the leftovers, would they?

You'd heard of heartbreak, read about it even. But you've never experienced it till now and all this time you'd always thought to yourself: surely it cannot be that bad, can it?

You were wrong. You never knew you could feel like this, never knew that pain like this felt like drowning above water, felt like a growing blackhole in your chest.

Second was right, all your firsts do belong to him. First betrayal, first heartbreak, first deceiver, first realization of how foolish and naive you were.

You lock yourself away in your room for a few days, refusing to come out no matter how much Secondo tries to coax you from your haven.

You decide to leave, unable to stand having to see him everyday and know that he's been lying to you, know that he never loved you, that he thinks the worst of you.

You take off in the middle of the night and try not to take anything that's his, only taking what is yours (which isn't a lot).

When he discovers that you're gone, he practically tears his entire tower to the ground, searching. He calls your name for as long as he can until his voice is a low painful rasp and his lungs can no longer scream.

He's ruthless to anyone he comes by, interrogating and ripping them to shreds. He cannot be consoled for losing his love, his heart, his soulmate. He will never stop looking for you.

---

Copia was the one that found you.

He reminds this to Secondo whenever the man gets too cocksure of himself.

The world is a harsh place and you discover this quickly when you leave the safety of your tower. Money and food and supplies; these are all things you do not have and have no idea how to obtain or earn. Eventually you end up on Copia's doorstep, the entrance of a cave as you attempted to seek shelter as your last shreds of consciousness began to slip away. You were barely hanging in there when he discovered you; half frozen, half starved to death.

He takes you to his tower and slowly nurses you back to health. You don't trust him one bit, especially when you discover that he's a dragon. It hits too close to home, too close to the heart when you had just left yours behind.

He doesn't understand your distrust but he doesn't push and gives you all the time in the world.

When you're healthy again, he asks if you would like to stay. He's been lonely for a while and it would be nice to have someone in the tower to talk to.

You have nowhere to go anyways, so you reluctantly stay. You avoid him at all costs at first, using the rats to send messages to him instead of looking for him and speaking to him directly.

After the first few months with Copia, snow begins to fall and he asks you if you want to go to the surface to see it.

You do, and he takes you to see it. For the first time in a long time, you smile.

From then on, you're a little more trusting and willing to be around Copia. You become friends and learn more about him and find that he's awkward and silly and wonderful company.

You should have known you were falling in love, but you realized it too late. You practically have a panic attack and you avoid him for a whole week. He's concerned but he tries to give you space.

He knows you've had your heart broken before and he vows to never make the same mistake.

It's a struggle and a fight for the two of you but eventually, you fall into each other's arms and you tentatively accept his love.

For a while, it's enough. Even if you don't stop loving Secondo, even if you think about him at least once every day. Even if you miss him like you're missing a part of yourself. It's enough. It has to be enough.

He doesn't want you anyways.

---

The first time Copia and Secondo meet, it's almost a bloodbath. Secondo sees you in Copia's arms and the only thing he sees is red.

You manage to get in between them and they stop, though both are injured in some way. You tell them to stop and you ask why they're fighting.

Secondo's expression softens so much when he addresses you, and he tells you with a low growl at Copia that you are his.

The words feel gutting and you immediately burst into tears. The two dragons let out panicked and surprised noises and immediately try to comfort you.

You tell Secondo you heard every single word of what he had said and he looks horrified. He promise, swears that of it is true. He was only trying to get the knights to turn back. He gets to his knees for you, begs you to believe him. He would never, ever feel that way about you.

After carrying the hurt around for so long, you're not sure if you believe him.

You tell him with a shaky voice that he's never told you that he loves you, that he never shows it. You voice your insecurities and he tells you that he never said anything because he was afraid to. He realizes now how foolish it was of him, and he confesses all his own insecurities to you.

Hearing this, you finally let your heart start to hope just a tiny bit and you collapse into his arms. He holds you so so tight, finally having you back with him is like his heart is whole again. He never ever wants to let you go.

You tell him you missed him too, that you had thought you were unwanted. He gives you all the reassurances and love you need.

When emotions die down, another problem arises.

Copia. He's a good boy, he gave the two of you space to talk and when he returns, he looks uncertain.

He looks like he's bracing himself for you to take off with Secondo and while he says it's okay and that he'll manage, you know too much about heartache to mistake the expression he wears as anything else.

It takes a lot of negotiation but for now, Copia agrees to go with the two of you to Secondo's tower. Secondo hates the idea of Copia being around you, of him touching you or even looking at you, but he knows you love him.

He's hurt you so much already he can't stand the idea of hurting you more.

Co-existence takes time to get used to. Copia and Secondo are always posturing and posting up against each other-- Secondo more than Copia, but as Copia begins to realize that he's not in risk of being thrown away by you he starts standing up for himself more.

They do things to rile each other up on purpose, pulling you in to give you a kiss or press your body flush against their body and whispering things in your ear until you flush the prettiest colors of red.

It's constantly a war between the two of you and while it drives you nuts, they manage to keep it tame enough to live together for a longterm. Eventually Secondo relents to your pleading and tells Copia he can stay longer and bring his rats (but if they get into his things he'll eat them-- you were horrified at first but then he whispered in your ear that he's bluffing because he'd never do anything to upset you like that).

You spend the rest of winter together and soon spring comes and goes and summer is upon the three of you. The heat is oppressive.

You don't realize it has that much of an affect on Secondo until he collapses one day while you are out in the sun. You panic and you call Copia crying.

He comforts you and promises Secondo will be okay-- he takes Secondo and carries him back to the tower with you in tow closely behind.

When Secondo regains consciousness he admits sheepishly that he may have pushed himself too much-- he's the strongest in winter and weakest in the summer. The heat is a little too much for him especially with the summers getting hotter and hotter.

He shouldn't be under direct contact under the sun but he'd wanted to spend more time with you and you were so happy to go out each time. You're a little heartbroken to know he pushed himself for you but he promises you that he's okay.

The only issue is that his body has been strained way too much and he can't really get out of bed that often. Kind of like how animals hibernate, his body begins to shut down little by little to conserve energy and heal. He needs constant cold regulation in the room and you often sit by his bed with a cold towel and icepacks. You're worried but he assures you that it'll only last a few weeks to a month at the most.

For the first time, he has a talk with Copia. A true talk and a show of trust-- he entrusts your care and wellbeing and happiness to Copia while he's still sick and bedridden and Copia swears to him that he will do everything and anything to make sure of it.

This is when things begin to change.

You are not alone in taking care of Secondo-- Copia surprisingly helps a lot. Actually, he takes over a lot of the duties like cooking and making sure the room is cool. Secondo scowls at the first time when Copia comes in with a tub of ice and goes 'what the fuck are you doing?' and Copia just rolls his eyes and tells Secondo he's trying to keep him cool and Secondo just sits there blinking like 'Oh. Uh... thank you I guess?'. He's a little stunned.

Eheheheh anyways here's where he starts crushing on Copia because sudden he gets the 'Copia nursing you back to health' treatment, the 'Copia being gentle and caring and attentive to all your needs' treatment. And it's... it's really nice.

He starts looking forwards to when Copia comes to check on him, looking forwards to hearing Copia's little murmurs and noises that he makes to himself while he tuts around the room.

(He hates it though and will deny it 1000% if you ask him)

Copia doesn't know when taking care of Secondo went from being a thing of obligation and duty to one of care and choice. He can tell that Secondo is getting used to his presence and he thinks it's the funniest (and also a little cute) when Secondo catches himself feeling soft or agreeing with Copia and suddenly scowls and is all grumpy.

Secondo is tentatively back on his feet in two weeks-- he's still a little weak but at least he can move around which he's grateful for since being in bed for so long was driving him nuts.

At first Copia kind of tries to help Secondo a bit but after a few days they begin to fall back into their old dynamic and antics.

However. The first time Secondo tries to make Copia jealous, pulling you to him with his arm around your waist and slotting his leg between yours, leaning in to brush his lips against your ear and whisper things that make you blush-- the first time that happens after Secondo gets better, Copia finds himself not puffing up with jealous, not bitter and huffy. No, he's not jealous.

He's turned on.

He splutters something along the lines of what he'd usually say before taking off. Secondo thinks he's storming away because he's jealous, but in reality Copia just doesn't want either of you to see the tent in his pants.

(You and Secondo think he's gone off to sulk but he's really just gone to find somewhere private to take care of his new problem)

Copia tries to carry on as usual, play his part of their little game. In the evening when Secondo is sitting by the fire and reading, Copia gently pushes you against the couch and kisses you dirtily using so much tongue while his hands come up to ruck up your shirt. You let out a soft moan and Secondo's head shoots up.

His expression is a stony one at first, before he really takes in the scene. And fuck do you and Copia make such a pretty picture. He's surprised to find that he's not jealous, he doesn't feel that red hot anger and rage anymore when he sees the two of you together.

He isn't embarrassed like Copia, so he sets his book to the side to loosen his pants.

Needless to say, while Copia and Secondo don't particularly talk about it, soon their little game against each other turns to mutual moments and 'activities' with the three of you involved at the same time.

Sometimes Secondo will sit back to watch you and Copia together, and sometimes Copia likes to watch you with Secondo.

It all comes to a head one day when intruders flood Secondo's tower and try to grab you. Both him and Copia crush them but not without Copia sustaining a bad injury. You're the first one to rush to him, but Secondo is the one to scoop him up and immediately head to the bedroom-- his own bedroom. He fusses over Copia's wounds and patches him up as much as he can.

That night is spent with the two of you curled around Copia protectively and when Copia wakes in the morning, you're both just as relieved.

Days together begin to turn to years and soon Secondo makes Copia a liar of his own underneath his tower. The three of you still sleep together every night but Copia is ecstatic to have his own space and domain.

There's plenty of space for the three of you and you take care of each other. It's not always easy but you'll always make it work.

Things are good, perfect even and though Secondo and Copia still argue from time to time, they always forgive each other and make up with gentle kisses and warm embraces.

[hungry-tum-stuff]

8, 9, 10, 11?

8. Do you like things to get rough, or do you tend to keep it soft and gentle? Or a combination of the two?

Definitely a combination of the two! I like when the situation the characters are in gets rough, such as being strapped for cash or having to hunt/forage for food, but I am a fan of a happy ending, so I usually prefer the hunger side of the story to be a bit rougher, and once the character gets a chance to have a good meal, reel it in and soften the story up.

9. Do you like inflicting your kink on multiple characters at once, or do you prefer to focus on one while the others are just there for plot?

I can’t even lie, I am a fan of my special little guys who have weird appetites/eating habits. Those characters will usually be the core, but I don’t like leaving out the other characters in their story, so I save room for them to get tummied as well <3

10. What’s the most extreme or intense instance of your kink you’ll depict?

(TW: Weight loss, passing out due to hunger)

I only like stuffing when it’s on the softer side, I’m not a fan of extreme weight gain or feedism really. So regarding hunger, I think the furthest I would go to depict this kink would be someone losing weight because of their situation, or someone being underweight due to their circumstances, which I’ve already done. I’d also go far enough so as to depict someone passing out due to hunger, which I’ve written a couple times. It’s a matter lf whump for me really: How much agony can I inflict onto my little guy while they’re in this state 😈

11. Do you have any favorite words or phrases relating to the belly?

Boy do I! I’ll just go ahead and give y’all a list…

Tummy

Belly

Concave

Empty

Soft

Hollow

Groan

“Aren’t you hungry?”

“I’m starving…”

“I can hear your stomach growling.”

“When’s the last time you ate?”

“You should really eat something…”

And so on and so forth. Thank you for the ask!

[variousxreader]

Karma

Sick!Buggy x GN Reader

OPLA- Semi NSFW - Emetophilia - Hurt Comfort, whump (?) taking care of Sick Buggy

Length: Roughly 1,600 words according to my app.

Oops, i wrote a lot. I went more toward sudden onset nausea rather than a food poisoning/ flu type deal, i hope thats okay! I literally felt my mouth water upon getting this request. Delicious! Chefs Kiss! My Emeto kink is related to the care of the sickie, so if you want something more NSFW and really fucking filthy and gross just come back for more and tell me exactly what you want baby birds!

Again i write in Mobile so i have to do my own semi formatting via paragraph breaks / indenting so if it looks awkward thats why

~

Clown sitting duty was your favorite duty aboard The Going Merry. You had tagged along with the Trio in Shells town and had been with them since. When you first met Buggy in Orange Town with the others you were captivated by the ringmaster captain. He was gorgeous for one, Funny and charismatic; and a hell of a lot of fun to flirt with and fluster.

So when Buggy had returned to your company, in a soggy wet bag looking like the drowned puppy he was being treated as; you readily volunteered your baby sitting services. The rest of the crew had no objection. Unless you two started flirting and dirty talking each other in earshot, then they all glared and shooed you and the Clown head away. Everything had been going quite well, Buggy behaved with you, as much as the callous man could "behave" that is. He gave directions and told you about his time at sea. You'd built quite a bond with him over the days, caring for him and feeding and watering him.

Buggy was quite smitten with you, and usually in a great mood as long as he woke up in your arms in the same hammock, and fed by your caring hand. Hell he'd even let you wash and brush his hair after several attempts at biting off your fingers, even re-do his make up from where the bag incident had sullied it. So when the jester suddenly began to withdraw into himself, you grew worried. He spoke curtly and was short with you, seemingly out of the blue. You had not a damn clue what you'd done to scorn him.

"Buggy, whats wrong you're looking a little green around the gills." You hummed, cupping his stubbled cheek with a cool hand. He leaned into your touch, as much as he could that is.

"Just.. not feeling peachy Sweets, nothing for you to worry that pretty little head of yours about." Buggy spoke metered, with a focus on a singular spot on the wall.

"I'm gonna worry about you anyway Bugs, i've grown to like you quite a bit." You tucked a loose strand of hair back behind his ear.

"Ah your impeccable taste aside it's just those shit head fish men fucking with my body" He grit his teeth, huffing a breath. "I'm sure they'll get bored soon enough and leave it be... for a while." Suddenly he tenses and slams his eyes shut, bracing for what you had no clue. So you scooped him up gently and set him in your lap, undoing his bandana and combing your fingers through his sea blue locks.

"Mm..." he mutters, relaxing a fraction. "I think they're spinning my body on a carnival ride or game" Buggy's voice waived a tad, eyes still screwed shut.

"Like the knife throwing shit you had Zoro tied on?" You mused, rubbing his temples.

"Ugh Karma, a vindictive cunt isn't she?" Buggy Hissed. "Just put me on the shelf or something and let me be!"

"I'm not gonna leave you alone when you're suffering Bugs." You could tell his nausea was mounting, based on the increased swallowing you could feel from his throat.

"No seriously! Put me down j-just fuckin lean me over a bucket or ledge." He squirmed as much as he could as a stump, snapping his cute teeth at you.

"Shhh I'm gonna take care of you, whether you like it or not Mr." You did set him on the dresser of your room for a moment whilst going to fetch some water and a bucket, as well as a clean rag. Returning the angered head to your lap once you were done. Buggy, ever vicious whilst vulnerable growled and tried to protest more, but visibly calmed when you dabbed the damp cloth over his sweaty forehead and cheeks, in an attempt to cool him and soothe him.

"S'not.....gonna be pretty." Buggy was paler than you'd ever could imagine, he looked more akin to a ghost than clown. "Y-you really don't need t' see.. or hear this." He warns with less venom; his ire dying out as he became more and more miserable. He was sweating even more now, occasional belches leaving his mouth; signaling his inevitable demise at the hands of nausea.

"Buggy you could choke, you've no way to manage this safely on your own. I know it's embarrassing but it's okay, i'm here. I've got you." You cooed soothingly, rubbing the base of his skull as he didn't have a back currently. You moved to stand, holding him gently at an angle over the bucket so he indeed would not choke on his own vomit.

Buggy wanted to cry, for many reasons at the moment, but most of all your kindness toward him. You were so caring and gentle. Always eager to please him and take care of him. He never had anyone offer to take care of him when he was sick... not since Shanks. Ugh thats the last thing he wanted to think about now. His shitty former best friend turned unambitious coward. Pathetic. He regretted eating so much of the blonde's cooking last night. Stupid fucking cook and his stupid fucking food. Where ever the hell his stomach was it was lurching violently. Its contents sloshing around like the turbulent waters of The Grand Line. He was drooling like a fucking idiot, stupid fucking everything. His mind was cussing everything and anything while he spat into the bucket you'd provided. Your gentle voice and fingers on his skin a cool balm to the storm inside him. God fuck he didn't want you to see him weak and pitiful and sick.

He gagged. Loudly, his back had it been attached to him would have been arched taught and painfully. You cooed at him again spoke reassuring words as he retched. Spittle dripped from his lips as he screwed his eyes shut again, gagging again swiftly, roughly. He hacked and spit and swallowed air down greedily when he could. Head trembling already from the unpleasant feeling and exertion. "Nfgh Fuck me." Buggy moaned, before out of no where the dam burst and acrid vomit spewed from his lips, messily into the bucket. He coughed and hacked, before vomiting again, sounding like he was dying.

"Thats it baby," you cooed. "Let it all out, it's alright, i've got you." You held the poor man, rubbed the base of his skull in little circles and did your best to comfort him. By the third eruption of puke from his lips, he was gasping for air as a reprieve finally came, tears and snot and vomit staining his pretty, pretty face.

"S'okay Buggy, you're okay." You wiped his face with the damp rag and cleaned him up. Kissing the top of his head on his bandana.

He heaved ragged breaths eyes shut tight. Throat stinging from the acidity. Fucking of course he had drank with you last night. Goddamn rum, burns even worse coming up. God you were being so good to him, why the fuck was he kinda turned on? His cock should be the farthest thing from his addled mind right now; but no one had ever tended to him so lovingly before. Buggy thought he might just start weeping openly; how the fuck had he earned your kindness?! He'd tortured your crew and threatened all kinds of horrors upon them, and yet you were humming to him, kissing his temples and wiping his own fluids off his face. He's never been so confusedly horny and touched in all his life.

You gave him a sip of water once it seemed like he had recovered. He swished it around his mouth before spitting it into the desecrated bucket. Then drank in earnest from the glass you held to his lips; once he had his fill he pulled away panting yet again.

"Just rest your throat honey." You called to him, cradling him in your arms as if he were a precious babe. Buggy nodded weakly, sniffling and hiding his face in your clothes. He wasn't ready to talk. Not after that display of nasty you had to bear witness to; also he couldn't find the words to express his gratitude. Hell he had no idea what to say when someone as amazing as you dotes and mother hens a fuck up like him.

After some time had passed, you tucked him into a bundle of blankets in your hammock, pressing a kiss to his forehead. He flushed as red as his pretty nose and buried his face to hide it. A soft giggle told him he'd failed at that. Buggy heard you move to clean up the mess and he was grateful. Fuck talk about how to ruin shit with your crush in moments. He didn't have long to sulk though; as you'd returned picked him up and got into the hammock, resting him on your chest. You proceeded to undo his bandana and hair, letting his tresses fall; your nails were suddenly gently scratching at his scalp and he moaned lightly at the sensation.

"The fuck did I ever do to deserve you..?" Buggy muttered more to himself than anything; but you answered nonetheless.

"Dunno, but I'm glad you did it." You smiled petting him gently.

Buggy blushed again, and huffed indignantly. "Ya weren't supposed to hear that sweets."

"But I did. Now get some rest Bugs. You're safe with me."

There was a drawn out pause before he responded; softly, almost in reverence "I know."

~fin~

[johnwickcaretaker]

💙🖤John x Santino Masterlist🖤💙

⋆.˚ ●.⭒˚ OOC Post ⋆.˚ ● .⭒˚

Miscellaneous drabble, headcanons, prompt lists, etc. related to John Wick x Santino D'Antonio, with a focus on whump, angst, and hurt/comfort. Special thanks to @bluelolblue for many of these asks!

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A/B/O

Cooking and Favorite Foods

Hurt/Comfort Headcanons

"Hold My Hand" - Ficlet

Hurt/Comfort Prompts

John is Severely Hurt

Santino has a Nightmare - Ficlet

Santino has a Panic Attack

Santino is Exhausted

Santino is Overworked and Smoking

Santino is Severely Hurt

Santino is Sick

Santino Passes Out - Ficlet

Vampire AU

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